Hazel Dupont

A sensory portrait of a father and his family, displaced into the anonymity of a hotel. In his quiet attempts to rebuild a sense of home, routine becomes a fragile act of resistance.

Can a mother and daughter truly say goodbye, especially when their final trip together feels destined to fail, haunted by the behaviors they can never seem to leave behind?

At her sister's funeral, a young woman is distracted by a something from the woods.

No experience and no fact is unique. The narrative that tells human history, collective or not, is as simple as it is complex. The beginning of every transformation is a journey through an unknown landscape. As Dante Alighieri wrote in La Divina Commedia: "Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura ché la diritta via era smarrit." In the movement lies the transformation. In the fire the purification. The cure lies in the virus.

A pianist drives around a forest landscape, wandering in search of her way. A way to let go of memories. Letting go of the woman of her memories. Like a wind, they blow through her mind, mingling and enriching the music that propels her along her path. Her longing on the tip of her tongue and the end point of the journey.