+ Super 8mm film, 18 minutes, cinematography & direction by Pooja Rangan & Josh Guilford

HOW TO MAKE A MERMAID TAIL SO YOU CAN WEAR IT AROUND THE HOUSE, #9

i stand behind the camera, looking through the spectacle. if i can suspend myself, i can catch them going by, and i will keep them. starting too soon, two girls ride by, long hair rippling to the very last strand, accurately reproduced. at a distance, and then near enough to force into movement. close enough, far too close to know. they are there, held here within the space allowed, and then out. drawn forward and then back, they circle round, and return. i move between looking through and lifting. they stop when i say, now, where i want them to be. dropping their heels from the pedals. passing cars cut them off entirely.

i can’t tell what the film is doing inside the cartridge. it’s inscrutable; it offers nothing - there is no way to go back and see what’s happened, rewind, reply. not a productive moment, or was it a long pause. so i have her do it over again, and again, hoping that this time i’ve got something. she thought she’d seen my mistake and asked me, so i told her. i held the button down. was it long enough? if an image has been recorded, it’s an image in which she speaks, but no sound remains to be released. her mouth moving, and the image continues. i can’t capture the brilliant, hard and real red of her mouth, or the sound of her body moving forward in the folding chair as she leans in, pushing handfuls of hairpins around on a sheet of paper.

i put a mark on the film and run the camera for a second. the mark disappears; this is what is happening. a tape is winding, a flimsy ribbon. a girl selected and searched, on and off her bicycle, soaking paper in a dish of cold water. the danger is that i might not stop.