Geistė Kinčinaitytė Lithuanian, b. 1991
Her image-making practice is defined by encounters with the eerie - something that can be described as stepping out of the comfort zone — whether of the self, human, habit, habitat, or milieu — and an alertness to a yet-to-be-identified presence. Kinčinaitytė’s visual practice is based on self-perception, exploring different environments and reflecting upon the concept of humanity as a whole.
“The Pool” (2020) is a video essay, loosely based on the short story of the same title. This work is the result of a collaboration with writer Elaine Tam, and experimental composers Simon Allen, Jan Hendrickse and Sandro Mussida. The culmination of a long-standing fascination with themes of hospitality, belonging and alienation, Kinčinaitytė uses image-making to draw out the mesmeric charge of naturally-occurring phenomena: bodies of water, barren lands and interior cavities.
Provenance
The Pool
1
A disappearance into the deeply set ravines
2
carved out by erosion over the last ten million years.
3
Perhaps vis shared the same quest:
4
a trembling body of water
5
to relieve this unprecedented
6
if not supernatural
7 heat.
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These moments of complete solitude, exposed
9
to the harshest elements
10
remind me
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that the natural world asserts itself in an omnipotent
12
alien apathy...
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It manifests its ambivalence in all possible inter-worlds -
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it belongs to all living beings and to none.
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Only the sublime threat of annihilation
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reminds us of our lowly place
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in the ecosystem of something still more grand.
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I had already once heard of it in my lifetime
19
in 2004.
20
The slip of tectonic plates
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a colossal undersea landslide reverberating as earthquake
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drawing water away from the coast.
23
It flexed before making a prophetic return
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a deadly gush approaching the shore
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extending itself
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producing an unreality we can only use the imaginary of numbers to describe.
27
You see
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the shore is divided in its very outline
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there are effects of anchoring
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collapsing at the edge
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strategies of approaching
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overflow...
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That is why we look to the horizon in wait for another coming.
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Take me away
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deliver me to myself.
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The oceanic,
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lap me up, enfold me
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roll me beneath you
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then slink away.
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Newly discovered footage had been released in the springtime of 2018
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elucidating the mating ritual of Fanfish Seadevils.
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The female Seadevil’s planet-like size
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up to half-a-million times the weight of the male
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makes for a cosmic landing when he engages her
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in what is described as parasitic sex.
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The tissues and circulatory systems of the two fuse,
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and he feeds on nutrients received through her blood,
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his face mostly dissolved
49
unable to free himself
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he fertilises her eggs as she requires.
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The Other
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that to which my most basic sense of existence
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sense of Self
54
must cling
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idles here between ancient rock.
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It’s not speechlessness
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not that which is still lacking words,
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or a sort of ineffability that does not merit interest from language 59
but the most splendid of quietudes.
60
In it I sensed the latent possibility of infinite worlds
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writhing beneath its skin.
62
These holes like dispossessed orifices
63 sinkholes
64
ever-extending like geological history
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or the relentless passage of time.
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To be with you...
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What is it to have a knowledge with the other
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and in the other
69
the other’s knowledge with-in me?
70
An impregnation of rumbling intensities, a valve
71 widening...
72
The breach of the Other —
73
a sublime pain
74
yet a most precious
75 transformative
76 gift.
77
What more are scenes of love
78
than a vomiting and excreting
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in which the body attempts to escape from itself
through one of its organs? I thought, 80
of these excavation missions grinding us both down.
81
Ashes to ashes,
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dust to dust.
83
How easily we confuse the cause of desire itself
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for the object of desire as an end.
85
A certain red is also a fossil
86
drawn up from the depths of imaginary worlds.
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The colour in my eye
88
is as old
89
as the song in my spine.
90
I follow the last wave’s recession
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deeper — deeper — deeper
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The drip ticks out the seconds
93
the source of a stream along which the minutes flow.
94
The image that captures
95
cannot contain you
96
within, your breast is a sea
97
that draws me to its bed.