21.01.2021. - 13:12:07

The separation loop: the phrase is neither the only odd thing, nor the only paradox of the film.
It is emblematic, since the film overcomes our ways of being, to see, the status of objects and living
creatures. It shapes its territory bringing closer landscapes of different spaces or continents, Background?
Argentina. An island, big, then islets, a high mountain country and a close-up on a stone,
streams and the sea, very close, first over flown then faded in.
Planes and shooting axesdiverge - as the camera moves back or comes closer,approaching precisely
or moving away - from this invention of an earth where to live without more precision.
This union of diverse regions concerns animalsas well: a lama on a mountainous terrain
before a close-up on its moving ears, reindeers running through the steppe, sheep, close,
then far, on the rocks. All fitting in this geography, they mingle in the landscape,
but a Przewalski horse with its dense mane, its back covered with a tablecloth instead of a saddle,
becomes leitmotiv and rapid scansion, as well as a strange character: a young woman,
seen once already, emerging from a pile of fabrics to unfurl the strange flag of this non-country,
of all the countries. The city and its artifacts are being visited, jumping from one to the other
without a logical route, if not the one of this being: walls, workshops with fabric dyeing machines,
rolls of fabrics protected with plastic or not and a circular slick that keeps coming back. Besides, the color
spreads into the grey streets on heaps of tangled yarns, pillows in letter shapes to rewrite the tag „Dreams“,
pieces of fabric lying on the floor… and round tablecloths, except, on the last wall, for a rectangular one,
but with the same patterns, and that’s where the journey ends up. Moreover, the movement becomes
more complex as the circle - the circle of the film - takes possession of the movement as well as of the patterns.
A pianistic attitude accentuates the rise to the lights, the one reflected by concentric circles, the one of a
huge chandelier under which waves pour in semi-circles, the one of a roundabout… the flicker makes the horse
jolt as well as the woman who left the mountain after having strode it, always wearing the same suit - a floral
pajamas without a hole for the head. She’s hiding under the rolls in the workshops or moving forward, backward
to a tall building. No further explanation than being specific. The tablecloth, which she never takes off,
is like a huge sombrero, with or without holes for the eyes or with two strange plastic tubes. They become
her extravagant skin, whatever her attitudes, the places, the circumstances in the workshop, in the mountain,
indoors like outdoors. Under the apparently lucky madness, the impulse of the journeys… alone,
she doesn’t meet the others, alone, she spins.