This. As in, not that. An obscure and (re)imagined biography, this. A family history, a lilting liminal narrative. Obscure and foreshortened. Condensed like a neutron star. A century packed into a few images. And obscure. Obscure because impenetrable. The first glance, second, third, fiftieth revealing little more than a sequence of images, vaguely interconnected, ambiguous. Everything is surface. But also, everything is there. Like life. All there and nothing there. Not that. This.
