“beginning a long distance relationship” is an archaeology of light and memory. Each frame feels excavated from the depths of consciousness, where time is not linear but layered—a palimpsest of moments both real and imagined. The camera moves with the patience of a lingering touch, uncovering not what happened, but what remains. It is a film that privileges the residue of experience over the event itself, finding profound meaning in the aftermath of emotion.
This is a work that explores the geography of absence. It measures the space left behind by a receding figure, the architecture of an empty room still vibrating with recent presence. The film gives weight to the intangible—the scent of rain on skin, the cooling shape of a hand no longer held, the specific color of twilight in a forgotten city. In its quietest moments, it speaks volumes about the permanence of temporary things.
“beginning a long distance relationship” operates on a tactile level. Light becomes a physical substance—dust motes dance like memories, shadows pool like spilled ink, and windows become thresholds between internal and external worlds. Sound is equally material: the scratch of a pen, the hum of a refrigerator, the distant sigh of traffic—these form a score that grounds the ethereal in the mundane. The film reminds us that transcendence is often found in the grain of ordinary existence.
By its conclusion, “beginning a long distance relationship” has transformed from a film watched into an experience metabolized. It refuses the comfort of resolution, offering instead a lingering resonance—a new sensitivity to the fragile beauty of ephemeral moments. The final images don't feel like an ending, but an opening—an invitation to carry this sharpened perception back into the world, to see the poetry in life's faintest impressions.