Eternity

There's a fine line between the terrestrial and the cosmic in Anastasia Melikhova's short film, Eternity. The shimmering figures that open the film could be stars, galaxies, or will-o-wisps. Absent any grounding context, there's no way to recognize the scale, whether we're looking across light years or into the microscopic world of a single droplet. All we're given is that captivating shimmer, with its entrancing glimpses of gold.

If there is an answer, Melikhova isn't keen to reveal it. The figures arrange themselves into constellations and flowing rivers, abstract patterns and breeze-rustled brambles. A glowing crescent could be a reflection of the moon on the water's surface, or a flower petal gently floating downstream. In refusing to distinguish between celestial bodies and earthly landscapes, Melikhova connects them into a single, boundless eternity.

In Eternity's last shot, the inky blackness of its backdrop dissolves away, leaving what appears to be an ocean at rest. It's a peaceful shot, and a static one compared to the constant movement of the rest of the film, but it doesn't feel like a resolution. It's hard to look at that ocean expanse and not picture the unknowable vastness of its depths, the life that dances beneath its surface, the endless streams that feed it. Even in stillness, the promise of eternity remains.