Tteo Zavaglia

So getting up gets to be a problem for a sensitive person like him. The problem is to run that gauntlet again. Remove problem, remove gauntlet, remove run. Remove is to, remove the, remove that. Leave this, make this whatever.

A room glows faintly. Something hums between the doors. For a time, nothing stirs, then something moves—maybe the room? Maybe you did. Until it moves again, you can’t say who moved first.

A series of 21 short video art films, presented in three rotating groups of seven. Each piece runs under two minutes, pairing digital visuals with music to explore themes of isolation, atmosphere, and dissociation. The editing process involved a deliberate erasure of original footage and timelines, leaving only the saved project files as source material. This method draws out a more instinctive, machine-driven visual language—revealing how the editing software itself responds, reinterprets, and distorts memory and intention.

I'm more than lost now, and more than now. The summit only takes you deeper.

Three white horses stand still at the base of a ruined steeple. Their flanks streaked with ash; flakes drift through the air. The sky is split with fire—objects falling, fast and bright, trailing smoke. The church is half-collapsed, its bell swinging dumb. Hooves strike the stone—slow, then faster.

An exploration of how sound shapes form in real time.

They spent five hours dining and spent the early morning after driving home. The hours folded in on themselves, leaving only the trace of warmth and noise. The whole had scattered, something faintly remembered, already slipping.

The door opens to the garden, which leads to the house. The drive is long and cumbersome, I feel as if I am falling asleep at the wheel.