Manuela Morgaine, Countdown, Amorces, 35 mm, 1999
In July 1999 at the moment my father died, what strikes me the most is his watch as his own pulse stops, his watch whose hands keep turning. The next day, between tears and the energy of filial love, I go from one cinema to another in the streets of Paris and meet the projectionists in the booth to whom I ask kindly to give me abandoned film leaders. I harvest it during this month of mourning. Since then, every time I enter the month of July, from its first days, I see my father’s eyes closed, and the hands of his watch turning eternally. Each beginning of July this series of animated countdowns bring this unforgettable and heartbreaking moment back to life.
Dettie Flynn, Feuilleton of spinning swinging wishing Girls XVII, video, 2021 / Feuilleton de Filles oscillante, filante, souhaitante XVII, video, 2021
Letter from Glasgow: Other People’s Rooms (Midsummer)
The light is relentless. I wake at half past four as the sun rises and am wide awake in my lit up room.
There is no reason not to begin the day, except that I only went to bed four hours earlier and I
hanker after my dreams. Usually I fall back to sleep and wake again when the sun is already high
and blazing on my face, and there is light in the sky until nearly midnight. At midsummer in
Glasgow there is no actual darkness, only a few hours of seeming dark known as “nautical twilight”.
It is no longer a season for walking the evening streets, looking in at lit windows, pausing to sneak
photographs of other people’s rooms. At times it can feel as if there is almost too much light, a
solidity that makes it harder to see.