all posts tagged as: film

Symbols of the Sun

It is in moments of illness that we are compelled to recognize that we live not alone but chained to a creature of a different kingdom, whole worlds apart, who has no knowledge of us and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood: our body. A story by Li Hui.

The isle

Man's life seems like a long, weary night that would be intolerable if there were not occasionally flashes of light, the sudden brightness of which is so comforting and wonderful, that the moments of their appearance cancel out and justify the years of darkness. A landscape series by Ulrike Biets.

The ghosts in our eyes

Eye wake up in a construct. Eye lay on my bed and sweat. Eye replay final moments. Eye try to picture her face. Eye program a future version of myself to remember it, slick with seawater, ringed with wet hair. A dark series by Rebecca Cairns with words by Ben Mirov.

Spellbound

That sacred day the white bells of the underworld will ring a miserable anthem of freedom while I'll be sleeping like a baby on your breathless chest. An exclusive fashion story by Marco Giuliano and Jessica De Maio, styled by Anca Macavei.

Poem

A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone, and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east. A photographic series by Charlotte Tanguy.

Little deaths

These were everyday sounds magnified by darkness. And darkness was nothing - it was not a substance, it was not a presence, it was no more than an absence of light. A story by Dusdin Condren.

Still dead

The mountains, the forest, and the sea, render men savage; they develop the fierce, but yet do not destroy the human. A fashion story by Matt Colombo.

Lamia

Moon's milk spills from my unquiet skull and forms a white rainbow. Melanie Gaydos in a photographic series by Paul Kwiatkowski.

Under the Holy Mountains

Is it smoke? Is it fog? It’s scary and charming. I can barely breathe, maybe because of the height, maybe I’m tired. Rest. I’m going down to join him, I’m more healthy than you. Have you ever kissed someone on the edge of the abyss? A reportage by Martine Eshuis.

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