New York

Roger Welch

John Gibson Gallery

Dear Roger Welch, 

Your film Welch turned me from a hard-bitten, young, New Yorker into a cry baby. The freeze shot at the end of your mother’s and father’s heads smiling into the camera—your father forty-five years older than when the film started—was so powerful and poignant I felt very moved. Your Welch is not only educating, entertaining, stimulating, but above all moving. Which is saying a lot. Within a Puritan art ethic there is the mistaken notion films and videos have to be full of “art” (jumpy spots and split screens ad nauseum), devoid of emotion, and dull to be meaningful. To my cry “Thank God for Wegman,” the recent humorous saving grace of video, I can now add your name as the poignant one of film.

Welch, as your blurb tells—a 1 1/2 hour collection of vignettes taken from 50 years, 5 generations and 20 hours of home movies of your family—is not only a fascinating social document,

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