A granddaughter visits her grandmother in her house in the country, her grandmother is close to 100. We never see the granddaughter, as she is the one behind the camera, and we only see the grandmother fleetingly, moving through the shadowy interiors, gathering herbs from the vegetable patch to make tea, watching a mantis perch on her hand. But this is as much a portrait of her as it is of the space she inhabits, although we never see the whole of that either, just carefully selected fragments in compositions that play with focus and shade: knick-knacks and trinkets, photographs, textures, glimpses of sky through the window, ants, butterfly wings, resting pigeons, a wasp nestled in her palm, the fur of the last remaining dog.
Sounds ebb and flow through this hushed bestiary of the everyday, the voice of the grandmother talking in voice-over of family, spirits and canine reincarnation, the noises of the places in the photos, the television blaring in the background, the different layers of rippling silence that reassert themselves when everything else goes quiet. How do you capture a whole life in just 20 minutes? By listening to its echoes in space.