Helena Wikström

A film director comes to Stockholm claiming he is an internationally renowned filmmaker. The truth is that he is a total failure. He is counting on that his compatriots have saved big money working in Sweden. Money he intend to spend on making a film.

For us, a thought always presupposes a society, a culture and above all the consciousness of time. We are haunted by immortality, human notion par excellence. As if the world was here to fascinate us. And to disappoint us. The film travels around the bulb like the Earth around the Sun. Light makes the film visible. A fragile film, like our existence. In the orbit of the film tragedy and our reality, the image resists the cruelty of the experiment.

No description available.