Joseph Wallace

When I was 7 years old, I was obsessed with washing machines. So much so that I wanted to be a washing machine repair man. I'd spend the evening watching the cycle, and all the clothes spin round. My mum didn't mind, it saved money on babysitters. One day the machine broke, and a repair man came out to fix it, and I was fascinated. Seeing the inside of this machine, all the neat componants hidden by its white aluminum shell, gave me an early dose of reality. This was no magic trick. A few months later, our VCR chewed up a tape, and so we unplugged the machine, loosened the screws and, again, removed its cover the reveal its shiny technical underbelly. I was quickly getting the idea; everything had a surface, its own illusion of magic. A year later, while watching "The Witches of Eastwick" with my mum on home video, I questioned why we only saw certain moments in the characters lives. I asked her why we don't see exactly how Michelle Pfeiffer gets all her kids ready for school, in the same way me and my sisters get ready (we just see a brief establishing wide-shot of the morning run). She said: "because the director doesn't think that's important". "Who's the director?", I asked innocently. She replied, while simultaneously sticking photos in a family album, "the director makes the film and chooses what we see". That hit me, and sunk in quick. The film, just like the machines in the house, had a shell, and in that very moment I discovered what I wanted to do. I no longer wanted to repair washing machines, I wanted to go in closer to the film and choose what moments of life are important to me. But, if all else fails, I still have washing powder.