The pure fire of silence
She’s playing tennis against the fence, she’s alone, with her back to the court, she takes a few steps to pick up a ball that has not been returned to her by this fence ; her steps, gestures and the sound of the ball in the racket are already making a kind of rhythm, a small ballet reduced to its simplest expression. The camera advances on the courtyard, crosses the gate, fixes itself on a torchiere in the distance. That’s the color of her hair.
Credits: still images and spitting fire have the same rhythm as her racket strikes, then the same rhythm as the shutter release of her camera which finds her in the second scene. Read More »