Because we don’t know when we’re going to die, we can think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything only happens a certain number of times, and a very small number in fact. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon from your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even imagine your life without it? Maybe four, five times, maybe not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Maybe 20. And yet it all seems limitless. —Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

Vanishing Line stages these particular images that Paul Bowles talks about, on which the flow of life stumbles. The video captures of some of these moments slide across the surface of a horizontal screen. These images are placed randomly under an observation camera that broadcasts them on a second screen as a cinematographic continuity. On this screen are condensed the hatching of time, the decompositions of notable moments of the “film” line of life. Often, the camera re-films the images that it has just captured. The resulting “feedback” process causes a degradation in the quality of the images, evoking the process of erosion of memory and finitude.