Zachary Goldkind

Listening for the Waves as the Sun Brims an Edge

Zachary Goldkind

Kat Kahn, Kalil Haddad

Revising a manner of seeing: faces - therein, identity - as fluid as waves crashing onto shore. The body as volatile as the materiality of film stock.

Help! I've Fallen and I Can't Fly Free!

Zachary Goldkind

The dream space cries out, vacillating within a nether of rotation. Sometimes it looks as though you might be able to find something new, something else, something other, foreign, new, a private space.

Blanketed//Cache

Zachary Goldkind

Stillness only exists within the reverbs of our awareness. We can wonder what its relationship to the landscape is, but we've first to ask "How many landscapes - and of what - is there to discuss?" ~~ I put a quarter in the broken jukebox and all I got were nostalgic visions and brief provocations.

it's ten o'clock somewhere

Zachary Goldkind

A short, sweet, catchy, aimless, whirling, lurid, and truncated history of an image commodified. An ode to Snow.

Visual Storytelling

Zachary Goldkind

Essay; Documentary; Experimental Video work - a montage of history, both technical and representative, amalgamating with the transient now, as we inadvertently eavesdrop on an invisible plane of communication and tangled language.

And Someone Whispered in My Ear, "wake up, your flesh burns"

Zachary Goldkind

Halle Goldkind, Zachary Goldkind

Both nightmare and dream, alike, coursing down my spine and recalling the red marks of burns residual to the casual escapade of a hot shower that imprints itself — I feel both the run-away vibrations and physicality of my pinkie toe. But when I woke up, I saw three pairs of eyes staring down at me as the fan did laps over my head. And didn’t it feel like something else entirely? And wouldn’t you know, I see it so clear.

2222012

Zachary Goldkind

Zachary Goldkind

How does one intervene with a spectre? The archive is such a vast landscape; one's eyes see everything except the future. But, I can't see my feet, I think I'm falling.

LIFE ON MARS

Zachary Goldkind

Thinking back to when a flash and a blur were the same thing. In a closed box, worn on tape. The past is never, always, maybe, sometimes, surely; and in-between memories is a beautiful agency that not even you can control. I don't believe I'm looking for anything in particular, but what's found is even less confident than what my nightmares insist is absent. The ground is red, rocky and tastes like cake.

a scene as seen

Zachary Goldkind

Down on King Street; Toronto, ON; we observe passers-by.

by Hopper

Zachary Goldkind

cat, Zachary Goldkind

A love triangle unfurls between a boy, his head, and his bedroom window. There's an appetite for the sybaritic, just as there happens a queer light, rock and rolling off the glass. What does the flesh of grass taste like?

23:01

Zachary Goldkind

...look at me and smile I'll understand And in a little while ...take my hand And though it seems absurd I know we both won't say a word

(Another's) Simcoe Dreams

Zachary Goldkind

Zachary Goldkind, Brandon

A retrospective, auto-reflexive film essay on the victims of the filmmaker, their subjects taken under duress. Images wrestling with their own contradictions, doubting the validity of their amalgam. What does 'reconciliation' mean when linked with reproductions? It's all bullshit; a beautiful, affecting bullshit. Nothing has a nicer smell. I cannot help but feel as though I have no place here. Reappropriations of appropriations, lending nothing to recourse except, maybe, unveiling a bit of the violence through translucent positionality. After all, the camera and the gun so often are linked.

חי : revisions

Zachary Goldkind

Thomas MacDonald, Iain McCallum

Apart of the introspective performances we take part in, fear remains elemental in the contradictory cycle of developmental forethought and behavioural proactivity. Yet this fear enables little change, it simply shifts the domineering gaze into a different mode. Generations become blind to one another, their reflexivity, ultimately, falling away into their dreams. Only in the smeared light of phantasmagoria, then, is determinism observed. Hushed fear entraps this inevitability; a voyeur encroaching upon the young.

My Gaze Shifts Down from the Horizon to the Court

Zachary Goldkind

Zachary Goldkind

The transient, the historical, the personal, the geographic - all engaging within an increasingly interlaced relationship, whereupon an act of adaptation intervenes and Joyce is played out through the monotony of spectral clues. Conversation in a patio; long walks to and from; a gaze veers, tired of what it must be accustomed to.