Letters
Letters to Fragments is a space for reflection and comments – write to a maker, the editors, other viewers, or even a fragment itself! If you’d like to send us a letter you can email it to editorial@fragments.video
January 2026
Dear Fragments readers,
Same as you, I’m a regular reader of Fragments, and it’s an honour that the editorial team invited me to write this first letter for the journal. I would like to share some thoughts and feelings with you, and call for potential communications (with me, the editors, and all the other people reading or contributing to Fragments!), in a “fragmented” manner.
I like the idea that “Fragments is a way to capture and celebrate the videographic experimentation that might otherwise never see the light” in the manifesto. As a PhD researcher in the audio-visual field, there are always some ideas of trying new filming and editing methods, or to make a video about social and cultural observations in my mind, but most of the videos that applied those ideas will be invisible on any platform. In particular, both industrial and academic standards require “completed” films or video essays. Instead of seeking attention, compliments or benefits, the purpose of getting these experiments seen is communication: from knowing others’ experience and knowledge shown by their feedback, these ideas can potentially develop into something with more depth and significance. Therefore, this lack of motivation has been a major barrier for me to capture the ideas by practicing, or to share experimental films developed from these ideas. Fragments, however, provides that motivation. From the nature of the works in the past 3 collections, I can feel that many of their makers had the same struggle as me: where can I put this video to make it visible?
In many of the academic conferences and colloquiums about creative practice and audio-visual methodology I have attended, “creative”, “innovative”, and “rebellious” are constantly mentioned – exploring non-traditional methodologies to combine arts and academic research has been one of the major agendas in recent years. At several events I attended, this emphasis was particularly striking. One keynote speaker questioned the very category of “creative practice” by challenging its distinction from “art”, while a peer delivered part of her presentation in the form of a poem. However, except for the calls and conceptions for these events, the mainstream of academia still keeps to the old routine: writing with sophisticated language and rigorous academic logic. For me, Fragments is a rare practice challenging these traditional academic standards, and encouraging bolder creations. Instead of gatekeeping, Fragments presents an inclusive attitude and eases institutional pressure of contributors by recognising the significance of “unfinished” and “ongoing” works, diminishing importance of logical coherence, and eschewing peer review.
From the language perspective, editors use friendly, non-judgemental tones in the comment part of every collection to communicate with the readers and contributors, encouraging actual multi–end dialogues. To my surprise, while I was expecting something more complicated, the manifesto was clear and concise with simple wording, and the editors successfully conveyed the conceptions of Fragments precisely within several lines. It is also worth noting that I like the idea that there are no rules on contributors’ statements, making them vary from formal and thorough explanations to a mysterious sentence. All these unique factors distinguish Fragments from other videographic journals, and make me feel like I’m browsing an online gallery instead of reading something academic, while the content still reminds me of its academic nature. Therefore, on the basis of what the editors said at the beginning of the 3rd collection defining Fragments as “a site for experimentation, play, and the messiness of making”, I would add “a fine place between arts and researches”.
I would also like to mention and leave comments for my favourite fragments in the past three collections.
Green screen Template (An increasingly heated & snarky dialogue) by Colleen Laird & Dayna McLeod, collection 1: To me, this is the most refreshing idea I’ve seen in the past collections, because the voice and perspective of this film are so unique. Either we like it or not, most video essays are viewed or discussed mainly within researchers, but in this film, we hear a voice from an outsider, a sage endowed with “the most profound knowledge and absolute rationality” – AI. Although I would take “their” opinions about these two types of video essay in the film with a pinch of salt, it’s still interesting to see the image of video essays from the perspective of big data, and reflect what we made the video essays look like on that basis. The editors put this film at a thought-provoking position: second in the first collection, resulting in it becoming a “ghost” in my mind when I was watching the video essays in that collection, and even the next two collections – I kept thinking about how “they” debated around explanatory and poetic modes. This practice also reminds me of an urgent question: Who does the authorship belong to if the content is made by AI?
Cheezit Timeline by Benedetta Andreasi, collection 2: I am sure I would not have found the video as engaging if the filmmaker’s laptop had been working and the piece had been edited according to the original plan. From Benedetta’s description, her research field has little overlap with mine, and I would probably have skimmed the video essay with limited understanding if it had been presented as a split screen of four actual film excerpts. Instead, Cheezit Timeline invited me to imagine what the missing footage might look and sound like, which I found both engaging and enjoyable. I do wish Benedetta can make the video according to her original plans, so that we can compare them with our imaginations! Similar to Stabbing a wet bag of Wonderbread repeatedly with a butcher knife by Philp Józef Brubaker in collection 2, rather than providing the information on the screen, Cheezit Timeline evokes imaginations out of the screen, which I believe echoes to the core conception of Fragments: de-emphasise meaning-making while cherishing inspirations.
There are so many other films I liked, but due to space constraints, it is not possible to list them all. Generally speaking, Fragments has become a place where I can get food for thinking in a relaxing way. However, if I have to say what I’m unsatisfied with in this journal, it will be that the multi-end dialogue encouraged by the editors is not active yet – come on, there is a comment area in each post, and they are almost empty! So, I’m writing to be the one who gets the ball rolling — and I hope others will join the conversation.
Kind regards,
Leo
Qinran (Leo) Wang is a PhD candidate studying at the University of Birmingham. He is dedicated to researching on refugee, migrant and human right issues using innovative and practical audio-visual methodologies. His PhD thesis aims to deconstruct the “Humanitarian gaze”, a silencing function commonly existing in current refugee documentaries, by an experimental audio-visual work. His research and video essays have been presented in different conferences, and the video essay “the humanitarian gaze in refugee documentaries” won the Honourable mention in the videographic criticism genre at the BAFTSS 2025 annual conference .