WHEN THE EARTH SEEMS TO BE LIGHT

Young Georgian skaters, artists and musicians feel trapped between the powers of the church and the political world. They create their own open spaces beneath viaducts and at other “non-places” that lend themselves to romantic notions of a free existence. Questions are posed to them about God, love and freedom, but these boys would much rather just be skating – for many of them it has grown into an obsession. They may be unfazed by painful falls, but narrow-mindedness really gets to them. One of them was bullied because of his hairstyle, and he explains that Georgians simply won’t accept people who look different. Many of their friends share their bleak vision of their country. The way they see it, Georgia is all about the old rather than the new. They get no acknowledgement here, so they spend their evenings throwing Molotov cocktails at a concrete slope. Their tattoos are “a diary you can’t escape from. You tattoo what you feel; what’s important for you at that moment.” The portraits of the skaters are based on a series of photos by David Meskhi, one of the three co-directors. This impression of their daily lives is intercut with news footage of demonstrations in Georgia.