Tag Archives: amy vaillancourt
Or, maybe, curtained holes in walls.
Curious and contemplative: safe and secure, yet as fragile as a gust of wind or a stone’s throw.
grit and gravel
pavement and power lines
spruce and pine
ghost lines just whim
eyebrows, rubbed by frustration
my footprint a blemish
tear drops in the forecast
my shadow moves with me
i put a blanket on it
cuddles with the nocturnal
fragile glass behind specified security
filling in the gaps
crayons and protocols
right time right place right light right angle
a stop animation film, inspired by street culture and human remnants.
Much like the movement of bodies of water, the overwhelming volume of experience and space leave us connected with the past, present and future.
If you haven’t seen Scarlett’s Mask, start there.