Digital footage of the river near my childhood home is laser-printed directly onto 16mm film, creating a shifting, liquified halftone. Animals and figures emerge from the abstraction, then sink back into it. The memory of a specific place dissolves into the texture of time, an abstraction exacerbated by running the film through a projector, which decays the laser toner image even further.
The imprecise, ultra-DIY printing process bled onto the optical sound strip. The harsh noise of the projector blends with the original field recordings—the obscuring of the image obscures the soundscape, too. In this bizarre dreamscape, cinematic conventions are overruled by the physical reality of celluloid.