SummerStage: Valerie June + Shorts

In a late night conversation, a daughter asks her mother how to be a person. As they talk, the woman thinks of an old lover. Seasons change and memories accumulate without relief.

Late at night in a small Turkish town, a young couple tries to find a hotel room to spend the night together. They are rejected from all hotels for not having a marriage certificate. Once they believe they’ve found a trick to use, the situation gets out of hand.

I will never forget the first time I found my mother’s wedding video. There she was, in her wedding dress, the camcorder held close to her veil. A pan to her parents—who sit there stoically by the hotel room window—then a quick pan back to the mirror. I’ve never seen her do a self-portrait, she passed away before selfies, and in these 3 small seconds I felt her presence. I replay that part, over and over. It’s her! Holding a camera. Capturing, loving, feeling. I can only hold onto her image—but what separates us except time and space? That is the question that has been haunting me ever since.