Wheresoe’er I turn my view, All is strange, yet nothing new; Endless labour all along, Endless labour to be wrong; Phrase that Time has flung away, Uncouth words in disarray: Trickt in antique ruff and bonnet, Ode and elegy and sonnet.
“Our white rectangle is not “nothing at all.” In fact, it is, in the end, all we have. That is one of the limits of the art of film.”
Hollis Frampton | “A Lecture”
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