Grand Entrance to the World of the Dead

Two men. Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Brothers? One is nothing, success or failure depends on two.

A 'reversal' of Jean-Léon Gérôme's 1872 painting Pollice Verso.

1 minute experimental film.

Shot in the abandoned buildings of Gary, Indiana and the cornfields of Western Illinois, The Twenty-One Lives of Billy the Kid presents a fractured historical narrative without any real protagonist, one in which the titular character goes mostly unseen - Billy the Kid as the always-off-screen assailant, as a ghost’s laugh, as a shadow on the road.

A psychedelic montage of home movie footage gives way to a silent western story.

As a family struggles to survive in rural isolation during the Great Depression, their daughter's secret affair begins a journey into the unknown.

From a small cabin in the mountains of New York, Nina Breeder and Massimilian Breeder begin a journey across the United States. California is just the initial destination, but just as the edge of the surrounding landscape expands, so does their ultimate destination. A contemplation of nature and time along a raw journey in the American landscape.

On the Clickity-clack Express it's clear I'm always under duress, unless I forget.

Rather pointless, rather stilted, fetid; not what we want us going after.

Onward, upward, greener [redder] grasstures.

Beyond all human restraint lies one's lugubrious layers of paint.

Hiding inside&out, writhing about, taken out&in.

Shadows frighten what one oughtn't be gripping (that thing before/hind you).

(Some of us) Still run down the same [mental&emotional] streets we revered/reproached/replaced as children.

Return to 'burn' only to find out you're already in that urn.

Locked away but not away; somewhere nearby but unreachable, a periphery so notfaroff it's always in sight.

I really hope this is well-received. I really hope there's some sort of reprieve.

Calangros: Um faroeste sobre o terceiro mundo

This, then, finishes eleven years of editing drawing on 30-some years of photography. I will surely work autobiographically again, but the modes of SINCERITY and DUPLICITY seem completed with this film which on the one hand is as simple in its integrity-of-light as those follow-the-ball "sing-along" early silent movies and on the other as complicated as teen-age metamorphosis. Childhood dissolves in flame, struck from the hearth.

This hand-painted step-printed film begins in a field of white light slightly bespeckled with ephemeral glazes of flecks of silver which gradually give way to pale suggestions of pastel colors. These take shape occasionally and flicker the forthcoming bits of solid colored and multiply formed abstract images, a few brief sequences-of-such intersperced with the cloud-suggestive silvered passages as at beginning, which eventually end the film.