This layman, T. C. Chew, has been (and is still) trying to make sense of his works & journeys to the people around him, since he entered and returned from The Zone (with pink lights) in 1988. but the harder he tries to be vivid & honest with his thoughts, the more inaccessible and/or self-defeating his works become.
he encourages his faithful observers to invest their precious brain juices in his works for another 2 decades. a few years ago, he was lost (again) in the texts of The Bhagavad Gita, Tarkovsky’s Sculpting in Time, Bresson’s Notes on Cinematography, Deleuze/Guattari, Artaud, Sontag’s The Pornographic Imagination.
lately he almost burnt them all in his trash bin, along with his boxes & bottles of risperidone & fluoxetine. he is accepting the fact that his films are neither commercial nor artistic. they are most probably best suited as unlisted video clips at some eternal spot in the cyberspace.
a self-appointed “montage engineer” since his early adventures in filmmaking. after a decade plus of experiments, he wanted to make money thru filmmaking. so he started making intense love with Narrative. only to realise later that his seeds are neither earthling nor alien. he freaked out big time and ran away into the mountains. during his spare time he grudges against many things & people.
then one day a cute little terrapin crawls and rests gently on his left foot. as he spends days and months observing the little one grows, his pains as a failed filmmaker (including self-consoling genres like “art” & “experimental” films) begin to subside.
he’s now left with only one, the “personal cinema”. because this is one poison that kills slowly, his faith in filmmaking begins to rekindle. to protect himself from all the poisons that he’s survived in the city & mountains, he decided to called his works Lesser; not knowing his days as a filmmaker are seriously numbered.