An aperture germinates to an embryonic, alien light. It pulses from inside your eye, growing and stretching, understanding light and translating darkness.
My film Oculus visually ties you to the optic nerve, this umbilical cord, you are forced to feel and hear the distorted outer world solely through a tunnel of light. The sound, an aqueous submerged barrier, has a bassy vibrational frequency.
The camera’s perspective shifts to the outer, warm, glowing membrane, morphing within a black void. The optic cord stretches out and an X-ray-like cornea and lens become visible.
The eye closes and the after-image of bright light is left behind, marked on the screen’s retina. The sound fades outside, the soft blowing of wind on grass. Back into view, the alien orb is being pulled apart, severed from the comforting light before plunging into darkness.