The wind blows through the open window of Anna Nalick’s home. She takes the sunflowers off the clothesline hanging in her family room and leans against the curtain. On the ladder, a second version of her writes “there’s a light” on the wall while Nalick stands in the room.
She lies on the bed. Against an emerald background, the black notes and lyrics appear behind her. She tugs at the clothesline, pulling it to her hips. In the bathtub, she reads a book with a pillow and blanket. She plucks petals off the sunflowers by the couch.
Hands in her pockets, she wanders in her empty, golden lit apartment. A field grows to her shoulders inside. A bird sits in its cage. The goldfish swims in its bowl. Tears fall from her eyes as she sings against a white background. She lies on the floor. Back in the empty, golden-lit apartment, she continues to stand in the shoulder-length field.
Anna Nalick curses to herself. She went over her budget for the month. The photography equipment had put a dent in her savings. She should’ve checked her account balance. It was a habit she needed to get into. It was the last of the money her parents gave her. The apartment was paid for. It was art studio which needed money.
She texts her mom that she needs some money. Her mom replies an hour late and says it’s sent. She checks her account and grins as she sees the amount inside in her account. Around town, she takes down flyers for the studio for rent. She didn’t know who was going to walk in. They might even steal her ideas.
While walking on the sidewalk, she takes photographs. She hopes it turns into something. There was some poetry in her notebooks she could publish. Her parents had a few literary connections. She could send it over to them. As she walks, she sees people rush to to get their lunches and power walk to the office buildings. Shaking her head, she doesn’t know why people don’t track their time. They just don’t care about her work, that’s what her dad says all the time. She slings her camera over her shoulder and walks to the park to relax.
Director: N/A Year: 2005