This film came out of a very small space, both physically and emotionally. I made it almost entirely in my living room, with no budget, limited equipment, and a lot of time and patience. The process felt a lot like the subject itself: slow, repetitive, breath by breath. It reminded me of a quote I love (which is, funnily enough, from a Life Time Fitness ad): “What you do with your time is what you do with your life.” Fortunately, I consider this a worthy use of both.

The film is ultimately about time and attention, about how life passes whether we keep track of it or not. What do we do with the time we’re given? How much of it do we measure, and how much do we live inside? Is there freedom in letting go of the count, or comfort in holding onto it?

Because the film was made so close to home, in every sense, the process was shaped by whatever (and whoever) I had around me. My boyfriend and roommate, the only person I had constant access to, naturally got the lead role. I hand-drew over 2,000 frames on my iPad (which did ultimately lead to carpal tunnel) and combined rotoscoped animation with stop-motion miniatures, building a little world in just a few square feet. The magic of animation!