Early 12 New York Song2012

In the shifting landscape of dirt and sky, excavation and construction merge.

Filmmaker Paul Clipson's underlying attraction to things that elude the touch finds its apotheosis in the translucent thread of the spider's web, contrasted here against the grey solidity of a factory building.

A dual portrait of a florist named John and the highway that surrounds his small shop in Queens. We turn to John and learn about a history that takes seconds to speed by and is easily overlooked.

Technology sees our corporeal existence as burdensome, resulting in the body's dissolution and disconnect from the very ground beneath our feet.

Fall into the underworld, walk, slither, wriggle, fly, burn, and return to dirt.

Sudden divorce spurs a newly single Marjorie to sell her family home of 35 years. We move through, room by room, in this newly made intermediate zone. It is at once ripe with decades of memories and artificially staged for prospective buyers.