This a love letter. Or at least, maybe a poem.
Unusually, I haven’t been involved in the making or the editing of this film except to be on screen and probably to give unwanted advice and to write this.
I’m in front of the camera but I’m not necessarily the subject.
This is a record and an exploration of a situation, a relationship, a feeling or a sensation. It’s about progress through action. About how sex and what turns us on can be intrinsically connected to our fears. Not just those fears that obviously intersect with sex like corporal punishment or physical harm but something more personal and complicated; fear of loss, fear of abandonment. About how, maybe, in choosing to actualise fear, walking up to the edge of the precipice and looking down, you stand over that fear rather than it towering over you.
It’s about the pull, the draw, of the visceral sensation of fucking, the gravitational pull towards the centre of the black hole. So potent that it’s magnetism has an effect even when it’s not necessarily you engaged in the physical action. The call of the void.
A sensation not defined by logical thinking but still not only an entirely bodily experience. Watching someone you love fuck someone else. Security, insecurity, love and sex.