Outdated cameras loaded with expired film stocks will be activated, pointed out by her* hands to the world and its specters. The images will be hand-processed in archaic Russian Lomo tanks long ago taken out of production. Her* hands won’t loose touch with the film material. This time they won’t trust it to others, more professional hands. Her* hands will wind the celluloid strips into a developing spiral in total darkness, mixing and diluting chemistry, dipping the latent images into it, longing and waiting for these spectral images…
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