First light
A four-minute film about the half hour before the city wakes, shot over nine mornings.
Nine mornings, one tripod position per morning, and a rule: nothing in the frame that knows it is being filmed. Bakers' vans. A tram running empty to the depot to begin. The man who unlocks the newsstand with a gesture he has made forty thousand times and does not need to watch himself make.
The film is silent except for the city's own first sounds, recorded on the spot — I have come to believe that dawn has a room tone, and that it is different from night's by one or two birds and a certain quality of bus.
Four minutes. No faces, no music telling you what to feel. The excerpt above — like the poster — is a procedural stand-in generated from this film's own shade, holding the player until the footage is exported.