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A melancholic breeze evokes ghosts of memories once believed lost in the rooms of memory, faint emotions on the keys of a piano, echoes of friendly voices in the next room, melodies perhaps only imagined emerge from gray drone dust and timid field recordings.
Black and white frames suspended on the infinite wall of time, capsules of emotional stillness akin to the personal world of William Basinski. A world connected with a magical thread to the spheres of memory, managing to give them infinite moments of new life.
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