The world above ground and the world below. Below the horizon, there exists a world that belongs neither to the present, future, nor past, surrounded by boulders and waterfalls, where departed life secretly continues its activities. The spirits of those atomic life forms flow in the meandering water, formless yet remembering the past. Above the horizon, all things that continue to live continue to live. A gust of wind blows, a flurry of snow falls, waiting for winter to pass, waiting for the sun to rise. Memory, like a giant tendril, rises from the ground, its roots seeping into the soil with the melting snow. Having been here, yet never truly here. This is a film poem commemorating the passing of a dear friend from my youth. The poem was hand-engraved on a 400-foot-long roll of film.​

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Production and Crew