Greeted by a warning extract from Werner Herzog’s 2005 documentary Grizzly Man, (where the director warns against the listening to a recording of Timothy Treadwell’ s death) the viewer is enticed through a nearby entrance to discover the contents of a dimly lit room. The only light comes from the blue glow of a large freestanding screen, centrally placed and replaying constantly the nothingness of a static film grain. Initially what can be heard are the resounding echoes of white noise, which closer listening reveals to be the faint unfolding of a silent horror. A story is quietly unraveling yet its truth remains frustratingly intangible.

What the viewer actually experiences is the subtle editing of hundreds of suspense extracts from various films spliced together to create a new story; one without beginning, end or definable narrative, which stands in place of the actuality of an event. This redefining of pre-existing material and its constant repetition leaves the spectator questioning the boundary between, not only reality and fiction, but ultimately life and death. With answers few, the viewer is led away to create their own truth, their own story and form their own images within the screen’s illuminating grain.