Tova Mozard’s works elicit the uncanny feeling of cinematic conflation and collapse. They’re like stills straight out of dreams you can’t remember, surrealist, hallucinatory, at times slightly comedic in their implausability. They all, somehow, seem to deal with mortality, what lays behind the curtain, absence, death, the supernatural…there is a haunting Lynch-ian tendency that I like too
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Tova Mozard
