Visual theory nightmares

[tiamatschild]

I read Martin Norden's The Cinema of Isolation directly before bed last night, and in consequence had strange, disjointed dreams in black and white. There were landscapes which were unmistakably sound stage sets, but which nonetheless had volume and continuity, they existed of themselves, there were no cameras. And yet, as I moved through these spaces, wandered through, really, because I had no idea where I was going and no particular purpose, there was a camera. I saw myself and I saw myself as the camera saw me, and the camera was taking me to pieces, fragmenting my body, breaking me down to controllable (if still unruly) parts.