Drift is an exploration of escapism as a means to cope and seek relief from an unfortunate reality. Blurring the lines of what is real and what is imagined, the video follows the trajectory a character in three different manifestations grappling with their sanity and struggling with their inner demons.
From the Editor:
In the Apiary 9 call, we asked our readers to consider the notion of sanctuary, asking such questions as "What is your sanctuary?" "What is safety?" "Where and how is sanctuary built?" "What does one need to hold together a cohesive sanctuary?"--questions which center around this idea of sanctuary as the act of building a sustainable safety, a stability-of-sorts, a sense of sense-making.
At the same time, we need to remain mindful of which peoples, which bodies, are in need of sanctuaries, or whose sanctuaries are specifically targeted by apparatuses such as the police, ICE, the prison-industrial complex, systematic poverty, patriarchy, neoliberalism, and neocolonialism. It is in this intersect of community and history and system that we can begin to see the person as sanctuary, the individual as a safe space. And in this same vein, we must also recognize that the human person may collapse inwards, that their state of embodiment may unravel, that one may wake up not knowing where trauma ends and they begin.
Eva Wǒ and David Amado's spectacular film Drift considers this vision of the body, the human person, as sanctuary, simultaneously exploring the act of (re)discovering one's body and perceptions, and the act of dissociation, of falling back, of isolating, working to create a vision of sanctuary within the act of finding sanctuary. Drift shows us that a sanctuary is not simply a place--rather, a sanctuary is the meeting point of the tactile and the ideal, the perceived and the sought. Sanctuary is where theory and practice become localized and tangible. Sanctuary is not a still-life, but a nigh-organic being of its own.
We hope you find this piece as inspiring and powerful as we did, dear readers. We hope you find joy in Drift's beautiful fluidity of form and environment. We hope you find solidarity for others in Drift's subtle trauma. We love you, and we look forward to reading of your sanctuaries.