Drift

The constant movement of a giant crocodile swimming in the primordial ocean caused water and mud to blend, until the day it was killed by a warrior. The resulting separation of water from soil prompted the emergence of continents. Theresa and Joséphine live by a northern sea and share mythical tales of origins before their paths separate: one crosses the Atlantic to go to the Caribbean, the other returns to her homeland, Argentina. Helena Wittman uses these two women to draw up a subtle essay in time and space where narration and dialogues are submerged by the hypnotic power of images and sounds and absorbed by the ocean. The camera explores the changing surface and hunts down invisible forces – perhaps similar to those that facilitate deep sleep. When the mountain brings Theresa back safely to land through an astonishing overlay, the sea has left a foggy trail in all the earthly landscapes, just like the young woman’s wandering gaze. Who is she? An explorer, an artist, or a mythological figure? Teetering between primitive landscapes left to animals and places that resemble those of our modern daily life in the west, Theresa is perceived like a smuggler. When she returns, she wonders if something has changed. The myth of creation, endlessly replayed yet still inaccessible, finally reveals itself through a long close-up which echos the founding work of another artist, Michael Snow, and relaunches an infinite cycle. (CG)