Russian people are passing before us during an endless train journey in winter. We lose ourselves in their speeches, gestures, faces, eyes. Anecdotes turn into admissions. Memory invades the compartment and seizes the empty spaces of the present. The train continues through the snow, cold and grey fog… An infinite film existing somewhere between the ephemeral and the eternal.
Russian people are passing before us during an endless train journey in winter. We lose ourselves in their speeches, gestures, faces, eyes. Anecdotes turn into admissions. Memory invades the compartment and seizes the empty spaces of the present. The train continues through the snow, cold and grey fog… An infinite film existing somewhere between the ephemeral and the eternal.
Stéphane Breton
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