Stop Motion Video

These are some stills from a new video I’m working on.

Experimental Film

On April 24th and 25th I went to the European Media Arts Festival in Osnabrueck, Germany with three classmates on a trip for our Media Writing class. The festival includes videos, film, installations and photography. The work I am going to focus on is the short films. The films ranged from narrative films to films that were entirely abstract.

A few of the films which really struck a chord with me were: Nous (by Oliver Hems, France, 2007) a narrative film about the death of a man forgotten by the world, Contre-Jour (Christoph Girardet & Matthias Muller, Germany, 2009), a combination of film footage from the silent film era, arranged in three sections across a divided screen, which while without a defined story line, has a build up of various emotions, and produced a strong response, and Wound Footage (Thorsten Fleisch, Germany, 2009) an abstract film made using found color footage which had been deliberately damaged and manipulated, and was both beautiful and violent. All of the films which I found to be successful shared the common trait of transporting me out of my own life and thoughts and taking me somewhere I felt I hadn’t been before, while vaguely reminding me of some incident or feeling in my past.

Some of the films at the festival were just badly made, or very hard to engage in. One of my classmates said that he felt like hitting the directors of the particularly pretentious or frustrating films. We all had this; anger at the director for the time wasted on something that had no purpose. “Purpose” is a very open ended term with regards to this festival, given that the subtitle is “media arts festival.” Often the purpose was just to give a certain feeling, capture a moment or to show something beautiful.

Even having limited experience with film and video, I can say that some of the directors did not receive harsh enough critiques of their work while in school, or while presenting their work to others. And many needed to become more deeply acquainted with editing. Just because a video is conceptual, or experimental, or “art” does not mean it should be boring. While art doesn’t necessarily have to have a particular audience in mind, or even be concerned with the audience reaction, it should come from a sincere place, and present something genuine. A film should not make someone who has studied visual art for several years, and thus has an extended amount a patience for anything visually interesting, no matter how abstract or impenetrable, hope and pray that the film will end soon because it is becoming painful to continue watching.

There was one section of several films which seemed to be entirely about trees, or at least that was the common tie. There was very little other content is these films beside footage of trees. Someone explained to me that the Germans are obsessed with trees, and the forest, in the same way that the Dutch are with the sea, which explained the focus but not the purpose behind the films.

People sometimes think that if they don’t “get” art it is because they are too stupid. I think it’s more often that the piece is not communicating with the viewer. It doesn’t matter if the audience doesn’t understand the film, what matters is if they react to it, if they feel something, some sort of response.

I feel like filmmakers and video artists have more of a responsibility to make something that involves and draws in their audience because their medium requires so much commitment.

Film requires focus and time. With abstract art or still images, you can look at it for as long as you want, or just glance at it. The viewer determines the amount of focus put into it. The director of a film, especially at a festival like this, has the viewer almost captive. The viewer gives up their time and their eyes and their ears to this unknown person, expecting or at least hoping it will be worth their time. The audience becomes vulnerable to the director. The director holds the audience in their hands. Film is the most manipulative of all mediums, the most impactful experience after firsthand experience. Therefore directors should give us something worth that trust. Something at least sincere, if the audience is going to open themselves up, so must the director.

One of the other students who attended and I were discussing how interesting some of the videos would be as atmospheric pieces at a club. Where it could be enjoyed with music, amongst people. It would be an interesting tie between the very non-commercial world of experimental film and the entirely commercial world of making people pay to drink and dance in a specific location. Two films which we drew this conclusion from were;  Memory Fades  (Carl Brown, Canada, 2009, 36:00 min), and Trees of Syntax, Leaves of Axis (Daïchi Saïto, Canada, 2009, 10:00 mins). These two films were examples of too long but very beautiful and interesting abstract films would be very suited to an environment outside of a theater.

(For a good example of a film which combines the forest, sincere feeling, beautiful imagery and good editing, see my classmate Laura Oñate Madrazo’s film, made for the Mobile Media class, to be linked here as soon as it is available online.)

Smoking

“Smoking kills,” says a non-smoker, reading aloud from the cigarette package of a classmate. “So does living,” replies the smoker, and lights up.

Tobacco appears to be the main socially accepted escape. In Lebanon you can smoke anywhere. Restaurants, hotels, taxis. One day on the way to the university, I rode with a taxi driver who smoked the whole way, but smoked these very long, thin cigarettes, the type that what are usually marketed to women. He was strong and somewhat angry looking, with thick rough worker’s hands, carefully chain-smoking these tiny cigarettes,  which looked completely out of place in his hands.

You aren’t supposed to smoke on the bus, but people do it anyways. There is a certain desperation to the way people smoke in Lebanon. They tend to smoke constantly, in every situation, before, during and after everything. They drag hard on their cigarettes, and inhale deeply, and smoke them all the way down to the filter. Sometimes they chain smoke, lighting one cigarette off the other one. Smoke breaks during school mean smoking two or more cigarettes one after the other. All social interactions involve either smoking or food, often with the two mixed together.

Many of the students on the trip who were only casual smokers while in the Netherlands took up smoking in earnest while in Beirut. The students who were smokers before smoked everywhere and much more often. It sort of seemed to go along with being there, and besides, there was so much smoke everywhere that you were breathing it in whether you yourself were actually smoking or not. And it seemed to go with the place. And when people were inevitably late for appointments, it gave those who were waiting something to do. The smokers fit in better than those who didn’t.

Dahia Plant Seller

The day before we left Lebanon, we were finally allowed to go visit Dahia, which is an area controlled by Hezbollah and where you are not allowed to photograph unless you have a guide. We had been trying to arrange a visit for a week. We were allowed to film and to take photos as guests, and given a guided tour.

As we were walking though Dahia, we were taking photos of everything as fast as we could, because there wasn’t going to be another opportunity, and especially not in an area where you are normally not allowed to take photos. As we walked around, we stood out more than we had anywhere else during the trip. A little band of people with video and photo cameras, trying to document this area where so much had occurred. We were hyper visible as outsiders in a way we had always tried not to be before. When we were working on projects, we were with the students from LIU, and so never got charged extra by taxi or bus drivers and such, and always had someone to translate for us.

To be honest, it felt a little invasive, like we were acting as if we were going to a zoo to see something exotic. As we walked around, many people would turn away or hide their faces with whatever they were carrying. I would sometimes point to my camera and indicate that I wanted to take a picture, and people would generally run away. I asked our guide about it, and he said, “Just take pictures, don’t ask. If I say it is okay, it’s okay.”

The pictures here are of a man who was pushing a cart through the streets selling potted plants, mostly herbs. He was one of the few who was happy to have his photo taken. He showed us his plants, and said things we didn’t understand, and gave us leaves of herbs to smell.

Then we caught up with the guide and the rest of the group, because we didn’t want to get left behind. If we trailed too far behind, people would get uncomfortable and ask us what we were doing.

Abandoned Signs

I found these signs at the top of an office building near the port, next to the highway. I was taking photos with Nour for our stop motion video, which we didn’t end up using. We were trying to get to the highest possible location to take pictures from, and we were going to ask the people on the top floor if we could photograph from their window. No one was there, so we climbed onto the roof. It was full of these abandoned signs that obviously hadn’t been used in a while.

There is something sort of unsettling about these signs for some reason. They are made big enough that it is clear that they are meant to be seen from the road. There was obviously effort put into making them and they must have served a purpose, but now it is impossible to tell what they were for or what they said.  They just sit up on the roof of this unremarkable building, close to the port, exposed to the elements, slowly rusting away because no one bothered to throw them away, or find another use for them. It’s not that they are particularly special; it is just indicative of the way that many things get left behind, lose importance. Things are meaningful when they are useful, or if they gain sentimental value. And they lose their meaning again when they no longer serve their purpose, or no longer connect to that particular emotion that caused them to have sentimental value.

Maybe these signs were once for an earlier purpose the building had, and when first put up indicated a new pride in the business, or a better sign than what had hung there previously, indicating hope for better business, more customers, maybe a new management, or a renovation. The signs had to be planned out, color, size and font decided, made, transported and installed. And later taken down. And left. So many things in our daily life happen in this way; planned, considered, produced, briefly noticed, forgotten. This is the way it works. But what about planning in a place where things are unpredictable? What is the point, for example, of making eye-catching signs if no one is going to look at them after being distracted by the instability elsewhere in the city? What is the point of planning at all, saving money, getting an education, preparing for the future, when things are so uncertain?

Maybe behaving as if we have no idea what is going to happen is wise. Then we will be less shocked when things don’t happen as expected. Maybe this sort of thinking makes much more sense than acting as if everything we do is a step in a very particular direction, a new stone in a straight path. Much of what we do doesn’t take us anywhere specific. Our the results of our actions teach us lessons, or don’t, and give us experience, but in the end, even in the most predictable of circumstances, there is always something that comes up. Something that deviates from the well-laid plan. Often, we just find that things are not how we expected them, do not live up to our expectations. Sometimes, even when everything goes exactly as we’d hoped, we still change our minds about what we want. And of course disaster can strike at any moment; the death of loved ones, fires, destruction, crime, war, natural disasters. And smaller things can also throw plans off course, hearts can be broken, or breakdowns can happen after which things which seemed important before no longer are.

Nour

This is Nour. She is a student at Lebanon International University in Beirut. We worked together on two video projects in the ten days I was with my Mobile Media class in Beirut.
My first thought when I saw these two pictures was that these pictures really capture how she is. She is very outgoing and has a very bubbly personality, always talking and laughing, and rarely sits still. She is very small but has something very strong about her, people listen when she talks and she doesn’t lose arguments. But then as I looked for a bit longer, I realized that it is impossible to capture a sense of movement or an indication of someone’s way of interacting with the world in a photograph. Or at least I am not yet capable of doing so.

Photos only capture a passing moment, so therefore only capture passing emotions. So it is hard to say whether they actually capture anything true about a person. Whatever emotion is most outwardly present in someone’s face or posture at the moment of the photo is what gets recorded. So saying a photo captures who someone is really doesn’t make sense after all. At the same time, and this is especially true with older people, the emotions people most commonly express make an impact on how their faces look at rest and on what expression they are most likely to have at any given moment.  People’s most common movements and manner of carrying themselves also begins to show over time as well in their postures. Nour is a dancer, and you can see that her posture is perfect is every picture, even ones where she is relaxing.

So while a portrait of someone doesn’t capture them completely, it can often capture a facet of their personality, as well as give clues to how they carry themselves most commonly in their lives.

Island Fever

People who move to Hawaii, who are not originally from an island, often get “island fever” after a few months. People say they have to get off “the rock” and get restless because they can’t easily just leave for a bit if they feel like it. They want the option, even if they were never the types to spontaneously go on trips when they lived elsewhere. People would say they felt trapped by being surrounded by so much water.

Growing up, I always felt sort of comforted by being totally surrounded by the ocean. The ocean was always there, always more or less warm enough to swim in, and everything beyond it just seems infinite. It felt like I could keep swimming forever if I wanted to. Looking out at the ocean, it felt like there was always the option to disappear if I wanted to. Like I could always escape, but beyond just escaping, there was the feeling that I could just dissolve into nothingness if I wanted, just go out towards the horizon and keep going and going. There was nothing to stop me, no obstacles.  Everything was open, all possibilities realistic. If you go close enough to the ocean, or go high enough into the mountains, you can see the horizon, with nothing else between you and it. Because everything is so far away, it feels as if you can go wherever you like. Nothing is too insane. Leaving the islands to go somewhere else is already requires crossing a huge amount of ocean, so anywhere else is almost like a different world. Every place away from the islands feels equally distant and strange in some way.

I find myself feeling trapped whenever I am not close to the ocean. When I know I am surrounded by too much land, I get a feeling of mild panic. Like I can’t get away if I need to. As if something is trying to hold me down. Like I am struggling for air. Being too far inland just feels wrong. None of this is logical, but it is also impossible to fight. I feel most at home in or near the ocean. Something just falls into place.

(These photographs were taken in Beirut)

Winter at the Island Dairy Farm

I am currently doing an internship where I go along on interviews with dairy farmers. The interviews take place in the areas around Leiden, and I help document the interviews for later use in a play and an exhibition about the subject. I usually photograph while another student films the interviews and the surrounding environment.

The first interview I went on, in early February, was during a really cold period, and a lot of the canals and smaller rivers in Holland were frozen. The dairy farm we visited was on a small island that only contained the farm, a home, and a few out buildings. The day we came, the ice surrounding the farm had been broken, but hadn’t melted. The farmers said that before the ice had been broken, they had to walk across it to get to the shore. And there was also a period of time where the ice was too hard to break but too thin to walk on, so they couldn’t leave. Usually the only way to get to the island is by boat. They have a small boat for transporting people and a large one for supplies and things for the farm.

There is a certain amount of isolation inherent in living on an island, but especially on such a small one. You have to rely on your own abilities and supplies are limited. You have to be willing and able to face things alone. When the majority of your life-home and work-are contained on a tiny area of land your world becomes so much smaller.

Being on an island means that you are tangibly separated from the rest of the world. Even though this is also true if you live at the edge of a large desert or next to the mountains, there is something particularly isolating about being surrounded by a large amount of water. Maybe it’s the fact that you need something besides your own body to be able to leave. If the land is farther away than where you can swim unaided, or if the water is so cold that swimming in it is not possible, then leaving requires some outside means. And that makes you separate and contained.