Elisabeth Molin

Every time I try to show you what it looks like here, I’m struck by all the gaps I find. Not just between one day and the next, but between all these things my camera sees, that I don’t see. For instance I found scratches from the crows that I had not noticed, and when I filmed the fluorescent yellow shirt it appeared to have lost its luminosity. The corridors are too slim for a wide-angle lens. I went into the garden to record the sound of the neighbours but the sound of the wind dampened their noise.

Underneath a table I found colour blind images, notes from the boy who sleeps on my bus, letters from a frozen protagonist, books about red eye effect.

When I took a break on the floor I discovered a hole in the ceiling. Like a spotlight it alters the object positioned underneath it. When it rains it creates a puddle, the shape of which transforms with time.

The guard is standing so still, I’m not sure if he is acting.