The Lost Films is a series of nine untitled films, from late 1980s through to 1995, which are photographed and/or painted, sometimes painted-over photography-and are in sense that, across whole period of time, I could not manage nor imagine any way to pay for printing them. Finally a C.R.C.W. University of Colorado sabbatical grant allowed me to them out of the lost drawer in my office, string them together chronologically, and send them on to Western Cine labs. From late '80's on I've had to determine which films of my working would, when finished, be printed. I have exercised strict discipline that such publication would entirely depend upon whether or not I had sufficient money available at time any given film was finished. These films, then, happened to be put into the lost drawer by economic (rather than aesthetic) determinants. They were, for a while, then, deliberately forgotten by me so as not to depress me and therefore suppress possibilities of my continuing work, and are, now that I'm enabled to bring them to light, a collection of many surprises to me as well as a collective surprise: they share a quality that supports term in more than one sense, which determined their collective title-an emphemerality of being extraordinarily appropriate to term films..a quality which seems, in a variety of ways, given over to unconscious, elusive to distinguishments of logical conscious appreciation. I have noticed, over my entire film-making lifetime, that every now and again a film of mine seemed to exist, vis-a-vis audience attention, in such a way that only a few viewers would remember it at all, even immediately following program in which it was introduced-an existence none would mention save in vaguest terms, nor would ever acknowledge or critique in print. My natural supposition was that these films were weak in some way, perhaps even defective; but then I did begin to also that defects in more memorable films of my making, even works (such as Anticipation of Night) quite crippled by error, were thoroughly critiqued, immediately and ever after. I finally came to sense that there were some films which just naturally seemed to slip past any easy consciousness of most viewers and to, thereby, lodge (perhaps hide is a better word) in (dare I say collective?) unconscious. I too would tend to forget them, or if I did remember them it was very much as one would make special effort to protect or to socially nurture a neglected child. I began to take notice and to study these shy films (as they began to seem to me), these works which seemed unusually buried in themselves not obscure in any particular way, nor weakened by excesses of my solipsism, but rather formed as if of fold-over patterns, or close-foliating forms, eschewing usual evolutionary tactics of a continuity art. They seemed, as I viewed them again and again, to tend to exist in mind as if everything of them, in them, were happening all at once! I began to re-study music of Anton Webern, much of which I'd always heard as if listening to a mobile sculpture-always, yes, turning, evolving, never same in each round, clearly existent in time continuum, ever suggestive of infinite juxtapositions in space, yet always memorably audible (as a mobile is visible) in entirety. I re-read Sigmund Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, concentrating particularly on those passages which establish that dream content is most often prompted by daily sights and incidents little noticed by prospective dreamer. It is our daily peripheral vision which often provides sights that seed night brain. That which is overlooked (midst a daily scheme of continuous sightings) seems better enabled to activate unconscious and, during sleep, act as a catalyst for dream release of repressed memories: these memories come then, according to Freud, in disguises which, once noticed, yield not only repressed experiences but symbolic reference to cause of such repression. …