What kind of labour is this? Each image makes me ask. Each image of a landscape filled in by industry, sometimes one on top of the other, like the four men fishing in a river cut for something else. A drainage canal, the end of the movie tells me. There, location and ownership reinscribe the images I hold. Sometimes, even the lengthy takes are not long enough to capture change. I only see a result (only one culmination/image of a longer process): rows of almond trees in bloom, a sinking dredging machine. Sometimes, sound fills in a still image: prisoners, somewhere far offscreen, a lonely dog near a drug-prevention billboard, and, many times, airplanes overhead.
Each image is poetic, too. Long enough to begin to break into constituent parts; short enough to mourn the loss of the last.