Aesthetics of Dislocation

Ivan’s woman (2011)

Chilean director Francisca Silva’s feature, Ivan’s Woman, is a dark, chilling portrayal of 40-year-old Ivan and his 15-year-old captive, Natalia. When Natascha Kampusch was kidnapped in Vienna at the age of 10, it wowed the world by the paradoxical relationship that was generated between her and her abductor. Inspired by this story, Director Francisca Silva brings us her opera prima - Ivan's woman.

Since she was a little girl, Natalia lives captive in Ivan’s house. Though Ivan plays a dominant figure over Natalia, she accommodates the present situation of her life in order to live and they live like a family. Everything changes when she has her sexual awakening; the kidnapper’s power begins to weaken. Ivan begins to show his desire for love and a woman’s companionship. The house is transformed into an amoral theatre of war, in which Ivan and Natalia struggle with each other, exchanging love for freedom. With the young woman's coming of age, they find themselves acquiring a new level of intimacy. Spurred on by their isolation from the world, closed limits of captivity and most importantly the extinction of moral values, the movie is a wonderful fusion of love, lust, freedom and companionship.

Filmistaan (2012)

Directed by Nitin Kakkark, Filmistaan succeeds as a movie about the magic of movies, with their power to unite audiences who breathlessly take in the sights and sounds of another world. The movie projects the life of an aspiring Indian actor who has been abducted and a Pakistani who smuggles pirated Hindi movies. The idea of co-existence is undeniable in Filmstaan, where kidnapped Indian production grunt Sunny bonds with his Pakistani captors over their shared love of Bollywood. The movie transcends to the human relationship beyond the borders of geographical and political differences

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The Awkward Silence of the Enchanting Chasm

“Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.” Have I forgotten you? I don't like the way you faded into oblivion. Your glorious absence marveled at the absurdities of my life. Even the last remnants of your weird sight and smile create a whirlpool of the past and a hurricane of madness deep in the abyss of my conscience. Everywhere, in every form and matter, I see your dust. I teach myself to forget you and move ahead. The chaos of your story in mine is the absence of your existence in time-space. I weave each and every layer of your story so that I can tell my son, one day, how I survived on my own. I wonder whether it was your light or the shadow I painted, mostly in Prussian blue. They will hear the echoes of the deep enchanting chasm on my chest. I keep it echoing on my chest, so that I might tell my son on the shores of infinity that I had a story to tell.

Knowing

I know this: I am also a repetition. A continuation of forces older than my name, patterns that moved through generations and found their way into me. I do not carry them as burdens alone; I carry them as proofs. What has been tried before me did not end—it arrived. And I stand where it converges. I have never been lost—only moving through complexity. I have questioned, delayed, circled, cried but never diminished. Even when direction dissolved, something steadier than certainty kept me upright. What others call confusion was often preparation. What felt like stillness was alignment in motion. I was not failing to become; I was becoming without spectacle. There were moments when desire thinned, when the world stopped asking for urgency. Not emptiness—clarity. Noise fell away. False appetites dissolved. What remained was gravity, and gravity always tells the truth. I learned then that not everything needs to excite in order to matter. And so the world narrowed—not into loss, but into gr...

Ruth: The Epilogue

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The Ballads of Gravity

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