Two filmmakers, amidst and between the waves of COVID, embark on a new kind of "epistolary" exchange, not only without letters but also without words, relying entirely on images and sounds. Over the months, from July to October 2021, 16 mm film reels pass from Claudie Lévesque to Ilyaa Ghafouri, capturing and sealing slices of life recorded by each in their glorious ordinariness. The exchange begins on both sides in the vibrant and resonant tranquility of the countryside, with fields of tall grass and wildflowers, trees and their foliage stirred by the wind, the omnipresent chirping of crickets, and the call of the geese—but is it?—or other birds and animals calling out from afar. As this correspondence progresses, the film transitions from a world where nature reigns supreme to a world dominated by humans. In the initial images, humans are virtually absent; if not for the occasionally obstructed right side of the frame, camera movements too quick to clearly capture the filmed elements, and the intentional blurs of the verdant countryside that hint at human presence behind the camera, nothing would suggest that the places are inhabited. By the second "letter," this human presence is announced through shots of a house in a sort of undergrowth. Then the filmmakers return to the city. Yet, apart from the intrusion of car noises amidst images of traffic, and despite humanity being present everywhere, from the famous pink house perched in Saint-Henri to industrial buildings, nature continues to inhabit the screen, whether through the noisy flow of the Lachine Canal or the trees in the parks. Even without words, the lively and sparkling soundtrack clearly tells a story: that of two lives, of privileged moments captured on the fly. While humanity grapples with isolation and connection, distancing and reunions, a dialogue emerges between the two artists through their interspersed portrayals of daily life.

Claire Valade
Critic and programmer