balaena, an 8 minute film by Alessia Lupo Cecchet, opens with the image of a beached whale, waves washing over its flukes. The film includes both footage of the actual whale’s body and also sculptures of the whale, formed with painted fabric. The whale is also represented in needlepoint, surrounded by animated fiber waves. We see a small group of onlookers examining the whale sculpture, which is lying on the ground at a bus station. The layers of paint and fabric have a complex, compound texture. The real whale corpse, covered with barnacles and caked sand, has a similarly complex texture.
People on the beach come by, to examine, prod, and photograph the body. One woman in a red dress (Mariana Imaz) is seen repeatedly, contemplating the whale. She is fascinated by it. She seems to be trying to comprehend the life and death of an animal which is so large, powerful, and beautiful, an animal reputed to have intelligence, language and culture. She functions as a stand-in for Cecchet, an artist making sculptures as her way of understanding the whale. The subject of the film is equally the whale itself and our human reaction to it.
In a striking setting, blending elements of 17th century, 19th century, and 21st century natural sciences, we see three people in hazmat suits, carefully prodding and measuring the whale sculpture while surrounded by etchings and photos of onlookers. The woman in red is present too, taking notes on her phone, observing the three observers. It’s like a compendium of analytical, science-y ways of confronting another life-form. (The scientists are also apparently star-struck to be seen with the animal’s corpse, and they stop to take a group selfie with the whale.)
In the end, the woman walks away with her sculpture, leaving the dead whale behind. Art, like science, is incapable of fully bridging the gap that separates us from other species, as well as the gap that separates us from the dead. We end up left with our own artistic interpretation. We will never fully comprehend what it is to be a whale. The artistic gesture is sublimely human, showing our limitations, and our striving to transcend them.
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