Rob Trumbour
MFA ’18 Fine Arts Low-Residency
A while back, my daughter was fighting with herself to eat, and I wasn’t sure she’d win. She was 17. When I learned what her weight had become, I went out to a rock wall and picked through the stones until I found one that was an exact match. I carried it until I couldn’t. Around that same time, I read in a physics book that work is defined as exerting energy in a positive trajectory. Effort, however, can be the same force but with no movement at all—like trying to push your car out of the snow. Sometimes you get out; sometimes, no matter what you do, you’re just stuck.
This piece features a single 16mm, three-minute shot pushing that stone in a straight line for one hundred feet. The distance of travel equals the length of film; both are one hundred feet. The film is cut into parts and arranged chronologically in sixty columns. A lens moves along the path of travel, pausing for about four seconds over each frame as it drops downward. At the end of each column, the lens returns upward, moves to the right, and drops again. The total duration of this piece is an eight-hour workday. I often wonder about the work we do and what we carry while we do it—to feel fulfilled, to earn a living, and sometimes just to make it to the next day. Sophie won that fight; she’s 27 now. I keep the stone to remember the work.