I received a Kendama, a Japanese cup-and-ball game, and took it with me into the mountains of Saxony Switzerland. Following paths once walked by Romantic painters, I filmed myself learning the toy amongst the different landscapes.

In a tourist information center, I came across a 3D postcard of Caspar David Friedrich's, Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog. The image stuck in my mind and I became determined to find and film a similar view for myself. What followed was less a historical study of Romantic painting than a series of practical challenges. Finding the location. Hoping for fog. Cycling with equipment up misty hills at the crack of dawn. The iconic image became something to chase, and eventually something to inhabit.

Part of me is very susceptible to the Romantic notion that encounters with nature might bring us closer to ourselves. At the same time, I am dubious of my own capacity to be present when the revelation arrives. Faced with sublime views and centuries of artistic longing, I found myself unable to simply contemplate the landscape. I needed something to do. An object, a task, a series of problems to focus on. The Kendama was simultaneously my medium my muse and my distraction.