Remembering the trauma of my best friends death does not come easily, and sometimes, not at all. Memory is fickle at the best of times. In my film using found footage I retell the past trauma of a childhood tragedy, but find myself ambushed by my own heart, spinning a yarn of white lies andContinue reading “‘Anamnesis’: An Hybrid Documentary”
I saw her snuggled between a sleek black Schwin and an angular, haughty red Raleigh, with a wicker basket—like models backstage at Fashion Week.
There’s still an unconscious counter in my head that resets to 36 and counts down every time I shoot a new roll of film. When I have a camera up in front of my face, the world is contained in a tiny rectangle; my perception of depth is altered—one eye is closed—and my concerns are on focus, exposure and composition.