It is not as much a symbiosis as it is a transmedial rendering: Ildikó Enyedi employs the occasion of My Fear in My Arms to manifest, in film, through film, the artistic principle that underlies the work of Colin Stetson. The film is made therefore of material that is utterly soluble; through a system of match-cuts, superimpositions, invisible dissolves, motion ramps and footage accelerated, reversed, manhandled, we arrive at a state of radical propulsion. There are indications of a mystery underway, but one cannot be certain. A model in a cap is abound in the nighttime forest along with his pet dog; they pose, posture, walk, effect, depart, enter, exist. It is possible that the film is but an effort in the erection of a complex psychological symbol: there is ‘fear’ in the title, ‘fear’ in the credits, a number of shadows and clear abandonment in its final image—but let us not be detectives. It is enough to think that the model proposed by the Film Festival Gent, to invite filmmakers to use cinema as an expression of music, finds essential fulfillment here. Enyedi and her collaborators create a film that is a torrent of impressions; thus liquid, adaptable, untethered—or as the description of Stetson’s immense abilities with the saxophone declares, “…through a special breathing technique, he manages to blow uninterrupted air into the instrument.” My Fear in My Arms is Enyedi, holding her breath—or blowing it, without interruption.