I filmed this part on Super 8 because I wanted the soft grain and warm colour to make the corridor feel nostalgic, like a memory of walking to class. The slight flicker of the film also adds a sense of time passing. When I look at this shot now, I feel that everyday architecture becomes more emotional when light moves across it. This image helped me understand that my project is really about how light turns ordinary spaces into poetic, “in-between” moments.

Compared to the urban scenes, this frame feels softer and more dream-like. The bluish tone of the sky and the light haze around the branches create a calm mood. It almost looks like a memory rather than a documentary shot. I like how the reflections and highlights merge together and form a kind of visual music. This image reminds me that waiting does not always happen in crowded streets; it can also be a quiet moment of looking at a tree, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. That gentle, reflective mood is something I tried to carry through the whole film.

The lighting here is bright and slightly overexposed, which matches the feeling of a busy midday. Cars, signs, plants, and backpacks fill the frame, so there is no clear centre. Instead, the viewer’s eye keeps moving through the image, just like we keep moving through the city. For me, this shot shows that waiting does not always mean standing in one spot. We might be walking, talking, or carrying bags, but we are still waiting for something — a bus, a message, a future plan. This idea of “moving while waiting” became an important concept for my project.

I wanted to use this process to express emotion in a more physical way. The act of touching the film and leaving traces felt intimate, almost like writing with light and colour instead of words. Each scratch became a sign of hesitation, curiosity, or quiet excitement. For me, this part represents the emotional core of Waiting in Light: the moment when waiting turns from something external into something internal. It is about feelings that cannot be clearly shown through real-world images, but can be felt through texture, rhythm, and light.

Watching Rainbow Dance inspired me to explore hand-made film techniques in my own project. In the final section of Waiting in Light, I painted and scratched directly on 16mm film instead of using digital effects. I created dots, lines, and small bursts of colour to echo the flickering patterns of sunlight. This process helped me understand how physical marks can create rhythm and emotion. Lye’s work encouraged me to experiment more freely and to see colour and movement as a form of expression rather than decoration.

This work deeply influenced the way I filmed Waiting in Light. It taught me that patience and attention can turn simple moments — like walking or standing — into something meaningful. The contrast between bright light and long shadow in A Journey to Avebury reminded me to focus on sunlight as an emotional element, not just a technical one. In my own film, I tried to capture similar natural contrasts, showing how light changes mood and transforms waiting into reflection.

Through this process, I learned that waiting itself contains energy. It is a state of observation, of paying attention to how light changes space and how time shapes emotion. Every frame, even the quiet ones, is full of invisible tension. Making this project taught me to notice the small transitions between moments, and to find beauty in the ordinary. In the end, Waiting in Light became more than a short film — it became a reflection on perception, patience, and the quiet poetry of everyday life.