One star burning out does not extinguish the light of the constellation. Where many may see separation between the personal and the collective, the student filmmakers included in this program, I didn’t hear the wind echo, create and strengthen connections despite an assumed polarity. Through the use of mixed media animation, archival footage, as well as the essay film format, these films act as stars in a constellation—a constellation that illuminates the film space with a more holistic, well-rounded approach to storytelling that refuses a singular perspective or narrative. One does not exist without the other. Individually, they are points in the sky. One is no more important than the other. I didn’t hear the wind echo features imagemakers who unpack the intimate and the power or significance of landscape through shared themes of sight, translation, and memory. The struggle for memory and translation spotlights the need, the desire, for memory-making through reflexive documents. It recalls Lucille Clifton’s 1988 poem, “why people be mad at me sometimes”: they ask me to remember but they want me to remember their memories and i keep on remembering mine. In this poem, Lucille Clifton breaks the idea of certain memories and, like a constellation where single stars in communion create an image, blurs the individual and the collective. Her words highlight how we make and unmake ourselves with both what we hold ancestrally and what we know through our experiences. Her poem prompts us to ask: How do we learn about each other and how do we learn about care? The films in this program continue this line of questioning: How might the personal archive undermine greater, collective freedom? How does that process of personal-history-making show us the limitations of memory? And how can the camera—and by extension, filmmaking—be a part of an artist’s journey through memory? (Curated by Nala Haileselassie)