Film

"This piece, with the generic title Film, is a series of short videos built around one protocol: a snippet of news from a newspaper of the day, is rolled up and then placed on a black-inked surface. On making contact with the liquid, the roll opens and of Its own accord frees itself of the gesture that fashioned it. As it comes alive in this way, the sliver of paper reveals Its hitherto unexposed content; this unpredictable kinematics is evidence of the constant impermanence of news. As well as exploring a certain archaeology of cinema, the mechanism references the passage of time: the ink, whether it is poured or printed, is the ink of ongoing human history." –Ismaïl Bahri

Projota - AMADMOL (A Milenar Arte de Meter o Louco)

Mana Huncha Khina Sawule Chuti Dinna Aama

The air in London was damp and cold, a stark contrast to the vibrant warmth of Kathmandu that Anmol often dreamed of. It had been five years since he left Nepal for the United Kingdom, chasing the dreams his mother, Susmita, had envisioned for him. She had sacrificed everything-her small savings, her comfort, and her daily joy of having her son by her side-so Anmol could study and build a better life abroad. Anmol was a hard worker, juggling university classes and long hours at Amrish's restaurant. The boss, a shrewd businessman, valued profits over people. Anmol, like the rest of the staff, was little more than a cog in the relentless machinery of the restaurant's success. One evening, after another grueling 12-hour shift, Anmol sat on his small bed in his shared apartment. His phone buzzed. It was his mother. "Anmol, Dashain and Tihar are coming. I've cleaned the house and even set aside some money to buy your favorite sweets.

Flow

A turbulent day in a life, painted by air.