In the midst of a personal and professional crisis, I begin to film everything obsessively: my parents, grandparents, children, friends, lovers, myself and psychotherapy. Some of the footage is consensual, some is "stolen" and some is footage taken over a lifetime, seemingly with no other purpose than to look at me: who am I? By putting all this material together, the personal-intimate becomes narrative: my recent break-up, my parents' break-up, my inadequacy as a mother. The result is a kind of intimate diary that, in becoming public, is perhaps obscene. But where are the boundaries between what should remain private and what can be shared? Even more so today?
