In the Moroccan desert night dilutes forms and silence slides through sand. Dawn starts then to draw silhouettes of dunes while motionless figures punctuate landscape. From night´s abstraction, light returns its dimension to space and their volume to bodies. Stillness concentrates gaze and duration densify it. The adhan -muslim call to pray- sounds and immobility, that was condensing, begins to irradiate. And now the bodies are those which dissolves into the desert.
Three figures appear from the Moroccan desert’s gloom. Dawn lends volume to abstract silhouettes of dunes and people as the silence is broken by fajr, a word that has a double meaning in Arabic: beginning and the pre-sunrise call to prayer. Akin to the latter that breaks the daily rhythm, the mythical desert becomes a contemplative place.
A 12-minute work of a hypnotic, immense heart, and a mesmerizing exercise in beauty that inebriates the transition –or, better yet, the suspended time– from night to dawn in the desert, the scenery of the purification of spirits and the vertical lengthening of the poetic of spaces. Two human figures rise up hieratically in a Moroccan sea of sand and silence. And even if that tour de force with meditation and vertigo will be weakened by the fajr (which means “dawn” as well as “the Muslim canticle that calls for prayer,” the only sound that fragments that of the wind in the film), I can’t help but link this borderless place in Fajr, of the figures in consumption, to another recent mimesis of spiritual beings with the space they dwell in: that of Scorsese’s Silence. There, they were present in a Catholic, narrative key, but absolutely not far from the evanescence in the air and the dreams of this work by Lois Patiño, finally water and sleep in a beautiful, dreamlike transit that the desert reverses upon its nemesis. — José Luis Losa
568MB | 12 min 57 s | 1920×1080 | mkv
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