At the outset of Brice Bowman’s Sand, the frame of the rephotographed home movies that furnish the raw material for his film appears shunted slightly towards the lower right quadrant of the screen. It is a harbinger of the spectral, mesmerizing experiment to ensue, alerting us to the uncanny sense of loss that comes with the recovery of private documents. Here, the medium of film is adapted to the format of the family album… in this case one that is scavenged from an estate sale, a flea market, a rummage store somewhere. To the vaguest sounds of beach-goers and ocean waves, we scroll and scan, sift and sort—turning slowly here, flipping more quickly there—through a humble catalogue of past lives and forgotten places, in all their affecting, comforting anonymity and triviality. (Greg Cohen)

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