At one point, [Robertson's] three-year-old niece dies from heart problems and Robertson's intense in-the-camera confessional up-ends all judgement: "Emily died and I'm having a nervous breakdown." Her filmmaking has a central importance, not only recording her life but fuelling it with the allure of creation and possibility, and quelling the panic of the quotidian.
Robertson's cat, back in 1981, rolled blissfully, extended to her limits, in the warmth of the ground's sun-patch. The camera panned spontaneously from this unrestrained ecstasy to spring's flowers nearby, just beginning their bloom: a moment of observed daily joy, and also the most powerful of yearnings from she who held the camera.
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