Slowland is a short film about space. It consists of watercolor characters suspended against a white background, sometimes reading, eating together, and walking. Their movements are slow, and orchestrated around a layering of sounds –running water, fire crackling, violins, and footsteps. The layering is an attempt to make space without the depiction of space—space that vigorously exists in the imagination.
The work creates slowness, and a rhythm that allows a viewer to live in real time. The viewer breathes with the character on screen, and drops into the moment of quietly reading, flipping a page after several minutes. There is space here, that is often unconsidered, and yet a large segment of the chronicle of our daily lives.
Leading up to the film, I had been working on a series of objects that reflect upon the interaction of our bodies in space. They each consisted of wood fittings shaped to our bodies, and rigid sheets of Plexiglas. The objects were: a thing to be carried under the arm, a table for the gathering of five, and a book held on a lap. The slow, meditative crafting of these objects led to ideas about the slowness of making space.
As a moving image and sound, Slowland allows for the experience of space through meditation and time. It introduces pacing as a device to draw out a space that is not so tangible: an invisible idea that can be felt: subconscious space. Whereas still objects have scale, and bring multiple facets of external meaning, film can be scale-less and has an earnest autonomy from the limits of fixed medium.
Slowland slows us down, holds us in time and memory, and suggests the importance of our cognitive space in understanding the places we have come to inhabit.