| ID | Name | Type |
|---|---|---|
| 68 | Driving Somewhere in the Midwest | Film |
Details
From a room to a star, art to make connections, not just to communicate with people but to bring the sun to this bedroom. Film as a medium is often contextualized as a tool for something larger. Cinema in a theater projecting to a packed crowd, film is shown as a way to capture and represent big moments.
So what does it mean to capture a slice, or a sliver, something so small that it wouldn't be noteworthy unless or until it is noticed?
My bedroom faces west, and since it is right up against the Brown Line station, it is not blocked by any building. So on sunny days during sunset, the sun beams are strong.
What I really love are the little "beads" that form from the holes in the slats. Obviously, the holes aren't there to create the beads, they're there to keep the slats in place and allow it to twist. If anything, it's a flaw in the design, a mechanical necessity that prevents the blinds from functioning as it should. And yet this flaw, along with the rest of the light coming in, is the star of this video.
Shadow play is one of the oldest forms of art, and yet it plays with scale and scope in a way that is still hard to fully grasp, to manipulate the light from the sun with nothing more than hands (or in this case some plastic and wood). And so in this smallest, most insignificant of moments, far removed from blockbuster explosions, a connection of cosmic proportions is made.