The Bergman slide, the image of Daniel and his mother is projected on my studio wall. The edges and corners of the room are dark. I am playing with size, height, distortion, angle, mirrors and spotlights. A camera is recording my movement. The shadow of my arm is sweeping across the picture. The image of the child slightly elongated, spreading into a narrow doorway. The meadow is broken by peeling plaster. There are tiny speckles of dust on Daniel’s hair. My eyes pause on the faded red skirt, sure that it once belonged to my mother. I think of Bergman, the most famous Swede, and how we meet in this film still. I think of Daniel and my son both stereotypical Swedish-looking children. I think of the meadow, in Sweden a mythical place associated with midsummer. I move the projector a centimetre to one side then I move the camera to a lower position. In the space between the camera and the wall, I am immersed in the projector light. I lower my head and see a cluster of meadow flowers on my hand. I want to move closer and join Daniel and his mother. I reach towards the image feeling the magic of midsummer. I let my fingertips touch Daniels cheek remembering the feeling of baby skin. I enter the picture, comforting my son, comforting me. I do it again. This time with a slightly different camera angle, and again with my body a step to the left, and again with the light from the projector on my neck and my forehead resting on the cool plaster wall.
PhD Researcher and Associate Lecturer
Manchester School of Art