How can a person know that he has moved? His laptop stays put. His own proportions remain pretty much the same. The new time and space dimensions are, for the time being, theoretic fog that slowly permeates the bones, but does so secretively, completely under the conscious radar.

I discovered a way to wave a flag of semi-awareness in the midst of the fog: buildings-yoga. Well, it's more like a staring contest, but I guess the former just sounds better. Here's how it goes: I look at the building. I look long and hard. My look becomes a stare. The building stares back at me. I glance at the sky. Repeat.

Both Hannah & Her Sisters and Caro Diario feature masterful buildings-yoga. Each has its own blunt scene which exercises it: in the first, the sleazy architect is responsible for it, in the second - the director-protagonist himself. My favourites are the shots in which the frame is completely awash, to the point where it becomes sort of a graphic screen-saver.

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Hannah & Her Sisters, 1986

Caro Diario, 1993

This way, we bow to New York.

We bow to Rome.

Here, my exercising in buildings-yoga can take place in the streets as such. The fronts hit your eyes like Tetris bricks, but somehow it doesn't hurt, it's even comforting in its harshness. Someone made these bricks, they are designed to be thrown right at you. I embrace this impersonal dedication.