In the words of Karen Yasinsky, who presented breathtaking films yesterday eve: La Nuit, I Choose Darkness, Marie, This Room is White, all contouring tortuous traversals of affect through a recalcitrant, often cruel materiality—flesh as bandage, stuff—so that it lacks any impact of subjective immediacy—

except the immediacy of the feeling that these too are toys, dolls that have been manipulated only to a certain material limit—D.W. Winnecott being an inspiration—

and when I ask about this matter, Karen replies typically by speaking of the particularity of individual faces as history and musculature. Not, clearly, as personality or charisma.

Asked about sexuality in the work, the reply that we're given this body, this container, that we didn't choose, that determines so much for us.

And still so much mystery—the McDonaldish clown growing evil rainbows before the penciled girl. Reality quavering in the redrawn and redrawn and redrawn.

"It became unpleasant to try to invent a story...."

Film as experimental poetry as film, live & our neighbor!