When I was 8 my father passed away suddenly from a stroke. He was only 50 and a celebrated poet, loved and revered by all those who knew him. His death did not come as a shock, not to me at least, but not in the usual way in which a family member will have reoccurring health problems or behaviour which we all knew would eventually lead to their deaths. No, instead, it was his paranoia and his constant stress over phantom health problems that caused it to be less of a shock than it should have. It was almost as if he had a premonition that he would die young and always spoke and wrote about this notion in his work. Funnily enough his friend, the poet Don Patterson, commented on this aspect of my fathers writing too and wrote about it in his book on my dad titled 'Smith: A Reader's Guide to the Poetry of Michael Donaghy. He wrote a poem shortly before his death, an eery shakespearean free verse about a father who continues to haunt his son long after his death in every day reminders and sentimental objects ; He titled it "Haunts". One day while searching his old laptop I found a collection of short videos that I and him had made when I was quite young, simply titled "Hello". They were funny and nostalgic...but among them were a collection of slightly stranger, more unsettling videos. These other videos didn't feature me at all, just my dad, his face solemn but loving, concerned, and at times creepy. In each video he approaches the camera slowly, and says in a gentle voice "Hello?" as if he was reaching out, searching for me, haunting me. How could he know that I would find these videos, it felt as though they were left for me to find and intended solely for me and me alone. This inspired me to make this video. The first 7 videos are family videos, full of love and joy... but then there is a pause, a long pause, sudden and pitch black. This is followed by the haunting clips of just my dad which are each in turn separated by a stretch of darkness, symbolising time, symbolising his absence in my life, and mine in his. It is only in these short blips that he returns to me, on the battlements of my signature or darkened shop front where my face shocks itself into a mask of his. And to him, I am also gone, and this idea is what haunted him too, long ago. And he is searching... and finding... and affirming... and consoling.