Title: Shroud (2017)
Performance/ Direction: Carli Jefferson / Lunatraktors
Interpretation / Song: Clair Le Couteur
Production : Lunatraktors
Poem: John Donne, ‘A Nocturnal Upon Saint Lucy’s Day’ (c.1627)

  • Carli Jefferson
  • Lunatraktors
  • Lunatraktors
  • Carli Jefferson
    Key Cast
  • Clair Le Couteur
    Soundtrack/vocal performance
  • Project Type:
    Experimental, Short
  • Genres:
    Dance, fantasy, folk
  • Runtime:
    4 minutes 58 seconds
  • Completion Date:
    February 8, 2017
  • Production Budget:
    0 USD
  • Country of Origin:
    United Kingdom
  • Country of Filming:
    United Kingdom
  • Language:
  • Film Color:
  • First-time Filmmaker:
  • Student Project:
  • SWAN Women Artist's day
    Czech Republic
    January 3, 2017
Director Biography - Carli Jefferson, Lunatraktors

Carli Jefferson was born in Essex, England in 1978. Trained in multiple dance styles and choreography, Carli’s professional focus has been on exploring a live performance language that integrates dance & expressive movement, percussion & rhythmics, and performer/viewer interactivity. She has made work for stage and screen, as well as gallery, theatre, site-specific, commercial and street contexts. Alongside her work as a professional choreographer and teacher, her artistic practice incorporates making in multiple media, including costume, installation, sculpture, collage, sound and film.
LUNATRAKTORS are a performance research duo who build resonant spaces. Working between the archive and the stage, they make installations and performances in galleries and elsewhere, produce objects and documentation, and host a range of workshops and events. Weaving together materials from folk music, body percussion, experimental theatre, academic theory, sculptural assemblage, and graphic design, LUNATRAKTORS are anti-category, contra-binary sensible clowns. They search for new solutions to old problems, and old solutions to new ones, finding and making knotted things and stories.

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Director Statement

As I try to consume as little, as little space as possible. The heaviness of your gaze, your gaze on my back. Knowing you desire me not. Desire me not to be here at all. I yearn for a cloak of invisibility to shroud me into not-being. A safe place where I cease to be. Cease to be the object. The object of your resentment.

As my blood boils and surges through me, urging me to run. As the nerve stings, frayed and flared. As I taste my blood and hear my heart pounding in my ears. The synapse won't relent. I am haunting myself. Haunting myself as I haunt you.

As I think to end myself, to end myself to eliminate the oppressive focus of your dissatisfaction. As I lurch for the knife and as you wrench it from my hand, the open window. The sprite who joins me on this teetering edge of states has slyly woven herself into the last thread which holds the fabrics of the worlds together. She smiles and whispers that it won’t work, so I should stop trying. I need to learn to live with this.

This unease is the menace that stalks me now. Slow, clumsy, but chasing all the same as I creep gingerly on. They know. They know that I know. They know that I know that when I finally fall they will scoop me up and silently carry me far away leaving no mess, no trace. Maybe that’s what freedom will feel like