Convergences

Convergences is a moving image work shaped through walking, listening, and paying sustained attention to how places hold complexity.

The work grows from a way of meeting place as a living being rather than as backdrop. I approach land as a community of relations. Soil, rock, water, plants, weather, bacteria, roots, bones, breath. A place is not a surface. It is a field of negotiations. I am not separate from that field. I am another temporary arrangement within it.

I am drawn to edges, to crossings, to sites where multiple systems overlap. Creek lines, ridges, eroded rock faces, changes in soil, shifting wind. These are places where different times, pressures, and agencies meet. They often feel powerful, sometimes unsteady, sometimes protective. They show how life holds together through adaptation rather than stability.

With illness and limited mobility, I had to learn how to move by learning how places move. My sensory system takes in more information than it can easily filter. Rather than resisting that, I began to use place as a guide. By staying with one location over time, I can learn its patterns, its regularities, its disruptions. Where water bends grass. Where wind sculpts bark. Where soil holds or releases. This teaches me when to move, how to rest, how to stay.

The film traces this slow learning. It follows desire lines, informal paths shaped by repeated movement rather than imposed design. Animals make them. People make them. Weather makes them too. These are not shortcuts. They are records of what feels possible to the body.

Convergences also holds the knowledge that bodies and landscapes carry shared histories of harm and repair. I grew up within a family history deeply entangled with land use, farming, plant cultivation, development, and political power. I witnessed land being cleared, misused, devalued. I also witnessed how parts of the human body and certain lives are treated in similar ways. Disregard moves across both territory and flesh.

The film does not narrate this directly. Instead, it stays with how land continues to mend. How roots change shape around stone. How water persists. How structure and softness coexist. I look to these processes as guides for my own slow repair.

Convergences is not a declaration. It is a listening practice.

It sits in the space between thinking and sensing. Between movement and stillness. Between the human figure and the wider field of life it moves within. It follows how flow teaches safety, and how attention becomes a way of belonging.

“We are all part of this.”