o.k.
o.k.
o.k. na Kukaj.to. The morning after. The landscape, the environment, leftovers from breakfast, the man. Bruckner´s pathos - all of that upon a rough surface. A woman´s voice says: "ohh - ob - O.B. - ob er..? - Ober - Oberflächen! - Oberfächen-Kontakt... ("Ohh - if - O.B. - if he..? supreme - surfaces! - superficial contact.."), after having previously spelled out the letters, O.B.E.R.F.L.Ä.C.H.E.N. The original material consisted of a S-8 film. It was projected onto the palm of my hand and refilmed with a 16mm camera. The hand is being closed at the end of the film - it opens again at the words "Oberflächen-Kontakt" (superficial contact); frames of film fall out. The surfaces have touched one another but the contact has been superficial. Film on the palm, the touch of an image. To place something in your hand, to feel it, to handle it. The result is part of the whole - single images, splinters of film and thought. O.k., that is the way it is. (Moucle Blackout)
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