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Lydia Lee's Rough Cuts

As I walked down Smith Street from the F train, I tripped into a slowly blooming crowd of people, realizing I’d arrived. The sun hadn’t yet set and an orange glow hung with reverence. People floated in and out of DAE’s open door as final touches of the event’s set up were executed to verbal din and the sound of ice hitting a cocktail shaker. 

 

The interior of DAE, mainly white, with worn wood and silver accents, was operated like some designed sailboat by Lee and close friends as they adjusted lighting, sound, and spools of wire. Lee’s choice to hold the screening at DAE was intentional: she “wanted to find a space with an undefined function,” to align with her curatorial ideology. As I watched her scale chairs and tables to install equipment, I was reminded of Olaffur Eliasson’s 2003 installation, The Weather Project - with its exposed hardware used as a statement of acceptance that the work was first unassembled equipment, requiring human intervention to be born. This honesty in functionality breeds tranquility; a realness that can be sited by the origin of Rough Cuts as an accidentally viral YouTube video. 

 

This past February, Lee hazily uploaded a video file called Rough Cut  to YouTube and went to bed. This file was a film she’d shot as a way to study the experience of growing up in New York City. A work she’d considered unfinished, it was only uploaded to create a public hyperlink for her website. Though Lee questioned its public accessibility, she didn’t fret much because she had 0 YouTube videos or subscribers. By morning likes and comments were already stacking, internet embrace she’d never predicted. 

The simultaneously guarded, but candid narratives unveiled by real individuals Lee met in her adolescence drew relatability across online viewers; its undecorated truth refreshing. Monologues divulging distinct circumstances intercept each other before too much information is revealed. A reflective account of teenagehood in New York City is pieced together with each line, the now young-adults helping each other along as a conglomerate. Shot against the backdrop of their respective settings, they are united in past pursuits of autonomy, privacy, finding comradery, and learning to discern what should be chased and should be run from.

 

Rough Cut occupies a micro corner of truth - in pixels online, and now also as a communal evening IRL. Lee explained that she was “curious to see what would happen if consumption was slowed down - going from YouTube video to a place like DAE.” Her retroactive leap of faith, to trust anyone who clicks to navigate a vulnerable narrative, especially one that may feel “unpolished, or just let go of too quickly,” is the nature of Rough Cuts itself. The accompanying five films explore a similar truth through different modes of rendering and proximities to the fourth wall. Lee felt it “important to include New York native artists,” and stories surrounding queer culture, subculture, and similar themes of adolescence to Rough Cut. She welcomed new viewers while still dedicating herself to offering native New Yorkers a sense of grounding - something that nodded to shared histories, honoring them, without being overly nostalgic. As one friend reflected, the evening felt like a quiet convergence of past and present - an evolved version of people she’d seen her whole life, held gently in one room.

 

Lee’s sincerity in constructing an evening of group witnessing was reflected by attendees; soft conversation wrapped itself around friendly laughter and banter between films. It seemed that all felt the elegant and raw weight of a shared memory forming in real time. And as I walked home, I felt a warmth in growing up.

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