Touch (2012–2013) / & photography collage

Posted on September 29, 2015 by

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touchI just discovered Tim Kring‘s Touch (TV series, 2012–2013). I think it is one of the few movies that connect science, religion and fairy tales. Also, it is VERY well written, because of its writers this TV series is this beautiful. So, what I want to do now is to take some lines of the character Jake (in the movie he is autistic and never says a word, only at the beginning and the end of each episode), from the script (you can read all of them here), and add some of the photographs I found since my last post here. I hope you enjoy it!

Ivy Wong

Photograph by Ivy Wong

There’s an ancient Chinese myth about the Red Thread of Fate.
It says the gods have tied a red thread around every one of our ankles and attached it to all the people whose lives we’re destined to touch. This thread may stretch or tangle, but it’ll never break.
It’s all predetermined by mathematical probability, and it’s my job to keep track of those numbers, to make the connections for those who need to find each other the ones whose lives need to touch.
I was born 4,161 days ago on October 26, 2000.
I’ve been alive for eleven years, four months, 21 days and 14 hours.
And in all that time I’ve never said a single word. – Touch (2012–2013, s1, ep.1)

Photograph by Sara Garsia

Photograph by Sara Garsia

There are three million species of animals living in the tropical rain forests, and one of them, the red fire ant, lives underground, under constant threat of annihilation from flash floods.
Nature doesn’t care.
If a species wants to survive, it has to prove it deserves to.
When the floods come, the fire ants hold on to each other, creating a living raft that can float until the water recedes.
Months, if necessary.
(animal bleats) So how does a species figure something like that out? Instinct? Trial and error? Was there one fire ant who was being swept away by the rushing water and grabbed on to another ant, only to find that together they could float? What if you were the one who knew what needed to be done but you had no words? How do you make the others understand? How do you call for help?  Touch (2012–2013, s1, ep.3)

Photograph by Mike Garlington

Photograph by Mike Garlington

The first transatlantic telegraph cable was made of 340,500 miles of copper and iron wire, designed to stretch 2,876.
95 miles along the ocean floor.
Once the cable was in place, you could use electrical impulses and signal code to send any message you wanted to the other side of the world.
Human beings are hard-wired with the impulses to share our ideas and the desire to know we’ve been heard.
It’s all part of our need for community.
That’s why we’re constantly sending out signals and signs.
It’s why we look for them from other people.
We’re always waiting for messages.
Hoping for connection.
And if we haven’t received a message, it doesn’t always mean it hasn’t been sent to us. – Touch (2012–2013, s1, ep.4)

Collage by Kommissar Hjuler & Mama Baer

Collage by Kommissar Hjuler & Mama Baer

In spite of all our communication technology, no invention is as effective as the sound of the human voice.

When we hear a human voice, we instinctively want to listen, in the hopes of understanding it.

Even when the speaker is searching for the right words to say.
Even when all we hear is yelling, or crying, or singing.

That’s because the human voice resonates differently from anything else in the world.
That’s why we can hear a singer’s voice over the sound of a full orchestra.
We will always hear the singer, no matter what else surrounds it.  Touch (2012–2013, s1, ep.4)

Painting by Agnes-Cecile

Painting by Agnes-Cecile

490,000 babies will be born today.
Each of them unique.
And each one of them a link in the greater human chain.
And the moment their umbilical cord is severed they will become an individual with their own hopes, dreams and desires. But, in fact, each one of us is actually made up of a dozen systems which, in turn, comprise 60 trillion cells, and those cells house countless proteins, DNA, organelles.
What appears to be an individual is actually a network.

Each one of us is, in fact, a living, breathing community, but it doesn’t stop there.
Why would it? Every individual hope you harbor, every dream you retain, every desire you fulfill has an impact far greater than you can imagine.
At least that’s how it looks from where I’m sitting.
 Touch (2012–2013, s1, ep.5) 

Photograph by Kris Van de Vijer

Photograph by Kris Van de Vijer

89 degrees, 15 minutes and 50. 8 seconds.
That’s the current position of Polaris.The Northern Star.
Viewed from another planet, it’s just one among many.
But on Earth, it’s uniquely important. Fixed in place, an anchor.
No matter where you are in the northern hemisphere, if you face Polaris, (phone ringing) you face north.
You know where you are. But there are other ways to get lost.
In the choices we make. In events that overwhelm us.
Even within our own minds.
What can be an anchor then? What beacon can we turn to to guide us from darkness to light?

What if it’s other people? The lives that touch our own, in ways big and small?

Because unlike Polaris the light that they bring will never fade.  – Touch (2012–2013, s1, ep.6)

Photograph by Chen Wei

Photograph by Chen Wei

Numbers are constant. Until they’re not.
Our inability to influence outcome is the great equalizer.
Makes the world fair.
Computers generate random numbers in an attempt to glean meaning out of probability.
Endless numerical sequences, lacking any pattern.
During cataclysmic global events– tsunami, earthquake, the attacks on 9/11–

these random numbers suddenly stop being random.
As our collective consciousness synchronizes, so do the numbers.
Science can’t explain the phenomenon, but religion does.
It’s called prayer. A collective request, sent up in unison.
A shared hope.
Numbers are constant, until they’re not. –  
Touch (2012–2013, s1, ep.7)

Photograph by Anne Locquen

Photograph by Anne Locquen