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Two figures, a man and a woman, sing Lhasa de Sela's Small Song. They try to internalize the lyrics in different mental states: through body movement, dance, falling, running, conveying an overall sense of something appearing and disappearing. The images on the screens are in constant motion, creating a tableau, a spectacle of feelings, emotions, and thoughts.

The lyrics of the song ostensibly try to hold the figure, but they too dissolve and melt. I try to push the figures to the limit of their ability and being in order to trigger emotion and touch upon the memory and the pain of loss. The six screens come together and break apart, like a memory game with two participants and observers. The images are presented and deconstructed simultaneously, producing a musical rhythm. At times, the figures sing in unison, at times—in beat-long intervals, or in extreme off-beat, and the screens become akin to isolated syllables. Like motion which never ceases to surprise us, because at a certain moment in the present, once we recognize, sense, and take it in—it disappears. The body is never identical to itself, just as the movement is never the same movement. The number of screens transforms the work into a choreography performed in a digital space. The films enhance the sense of space, and the viewer connects them into a sequence all his own. The work consists of different chapters which flow and blend from the whiteness, coming together to form visual tableaux that cannot always be fully seen on all six screens. Everything is dreamlike. Glowing whiteness engulfs the work; floating, minimalist light comprised of rich strata of white textures which render it abstract, material, sensory. The work oscillates between the blinding light associated with the end and a yearning which marks a new beginning.

Lee Yanor

segment 2009
6-channel video installation with surround sound. 08.30 min