A sigh, a flurry... Exactly what we want to hold on to escapes us, with relentless certainty. Like wind and smoke.
With sound effects of passing trains, running water, and wind, plus an exquisite imagery manipulation with the optical printer, Meter pays homage to the fragility of celluloid, as well as of our own vulnerable materiality. She treats emulsion as if she were touching skin, with the same attention, permissions, and apprehensions, actions and reactions. Meter’s camera attempts to delicately interact, somehow connect, with the images, and with the light and movement that emanate from them. A Touch com- mences with a sequence of flakes whirling in the wind, just as the particles of the film emulsion attract our vision. The richness of the color and the grain reinforce the emotional capabilities of film. Human silhouettes fade, and images of Guy Sherwin appear and disappear for fractions of seconds. In A Touch, light and shadows, perceptions, and flashes of memory come and go as a moving landscape. Reminiscent of Armenian filmmaker Artavazd Peleshian’s distrust for the spoken word, there are no statements in this film, but fragments of music, including Francesco Tuma’s Stabat Mater, a Latin hymn on the depths and weights of human suffering and sorrow.
- Mónica Savirón
No print in distribution
