A Year

A tattered diary film. Middle age concerns swirl around me in Brooklyn and follow to North Carolina, and New Orleans (before the storm) and back home again. Video journal entries mix with 35mm abstract film images, sublime and inviting, suggesting an elegy for celluloid. As friends drift away I retreat into myself. Solipsism beckons, and I stave it off, barely. I contemplate my body falling apart, my kids growing up, changes and disappearances.