the thought of the innermost being

Fish are nightly invaders of my sleep. Work consumes my dreams. Night gives way to another commute; adverts appear before me, their faces drawn tight. The day passes again, and at night, within the walls of my workplace, a fishmonger’s in London, dreams appear again, this time, a grief-stricken reverie, memories of my father.

The film’s title is inspired by Maurice Blanchot’s The Book to Come, which incited my exploration of whether images can capture anything sacred in a world of dispossession. A diaristic, psychogeographic journey through a city that metastasises uncontrollably before me, the film captures a form of alienation that supersedes and confounds the trajectory of grief. What is lost when all becomes gloss?

Jack Jeffreys, director