exhibition film

D lies along the windowsill, pressed firmly up against the glass.  She curls herself around a decorative boulder in the sculpted garden.  Encircles the spiral staircase.  Bends herself around a wall corner.  Sits under a table.  D loves this house (the central London former home of Modernist architect James Melvin).
D is an artist interested in the relationship of things to her body.
D is emotionally vulnerable but is closed off from H, her partner, also an artist.
D is obsessed with the idea of being exposed to the unknown, standing virtually naked in front of the windows running her fingers up and down the blinds, thus she is seen and not seen.

D sits quietly in her office/studio making investigations, while H makes his presence known from his office directly upstairs, loudly rolling his office chair across the floor and thumping around.

D and H have started the process of selling this beloved home and D, in a kind of grieving process, explores its spaces like an intruder.  Tiptoeing around, peering into cupboards, so sneaky sneaky. H has gone away.  When he returns someone has parked in their private space.  There is a discussion about private and public space and what differentiates them.  Plus some shouting and swearing.




Tom Hiddleston is handling the sale of the property, and reassures them that they can vet prospective buyers so, even as they leave, they can be assured the house will be safe (almost like a beloved pet they can’t take with them to wherever they’re going next).
Change is never easy.

It’s that time of year.  I’m a week in to the Melbourne International Film Festival, and this morning I finally found a film and feel like I have things I want to say about it.  Joanna Hogg’s Exhibition, an examination of public vs. private, internal/external, thought/action/emotion, came along just at the right time.


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