During Cliff's session, I began to sidetrack myself by visualizing the construction method of my "Blowing Up Blow-Up" project. The main roadblock at the moment is how to correctly render each still so that it implies a space, like a sequence of actions, interpolated by stills that progress through time. For example, if Vanessa Redgrave's character runs across the field and her action is captured by a continuous camera pan, do I stitch together all these frames so that there is a time-based extrusion of Redgrave's character running down the field? Or do I eliminate her all together?
This makes me think about how action relates to space. Action is transient, it is the information in before still moments of being. In a sense, if I were to convey the park's space with multiple, messy extrusions of all the characters' actions, then I have captured a large summation of a motion. It is a moment that spans a larger than expected period of time, but a moment non-the less. If I were to pick one frame of Redgrave, one frame of Hemmings, and one frame of the man with whom Redgrave is having an affair-like relationship, then I have captured a smaller, but more specific moment – which is problematic, since the piece is not about a particular point in the narrative, and my selection of that one moment, if I were to do make a selection, would be somewhat arbitrary (something I don't want to do). Which leads the final option: the removal of characters altogether, which leads to all sorts of issues of the removal of identity through the removal of actions, of time, of the referentiality to the film, etc.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
I want to meet this man
"But I want the lens now to disclose the intensity of human consciousness to us through the intermidary of visual phenomena which are so subtle and so rapid i nature that we have no means ourselves to discover and record them; we are unable to observe them, we simple feel their radiance." (113)
Le Corbusier, "Spirit of Truth"
From "Espirit de verite," Mouvement, I (June 1933), 10-13
"The splendor and drama of life emerges from the truth; and 90 percent of the cinema's production is delusion. It simply exploits a remarkable technical advantage: the elimination of transitions, the easy possibility of suppressing "dead spaces." Thus, it soothes us with images, sometimes engaging ones. And we wait patiently, we wait.
We await the truth."
"The splendor and drama of life emerges from the truth; and 90 percent of the cinema's production is delusion. It simply exploits a remarkable technical advantage: the elimination of transitions, the easy possibility of suppressing "dead spaces." Thus, it soothes us with images, sometimes engaging ones. And we wait patiently, we wait.
We await the truth."
Thursday, September 20, 2007
The deal with Blowup
In extension to my previous entries about Antonioni's "Blowup," here is the project (in the works) that stemmed from it...
When Dave Hemming's character, the nameless photographer, develops his negatives of the part, the first fishy thing he notices about the print is Vanessa Redgrave's eyeline. Despite her intimate ...what seems like an affair...with the elderly gentleman, her attention gazes off screen (off-photo), onto the fence near by. This gaze arouses the photographer's curiosity. So he blows up the portion of the photo with the fence in it, and sees something. He still can't make out the details, so he blows it up some more. Finally, he finds the gun. Likewise, he does it with the blurry mass behind the trees, which turns out to be a dead body.
This is a classic example of how film, 2D in form, communicates 3D space. By placing these still frames of photographs together, the photographer recreates a reality. Similarly, by using photography as a medium as the metaphor for the construction of real space in cinema, Antonioni immerses the audience into a reality generated by the compositional relationship of the film's montage. There is a keeness to "perspectives" at play throughout the film, especially in this scene. We are made to look closer to find more details, to piece together what is there with what isn't. Decontextualized from the rest of the shots, the close-up of the body looks abstract, but woven into the sequence, the space contains a compelling narrative.
With all this said, here is the project that should articulate my points about film space, in specific reference to this film:
I have converted all the frames of this park scene into stills. Through directions of gaze, character interactions, the peculiar contour of the park, its geographical features, and the photographer's depiction of the space through the arrangement of his photographs, I plan to recreate the park sculpturally, by printing these stills onto paper and weaving them together. I will only work with the visual information provided by this scene. Whatever is missing or implied will remain so.
When Dave Hemming's character, the nameless photographer, develops his negatives of the part, the first fishy thing he notices about the print is Vanessa Redgrave's eyeline. Despite her intimate ...what seems like an affair...with the elderly gentleman, her attention gazes off screen (off-photo), onto the fence near by. This gaze arouses the photographer's curiosity. So he blows up the portion of the photo with the fence in it, and sees something. He still can't make out the details, so he blows it up some more. Finally, he finds the gun. Likewise, he does it with the blurry mass behind the trees, which turns out to be a dead body.
This is a classic example of how film, 2D in form, communicates 3D space. By placing these still frames of photographs together, the photographer recreates a reality. Similarly, by using photography as a medium as the metaphor for the construction of real space in cinema, Antonioni immerses the audience into a reality generated by the compositional relationship of the film's montage. There is a keeness to "perspectives" at play throughout the film, especially in this scene. We are made to look closer to find more details, to piece together what is there with what isn't. Decontextualized from the rest of the shots, the close-up of the body looks abstract, but woven into the sequence, the space contains a compelling narrative.
With all this said, here is the project that should articulate my points about film space, in specific reference to this film:
I have converted all the frames of this park scene into stills. Through directions of gaze, character interactions, the peculiar contour of the park, its geographical features, and the photographer's depiction of the space through the arrangement of his photographs, I plan to recreate the park sculpturally, by printing these stills onto paper and weaving them together. I will only work with the visual information provided by this scene. Whatever is missing or implied will remain so.
Pudovkin?
Great quote in Film Language about filmmaker Pudovkin (whom I don't know, but now probably should):
"The isolated shot is not even a small fragment of cinema; it is only raw material, a fragment of the real world. Only by montage can one pass from photography to cinema, from slavish copy to art. Broadly defined, montage is quite simply inseparable from the composition of the work itself." (p. 32)
"The isolated shot is not even a small fragment of cinema; it is only raw material, a fragment of the real world. Only by montage can one pass from photography to cinema, from slavish copy to art. Broadly defined, montage is quite simply inseparable from the composition of the work itself." (p. 32)
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Blowup: The Park
Here is (roughly) the shot-by-shot, position-by-position layout of the park scene in "Blowup," as mentioned in the previous entry:
There is a point to this. I swear. More after 7 hours of sleep...
There is a point to this. I swear. More after 7 hours of sleep...
Constructing Meaning
One of the most amazing scenes in the history of cinema is undoubtedly the park scene in Antonioni's "Blowup." I'm going to spoil the film here in case anyone who has not seen this film reads this. However, this film is one of the rare cases where "spoilage" would not do it harm.
To sum up, a photographer wanders into a park in London to take photographs. He sees, on a field in the park, a flirting couple. He takes pictures of them unapologetically, until the female of the couple notices him, runs up to him, and begs for the film. He refuses, but she persists. Finally, they come to some type of agreement. They part. She runs away into the distance. He takes more pictures of her as she disappears into the field.
This scene would not be so historically important if not for the scenes that followed. The photographer (who has no name in the film) blows up the pictures after developing them because something in the film appears intriguing and mysterious (the woman's eyeline points to somewhere in the bushes). And he continues to do this, until he finds the "truth."
Here are the photos he blows up, placed next to each other in his studio. The film shows these photos filling up the frame, in succession, is if they were in motion, being edited directly into the movie:
What is really amazing about this sequence is how the photographs become not only a metaphor, but also an agent of the cinematic language. As individuals, they are still moments devoid of drama, but together, they acquire the significance of time and logic.
Spatially, this is also a pivotal moment. We see the geography of the park blantantly laid out in front of us, almost panoramically. In film, we are restricted to seeing what is framed by the lens. Every movement (and lack thereof) is intended by the cinematographer and director. This means that what we see generates all the information we should know about that particular moment (and what we do not see should also generate common subconscious responses). Editing provides us with a variety, if not always more information. By placing all the shots together, we paint a mental canvas of the spaces in scenes in a manner designed by the filmmaker. But, as mentioned before, we don't see the whole picture. We are suggested a physical locale, as we are suggested causal actions that take place within this locale, but the information, when it boils down to solid visual evidence, is incredibly fragmented. This film is about the construction of truth through piecing together the fragments, and it is ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT.
To sum up, a photographer wanders into a park in London to take photographs. He sees, on a field in the park, a flirting couple. He takes pictures of them unapologetically, until the female of the couple notices him, runs up to him, and begs for the film. He refuses, but she persists. Finally, they come to some type of agreement. They part. She runs away into the distance. He takes more pictures of her as she disappears into the field.
This scene would not be so historically important if not for the scenes that followed. The photographer (who has no name in the film) blows up the pictures after developing them because something in the film appears intriguing and mysterious (the woman's eyeline points to somewhere in the bushes). And he continues to do this, until he finds the "truth."
Here are the photos he blows up, placed next to each other in his studio. The film shows these photos filling up the frame, in succession, is if they were in motion, being edited directly into the movie:
What is really amazing about this sequence is how the photographs become not only a metaphor, but also an agent of the cinematic language. As individuals, they are still moments devoid of drama, but together, they acquire the significance of time and logic.
Spatially, this is also a pivotal moment. We see the geography of the park blantantly laid out in front of us, almost panoramically. In film, we are restricted to seeing what is framed by the lens. Every movement (and lack thereof) is intended by the cinematographer and director. This means that what we see generates all the information we should know about that particular moment (and what we do not see should also generate common subconscious responses). Editing provides us with a variety, if not always more information. By placing all the shots together, we paint a mental canvas of the spaces in scenes in a manner designed by the filmmaker. But, as mentioned before, we don't see the whole picture. We are suggested a physical locale, as we are suggested causal actions that take place within this locale, but the information, when it boils down to solid visual evidence, is incredibly fragmented. This film is about the construction of truth through piecing together the fragments, and it is ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Ruins of Pompeii
I was walking in the ruins of Pompeii a few months ago. It was late July, during a shade-less afternoon. Pompeii was one of the last destinations of my Italy trip. I have traveled from north to south for the past three weeks, and have seen a lot of good art, but nothing really inspired new work so strikingly as the ruins of Pompeii.
I was glad that all the artifacts were either excavated or looted, because the bareness of the architecture was honest and un-staged. Moving past the roofless walls down a kilometer of streets that were simultaneously anonymous and specific, layers of rooms, common halls, and courtyards shifted past me. I witnessed multiples at the same time, a strange clash of vacancy and society. The rectangles and squares in the walls formed infinite configurations of filmic compositions. It was the highlight of my year.
The next day, I began to investigate precisely why I was so moved. I listed several topics that have always fascinated me and driven me to self-expression. I wrote down in my sketchbook this response:
This real-life cross-section of an entire society is something that has fascinated me since childhood. I was perpetually drawn to it with unexplainable force. As I aged, this attraction has not subsided. If anything, it grew stronger and more complicated. Even now, I am fixated in exploring space, breaks and continuums in space, simultaneous actions within and around spaces, visible and invisible sense of space. I fully recognize my passion, but rarely asked why. It’s been with me for so long. Standing against the ruins, I suddenly began to wonder – it was the first time I have been immersed within a dreamscape-like arena where my usual sense of spatiality was challenged. It has never happened before…where I could so clearly see multiple planes of divisions simultaneously. I could visualize the people that used to possess these spaces moving about, all together, in one continuous web of interspersed strings. The story of the place suddenly becomes about the inter-relationships, the energy of transitions, as opposed to any singular object. The simultaneity of actions triggered by multiple people is a form of calm rhythm.
After this reflection, works that I have never considered personal have become quiet intimate. My film work attempts to describe the conflict between isolation and coexistence. The situation is often mundane, or at least nothing “happens.” The dramatic tension in the narrative exists not in the subjects, but in the physical void between them.
I was glad that all the artifacts were either excavated or looted, because the bareness of the architecture was honest and un-staged. Moving past the roofless walls down a kilometer of streets that were simultaneously anonymous and specific, layers of rooms, common halls, and courtyards shifted past me. I witnessed multiples at the same time, a strange clash of vacancy and society. The rectangles and squares in the walls formed infinite configurations of filmic compositions. It was the highlight of my year.
The next day, I began to investigate precisely why I was so moved. I listed several topics that have always fascinated me and driven me to self-expression. I wrote down in my sketchbook this response:
This real-life cross-section of an entire society is something that has fascinated me since childhood. I was perpetually drawn to it with unexplainable force. As I aged, this attraction has not subsided. If anything, it grew stronger and more complicated. Even now, I am fixated in exploring space, breaks and continuums in space, simultaneous actions within and around spaces, visible and invisible sense of space. I fully recognize my passion, but rarely asked why. It’s been with me for so long. Standing against the ruins, I suddenly began to wonder – it was the first time I have been immersed within a dreamscape-like arena where my usual sense of spatiality was challenged. It has never happened before…where I could so clearly see multiple planes of divisions simultaneously. I could visualize the people that used to possess these spaces moving about, all together, in one continuous web of interspersed strings. The story of the place suddenly becomes about the inter-relationships, the energy of transitions, as opposed to any singular object. The simultaneity of actions triggered by multiple people is a form of calm rhythm.
After this reflection, works that I have never considered personal have become quiet intimate. My film work attempts to describe the conflict between isolation and coexistence. The situation is often mundane, or at least nothing “happens.” The dramatic tension in the narrative exists not in the subjects, but in the physical void between them.
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