Loto Retina takes us to les Bagues, in France. As idyllic a European mountain range as you can imagine. Tiny towns in short valleys; smatterings of country houses; stone churches that look to be built right out of the side of the hill that holds them. Rolling mists. ‘Grottoes’, or caves, holding innumerable textures in their deep, deep bellies. Growls, plonks, something like the torn voice of a bird. A ripped and terrifying echo. But is it only scary because it’s dark and cold? How deep does it go? Are those ripples the side of a stone face, or a heavy velveteen sand? Will a dropped pin sail forever? Could that be a water sloshing so far below, or perhaps a pool of milk, ancient and untouchable, where depthly creatures go to feed and bathe and grow?
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