FAX FILM (30’) starts its long sequence with a shot of a seemingly undefined space. Red carpet and a row of chairs seem to allude to spectators, a mirror to the viewer’s position. Then a sound penetrates the space, a sharp tone before a grunting noise follows. Page after page, names appear before the lens. With a wink to film credits, epitaphs and teletext machine, Myriam Van Imschoot uses the fax machine and the slow appearance and disappearance of names on the transient fax paper to reflect on the finitude and relativity of the name.

“It’s not what is in a name, but what we project onto it.” (Myriam Van Imschoot)