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OMBRES BY MARTINE ROUSSET

Wandering,
through Central Asia, the Caucasus, Kurdistan... To Istanbul...
Cities and trains, steppes and snow
to that place where the pulse of time evaporates;
a very simple film, a navigation, attention being taken to the threshold of time going by hazardous paths....
and very slow skies, up to the Black Sea, where Istanbul is absent, slips away under the steps, leaves the place empty, abandons in its wake undecided times
and the gaze goes about it,
is attentive, on the edge of absence, on the edge of a sea on the lookout, blind, for a long time,
in a very simple welcome, in an absolute listening, lets the rumour of the wheel of time approach, motionless,
sees what spreads, evaporates, disintegrates.

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