The sky, a skyline, roses, shells, a teddy bear, a dog and an inflatable globe; they look like pictures from somebody's photo album, elements of a personal landscape. The tape tells more and shows a new series of images; water flowing on its way through ice, no, rushing forward to the sea in which it can find rest and be absorbed. And then a man and a woman. In turn they read a text, shot in close-up. They talk to the viewer and tell fragments of a story about a little boy, his view of the world and his isolation where he felt content. But, unlike the drops of water which are completely lost in the sea, the dreams and thoughts of this boy have been preserved. Like the teddy bear and the shells, they are shreds out of somebody's album, far beyond the point when they were thought and despite the flow in which they find themselves, but in which they have not been lost, hiding under the surface for the winter.
– Carla Hoekendijk
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With Kathleen Graves, Mackie
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