Imprinting on the archival photographs of Frank S. Matsura, a Japanese immigrant who arrived in Okanogan County, Washington, in 1903, Chan constructs a lyrical, experimental documentary that flits between fact and fabrication. While Matsura worked as a kitchen helper during the day and developed his negatives in the same kitchen’s sinks at night, in the present day, a young woman gazes upon Matsura’s centuried images, reflecting on the disappearance of someone in her own life, her longing for escape, and sights that cannot be documented. While making this work, Chan hand-processed film but mistakenly scrunched it into a ball in her bag while going about her day. The accidental effect, catalyzed by rhythms of the quotidian, is scratched, sonorous, inky blue in hue.
