Mike Puican
30 Seconds
It doesn’t have to make sense. It just has to sell
product. You’re not the same person
you used to be. Why are you using the same
shampoo? The actress practices her lines
as they apply her makeup. Down the street
a woman put stones in her pockets and drowned.
Dryer sheets become spring rain, ready-to-bake
desserts are cookies in the oven at Grandma’s,
floor cleaners: pine forests. Over time the lines dissolve
like voices blurring to a steady hum. A couple argues
somewhere down the block. A funeral procession
turns the corner singing “Amazing Grace.”
The focus group told us: too much lather, not
enough conditioning. It’s not what they expected.
Neither is this. You start with a clear line of action.
It becomes a story but not the one you want. We let
the mourners pass, then return to the shoot. Bring more
lights, we’re losing the sun. Someone cue the pigeons.