4K transferred to full HD video / 14ʼ42″ / sound / color
Camera is following the stream in the forest. All the time we hire recital which sound like a sound or music. The meaning of the recital is confuse and very often we do not understand what is said. At the end of the film camera finds death “ entity”. Film is finishing with vibrating rectangle light in dark forest.Film is based on the question: “ Isn’t it an artist job to say constantly good by to art?”
In colaboration: director of photography: Boris Poljak; poem: Miloš Đurđević; voice: Ernesto Cozar Estrella; editing: Damir Čučić; sound: Martin Semenčić; costume design: Tonči Vladislavić.
K18 is produced by Studio Guberović, supported by HAVC- Croatian Audio Visual Centre
Film is followed by poem written by Miloš Đurđević
who has come – could you leave now? where has he gone? why is he here? do you have to, do you have to pause? when has he gotten up? what is he looking at? why are his eyes closed? is he looking? he’s seen me, he stares, unmoved, and he’s gone now, changed, but his load, burden on his legs, the weight rustles and breathes, and stares, without blinking, perpetually, spreading over the surface, vertical horizontal, a root of light in the stream, unspeakable when it makes a sound in the branches because it’s not talking again, it cannot stop talking
and suddenly in that torturous nowhere, you say because I said it was unchanged, nor clean nor too little, because it has changed to jump over the immobility, emptiness is not a foothold, it is a place congested now to keep the distance, under the flowerbed of body because I never went there, it rattles, it rings, a heap in the light-rag and he stops again, he looks back, will he grow into again, blind, there and never above, in the ribbon of the soil, a strip of motes, thirst, thirst, thirst, a sphere and a pendulum, sunken, it pulsates and evaporates
if it opens up it won’t take root, only then could you touch the facelessness, it drizzles in you ear, tapping, leaf-drop at the first step, it spreads its fingers on the membrane, catches its breath to defend itself and walks on, down again, down again, because death is not here, wall-zone is air-zone like an obstacle like a breach to sunk again flat, in the second step
in the third step the circle seen from behind, it is a background and renouncement, a thin line against the change, disclosed and veiled, doubled to thin it down, it breathes in and shines clean, pecking on the ground, listening, it’s already gone, it breaks away, it makes you cave in, brings you down, it echoes, hovers like a tree, taps on the source, defeated, don’t say it will be back, like a confusion, a delay, a reflection of its shadow, crumbling, breaking, folding, waiting, redundant like a silence
I know, I knew, and now I’m just repeating, a mold without a cast, nowhere is more near than there, it doesn’t discern because it never existed, things are not an echo nor a retreat, in steadiness they repeat themselves, they will not spell themselves out in order to be unreal and to drizzle, they lie down hard as a rut and bone of light, spread out they tap on the vertex, porous like a stone in the water, it will never scoop you up
all of it was yours, a few steps, they grab you and turn you over, they gaze at the soil, worn off traces of speech, dust in the stream, feathers and moss, are those words? no sound here, it comes back there because is will not wait, because it is gone, burst, overflown, it is empty and it listens, so you can hear it, it climbs up and depletes to the last drop, each grain round and numbered wears down in silence and hums, here again, because it’s not enough, it could not even be speechless
gone, given up, it didn’t depart, it didn’t come back, frozen it stands and grows smaller, petrified to leaf out, ingrown it chokes, choked it spreads, a chaff of ashes, air twines, a shape of light, a water column,
a hillside, a ray of stream crawls on the blanket of leaves, no, enough, voices come from nowhere because they do not stumble, nor overflow anywhere, they hover and swarm under the trees, on a sparkling slope, no, it can’t stay here because it broke noiselessly, it rolled down motionlessly and it stopped crushed
to interlink what’s separated, sometimes that doll without wires and reflection, down, no, up, no, it could not be seen, not even shown, it didn’t just emerge, it charges less and less and vanishes because it is not empty, as if it appeared in the gap of the beginning and the quiver of the end, on double folded leaf to be near this, needless, erased, split and fenced because it has not repeated, does not move, leaving from within incessantly, caving in suspended, it won’t lift up because it doesn’t wait to be laid down