The liminal space among artwork, artist and target audience takes an unexpected, beautiful and haunting shape in Scott O’Connor’s masterful Zero Zone, which brings to light the intangible thoughts and feelings swirling around an interactive artwork installation in the desert.
Jess wasn’t continually the artist in her family; her brother, Zack, was. But after their parents’ deaths, their California aunt teaches Jess to use artwork as a manner to navigate and comprise her emotions. Jess is going to art college and falls in love with a fellow student, at the same time as Zack retreats into an underground movie scene. Jess’ art explores mild and area, and as she attempts to create an ambiance for her internal struggles, she discovers room to empathize with others’ troubles, too.
Then one among Jess’ installations, titled “Zero Zone,” becomes the placing for a showdown among viewers who refuse to leave. Police are known as to the scene. Similar situations threaten to copy themselves years later, and Jess must decide whether or not to behave as a distant artist or in a new, more worried manner.
The chapters shift like a digicam lens focusing for the shot. Early chapters take a wide ranging view of Jess’ troubled past. Middle chapters 0 in on her works of art and comply with the tales of the young humans concerned in the standoff at Zero Zone. Final chapters click on past, rapid-fire, as Jess’ story collides with those of the Zero Zone audience.
Zero Zone celebrates burgeoning girl relationships, such as the ones between Jess and her aunt and among the girls who see Zero Zone as a haven. In contrast, risky relationships with charismatic men tint the story with an eerie hue. An intimate experience of artwork from the interior out, Zero Zone raises questions about to whom art belongs: its author or its recipients. Untangling the internet of solutions makes for a tantalizing inquiry.