An intelligent, analytical woman stands by a window waiting for her husband to paint her. An artist, his narcissism newly affirmed by recent success, tangos with someone other than his wife.
Both ponder the varieties of the ecstatic creative experience in their own way. Both, in their time, take action, moving further and further from the other. A film is made.
The first feature-length drama directed by a black American woman since the 1920s could've been a watershed moment, instead it is under seen and overlooked.
Six years after making it, writer-director (and poet, playwright, civil rights activist, educator) Kathleen Collins would die in her forties, too young, leaving us this one feature and a short film she made prior.