Metronome h/c back

A room. A man. A fan.
A fly on the wall.
The seconds tick by on a metronome.
Viscous fluid rises in the lava lamp; coffee drips to the floor.
There is a photograph of a woman sitting on the piano.
What happened?

When I first saw the 17-minute flash-animated version, I wrote, "It's like the pumping of your heart: so demanding, almost threatening, yet totally compelling. It plays with your desires, your expectations, your aspirations, your delectations... yet half-way through the heartbeat loses its echo, and what was once reflected is reduced to a staccato, violent insistence. As a graphic novel, it will be awesome, but as a piece of multimedia animation (for that's what it is online with each frame replacing the other) it's haunting, harrowing, and enough to make you want to hit someone. Take that appalling irony as you will - it's the gut-felt truth."

This is the graphic novel. As a square, 16-panel paged graphic novel (4 panels wide, 4 panels deep) it remains equally disciplined, but becomes something else as panels combine to form larger ones, and you're given time to interpret them, to join the dots. But that's your job, not mine.

Can you say "ligne claire"?