One rotational floor movement, recorded at thirty frames a second and taken apart. What follows is not a film. It is twenty-nine positions and the darkness between them.
A photograph cannot record movement.
It records a position. Then another. Then another. Everything you would call motion happens in between — and the in-between was never recorded at all.
Persistence of vision does the rest. Hold two near-identical positions close enough together in time and the eye refuses the discontinuity, inventing the travel between them. Cinema is built entirely on that refusal. So is this page.
Twenty-nine plates survive from one hundred and forty-one recorded frames. The movement in between was real, and is gone.
For one hundred and sixty-seven milliseconds, nothing here is known.
