Directing
Artist/Filmmaker based in Rotterdam, the Netherlands.
The rising sun reveals a gruesome crime. In the orange-red dawn, between the dunes and the rippling sea, a young woman is strangled to death. The victim’s neck is marked by the deep imprints of her murderer’s hands. The mother’s moving dirge – based on a poem by Percy Shelley – accompanies us as her daughter Ginevra is laid out and resurrects.
The sun’s energy circulates throughout the earth, feeding the cycle of life. Everything is connected in a natural loop, which repeats, like the circular discs of magical optical toys. This perfectly balanced rhythm is disrupted by human excess, throwing the cycle out of orbit and temporarily stopping the circulation of energy in nature.
The aftermath of a sexual assault is rendered through charcoal and metaphor. This film visualizes a piece of flash fiction by author Cherie Jones. Film by Tess Martin, Narration by Marta Parlatore, Sound by Jason Staczek.
A photograph is a window into the past, but sometimes the border between the past and the present is not entirely clear.
A macabre Italian children’s song tells the story of Mario, a soldier who returns from war and must learn that his girlfriend has left him for another man. Mario decides to kill her. The film picks up on the ambivalent mood of the song and reinforces its vibration in the space between blithe children’s game and brutal murder.
A diver encounters an injured whale. He decides to help the animal and gets a friendly look of thanks. For the space of a few seconds, the border between the two species seems permeable. The whale disappears in the depths of the ocean and leaves the diver wondering whether this was all just a projection of human hopes.
How Now, House? investigates our yearning to leave traces behind through the prism of one house in Rotterdam. Using archives, personal memories and the philosophy of time, the film questions whether a space can ever really belong to one person, or time period, at all.
What sort of self is left when you've lost the greater part of your past, and your moorings in time?
A new father takes his wife and daughter on a journey to his mother’s birthplace in Scotland. It is 1976 – the year in which NASA’s Viking 1 and 2 space probes land on the surface of Mars. They send images of an only vaguely explored area from a great distance, enabling a first look into the history of an alien planet. Like the NASA scientists, the small family are hoping that their journey will give them insights into the past, an understanding of the present situation and perhaps even the chance to anticipate the future.
A train journey begins. On board is a reader whose thoughts begin to move. The letters change and flow from the pages of the book, carrying us into a world of memories and associations. We meet the letters again: swimming in a tea cup. Shot, they bleed to death on a sheet of paper and at last evaporate into the night sky.
The documentary video for the installation version of the short film “1976: Search for Life” takes us to Mars. There – between huge boulders and in the red light of our sibling planet – we find a small television set. With headphones and in an intimate atmosphere, Tess Martin shares a very personal memory of an important historical event with us.
A device that can create the illusion of movement can be built by coupling the speed of a rotating disc to the recording frame rate of a camera. This so-called phonotrope is a contemporary version of the phenakistiscope. In her how-to video, Tess Martin explains how this technique works and how it was used in her film “Orbit.”
Whether a cat person or a dog person, you probably think you have some kind of relationship with your pet. But does your pet feel the same way? Do we know how our animals see us? Or are our relationships with them ultimately a leap of faith? This animated short uses interviews to explore the extent and limitations of human-pet relationships, and how we communicate, feel for and understand each other.
