Letter to Paul

Contribution to Light Cone's 40 year anniversary publication
*Below I'm including a slide show, as well as a snapshot of Paul that are not part of the publication.

Dear Paul,

Time is so strange, isn’t it? Some things that occurred years ago seem present as if they happened yesterday, and other, more recent things feel like they happened years ago.

Remember that moment when we ran into each other on the New York subway in Brooklyn? I’ll never forget that. It must have been in October in 2009, right? Was that really after our Moscow excursion together? I could have sworn the train ride was before Moscow, but my archive proves me wrong. Moscow was in June 2008.

Anyway, we were headed uptown, to Lincoln Center, to show our films at the New York Film Festival. We were both nervous as hell and had our hands crossed so hard that the knuckles turned white. We spoke of the worries, the things that could go wrong, of the sleepless nights before. We told each other about how we turned into basket cases each time before the premiere of our movies. After that, we would laugh and tease each other about who was more nervous. I think I’ve gotten much better since, I don’t get that crazy nervous anymore. But I always think of you before the premiere of new work. I think of you often.

I miss the conversations we had about films, music, art, books, about our thoughts and processes around making film, about love and life — whether at the Lone Palm bar in San Francisco’s Mission District, at a greasy spoon in New York, or a Croatian restaurant in Zagreb…oh wait, speaking of food, Lena!! Wonderful Lena—the love of your life. You know I’m more of an Asian foods person, but when I think of Eastern European, especially Russian food, I fondly think of her old school kitchen wizardry. Good food connects people, and she’s so good at connecting through food. But of course I don’t need to tell you that.

You know that I never like to reveal much about what I’m working on, I used to say that if I speak about it, I won’t do it…almost to a superstitious degree. You could relate, even though our films were so different. And we laughed when we realized that we had influenced each other…after watching our films together, usually at the NYFF, or at ATA. I know that I’ve used shots of a mantis, a moth, and a butterfly because I saw so many spiders and flies in your films. So every time I introduce an insect, I consider it my “Paul moment.” Remember when you suddenly realized that you were shooting extreme close-ups of eyes after watching my work? We were happy about these more obvious impacts, and thought it was healthy to admit the influences that directly or indirectly shape us. That it’s a beautiful thing, a kind of self-awareness of the own process and development.

I loved observing how you really honed your cinematic craft, each film more ambitious and intricate than the last. It always looked so effortless, so easy. But the in-camera precision? The razor sharp focus, the intricate superimpositions, the rhythm, the rich colors? I think with each film you pushed yourself more, each one was more complex, clearer…virtuouso. Those who knew you, sometimes laughed when you suddenly, frantically took out your Super 8 camera and dashed back to wherever you needed to shoot something—with that intense focus of yours. Often it looked like you were shooting into nothingness, into empty space, which for the onlooker felt odd or funny. But of course you found poetry in the most unexpected places: sunlight shining through a leaf, street lights reflecting in a puddle, a tiny spider hiding behind a structure. In your mind you were already layering, weaving and editing your lush and vibrant films—and I think I’m not the only one who wondered how you knew exactly how much you needed to rewind your film to create those in-camera double- or multiple exposures, textures and compositions.

But my favorite memories, of course, are the nocturnal walks we took, in Moscow and in Berlin! Moscow was epic!! How many times did I tell people about that experience? We had a traditional (quite heavy) Russian dinner, and then bought Vodka in a supermarket (of course Lena knew exactly which ones were the good ones), and we walked all night through the cold early summer. That was the time I learned that vodka not only keeps you warm, but it also has an invigorating effect, a little like coffee. What a way to explore a place, its psychogeography, to learn about its Soviet and Post-Soviet history, laced with personal stories (mostly by Lena). We were out until 8 or 9 in the morning, having criss-crossed the city on foot! When I was in San Francisco for the two year memorial screening in your honor, a bunch of us went on a hike together. Lena and I talked about the walks again, and we vowed we should plan city walks together, in your memory. Sadly, the pandemic hit soon after, and long distance travel seems frivolous now. I hope we’ll still do it, though, at some point in the future…Lena, Fara, the ATA family, and whoever wants to join.

I miss you. You are on my mind at least once a day as I look at a film poster of yours in my kitchen.

Much love,
Sylvia

Snapshot of Paul, Zagreb, 2011