Thursday, April 23, 2015

Film Assignment Part 2, more research


In this particular part of Matthew Barney's master work, I found myself as pleased as I would have hoped, even considering my high expectations. It feels like it has a budget extremely grand for a single person and yet minuscule compared to a Hollywood production, so yeah, basically an earth work. The long filmed takes become something tangible like pulling taffy, it's as if the camera is attached to a mechanism that doesn't just witness an event but actually is part of how it physically unfolds. He makes film subservient to sculpture. 

From the opening sequence where a vague slice opens up into a bleeding monogram (logo?) it ignores what many associate with film today, editing to make perspectives disappear, a barely challenging game of a narrative that is meant to be pieced together, and a score and sound effects that are emotionally manipulative. This film takes that combination of time and subject matter that is the realm of sublime film and only uses 2 tricks for the entirety of the film, camera movement such as crane shots or zooming out and crescendoes of sound to build up anticipation of the action on screen. This simplification of what makes film 'magical' allows the viewer to get caught up in the living breathing diagrams that can be made out of honeycomb or buffalo or the properties of frozen water.  Everything becomes unbearably tangible but only viewable from a necessary distance. There are moments as if Matthew Barney is slowly bringing his hand across your thigh, reaching in such a way that he can graze between your legs and get a little bit of your cheese to help finish a sculpture he happens to be in the middle of making. It makes me appreciate that Matthew Barney doesn't use smells to express his kind of genius, because we would all be in a world of insanity if perfumes became his new obsession instead of drawing restraints.

His strengths as a director with a particular style in mind comes through in two particular scenes. The first is a triple frame slow pull out where you first see bees partially covering the Cremaster Cycle logo, which I have always assumed was a reference to the floor plan of a church. It pulls out to show the delicate audio balance between the calm swarming of bees to a very consistent, but hard-core drummer playing exactly what I think I would hear if a hardcore drumroll were to be  attempting to play an infinite song. This tempered endurance pace leads to the third and final reveal, the low guttural screams of a faceless (again hardcore) lead singer, covered in bees. At first I thought this would be too Richard Avedon-esque, but instead it feels more dirty like A Scanner Darkly. The drummer then seems like he's got the good end of the deal, at least he might only have to deal with a few escaped bees, but in between the sound booth filled with bees and the recording studio with all the sound boards and equipment and bees, the polyrhythms this drummer swirls up is actualized as a kind of acoustic glue that brings together all of the noise into a complicated intuitive sense of order to the sheer quantity of possible bees and sound.


The next breathtaking moment is when you see the artist himself ready to mount a bull in character as a serial killer. The foreshadowed context is that we are perhaps about to witness a spectacle, some form of corporal punishment. But it beautifully turns the energy into a farce where the animal handlers are able to make the bucking best come to a rest and the serial killer cowboy seems to melt into the beast as it metamorphoses into something that appears to be made out of felt. 

The real heroes of this film are not the makeup people behind the prosthetics, the graphic designers, the chemical engineers or the lighting assistants (I saw the Cremaster 3 in the Guggenheim first, so everything becomes compared to the first encounter I had with Matthew Barney's work and these definitely were major strengths) but I must tip my hat to whoever was involved with scouting locations, the solid use of sound design especially with trusting one person to handle all of the music and a nuanced use of logos and corporate brands that will need further explanation as well.

It may not make much sense, but considering that this was finished in 1999, I feel like this work is firmly situated amongst other art and artists in the 90's/early 2000s that were in a way doing their own take on Pop Art in the sense that the use of corporate imagery is meant to imply that large corporate entities should be understood as cults and implicitly related to all violence, potential or otherwise. When this phenomenon comes up in other artwork from this period perhaps it is didactic like Ron English or Vik Muniz or appropriating it's design-y sense like Shepard Fairey or Josephine Meckseper. But what's great about the decisions made in this part of the Cremaster is that just the right amount of tension builds up, and it feels much more about the journey(s) than the resolutions or even continuity for that matter.

The image of a dead gas station attendant with a vintage good year logo behind him is wonderfully morbid, and striking in how it seems impossible to do something like that today without seeming like it's trying to say something too obvious. But because the Good Year blimp and other icons appear strategically vague in his other films it does reach a convincing mythical status. A Ford Mustang represents exactly what it is suppose to represent as if it is somehow as timeless (or fixed?) as bees and mountains. The same goes for his use of what I believe are top of the line snowmobiles and all the shoes are Prada (at least according to the credits.) The American flags seem like a bit much, but at least some of them were digital (as were I assume the Mormon chorus). And how else can something scream 'Mormon' in any other place other than the credits?


The film felt more daring than striking, more nuanced than a spectacle, more bored with luxury than clever product placement. This is a work that deserves all the benefit of the doubt that it can get, and that's because it's restrained compared to what I have heard has become the major talking points of his other films (which I have yet to see) but that it is somehow a spectacle of an artist with all the money in the world (and at the time married to one of the most amazing musicians, Bjork) and that it's a visual encyclopedia of everything gross one can imagine, but the dialogue seems as absurd and stupidly necessary as seeing Gary Gilmore's tiny prick. The film makes you guffaw more than a few times, and when it's all over an overwhelming sense of dread re-emerges that was there the whole time. Remembering that in between this film and the next, 9-11 happened.


Film Assignment from Rachel for me

I told Rach that I was struggling with trying to figure out my art practice in LA. I asked her if she could make me an assignment because I missed being in school and deadlines always help.

This is what she e-mailed me. I'm working on this at the moment



Top Five Films and Two in the Bag


What films/videos of any genre would you place in your top 5 films of all time? Once you have named and gathered these films, watch them and take note of the following:

Why would you choose these films? How did the artist capture your attention? What relationship did the artist cultivate with the viewer? What filmic techniques did the artist use to engage you in the work? What genres do these films fall in to? What is the point of the film? (i.e. does the artist want you to grapple with the subject matter? What tensions –in the plot, duration, etc.-maintain the film?) What content does the video maker address? To what ends are they using this content matter? How were the works funded? Were there many extras? A crew? Or was the work made on a minimal budget? How would you make something similar? What kind of budget would you need and how would you raise the funds? Is the artist in the film? In what capacity are they in the film? In other words, what role do they play in the film?

Once you have listed your top 5 films and teased out why you like these films so much, look up similar directors/artists and schedule dates to view the work. Try to view 5 new films –writing up similar reports as to why you connect with these works—by April 1st.  Make sure to keep a detailed account of why you like this work.
In the meantime, deadline May 1st , you should have created two three minute videos that encompass some of the elements you like from your favorite top 5 films. Do not worry so much about content, but try to play around with very basic reactions to these works that you might want to try and mimic. Is there a scene you wish to try to recreate? Are there filmic tricks or elements you’d like to play around with, such as shooting something happening through a mirror? My response: In no particular order: A. Tampopo by Jûzô Itami
B. Ever is Over All by Pipilotti Rist
C. The Big Lebowski by The Coen Brothers
D. Night Street Touch by Graham Gussin
E. Gradual Speed by Els Van Riel
http://www.lafilmforum.org/archive/spring-2014-schedule/still-lives-and-gradual-speed/


When I have the energy, I will go into why I picked these 5 films but I'd rather go onto the next journal entry where I view 5 new films by similar directors/artists:

1. The Cremaster Cycle (Cremaster 2) - Matthew Barney

Sunday, October 19, 2014

I can't tell if I like LA... but I think I don't like it?


Doug Aitken @ Regen Projects

I want to blog about LA, but I don't know if it deserves the hype it gets, positive or otherwise... It's fine I guess...

I don't think I like being here, and perhaps it's because everyone I've met with an art degree is either a little full of themselves or is stuck answering phones... If this is the place where people are following their dreams, I think that they've sufficiently lowered their expectations and no one probably cares what I think because I probably don't know anyone important. And I'm so glad they're right.

LA is not a place where "it is what you bring to it" because a city with this many people with so much more money than you really couldn't give two shits about 'what you bring to it', they're probably too busy finding parking and you're too busy trying to keep yourself from saying something out loud about how awkward everything feels.

Dashiell Manley @ Redling Fine Art

(For a good example of awkwardness, try not to bring up how expensive CalArts is as an 'experience' while at the same time not knowing if the person you're talking to actually teaches there, most likely for not enough money.)

Competition is considered a plus, but then again I've just left a state where Libertarian attitudes have an ever growing stronghold. (See: Ayn Rand) But while on the subject of adult careers and jobs, it seems like there are only 3 modes: 1. Work until you hate yourself 2. Start your own business so that you can abuse others rather than be abused. 3. copy whatever your friend just did, what outlandish outfit are they wearing today? Copy that too, but with a floral pattern.

At its worst, LA is made up of hundreds of bubbles (cliques), jokes and un-fun games, anti-union sentiments, environmental righteousness, personalities that demand respect, dangerous precedents and no easy public transportation.

Zackary Drucker & Rhys Ernst

Many conversations I have end abruptly when someone realises that I can't continuously pretend to enjoy talking about sports, celebrities, gadgets, business, tv shows or health trends. Maybe I should wear a Detroit baseball cap and say that I'm doing an impression of Harry Dodge?

Actually I should be ashamed, everything would be going much more smooth if I had actually taken a Spanish class in college, I think it's actually a good thing that people are mildly impatient about my slow attempts to communicate anything after "Quisiera..." and then I stop because I don't even remotely know what is in front of me... is that intestines or skin... uh... I'll just take a small order. Yup, it's all of the above that I'm eating...

I opted for this cheerful image of myself instead of an image of the food that turned out to be layers of tripe.
At its best LA is a place where people have jobs, fruit is affordable and abundant (even in this desert), where Hispanics who don't believe in god and dress well aren't just hipsters, almost everything is reasonable (unless you're driving). I think the weather is nice, but then again we're in Santa Clarita where it hit 110 and humid for a while... not to mention having enough money to have the free time to enjoy such things would probably be even nicer.

This is the only place where the 'trickle down' affect may actually occur between the super rich and Hollywood giving meager wages to people willing to do the work. In a wonderfully stereotypical fashion, I acquired a job because I name dropped someone, showed up with resume/cover letter in person to the right person at the right time, and I was even asked if I could work pretty much that very same day. But do I want to live in a world that functions this way? I feel like it's a fine line from being part of the problem.

I wouldn't say that LA is friendly but at least there really is place for everyone to feel at home (gentrification moves just a bit slower than sprawl), the contemporary art galleries are spacious, gorgeous, they flaunt extravagance with understated grace. Also all the good ethnic restaurants have an A rating for cleanliness and usually some small perk for signing in on Yelp. (But I refuse to believe that $12 average for a meal can still be referred to as 'cheap', I'm looking at you Yelp...)

Christian Rosa at Ibid Projects
I feel like LA is draining me somehow, it has to do with feeling like I need to have the right jokes at the right time, but also I am still looking for 'my people': Those who make artwork based on research that they live, those who don't talk about bullshit mumbojumbo while attempting to get at what-is-most-meaningful in life, those who take total strangers to places where no one can take advantage of one another, but creativity is facilitated, those who can laugh at themselves and make us feel better about ourselves.
Soho House artwork by the pool table and I was immediately told not to take any photos since it was a private club with private art.

LA feels like the fake best friend that tries to get you to make fun of others with him so that both of you can superior, this city doesn't make me feel like I can lift myself and others up, it feels like a break from whatever I didn't like about Detroit, but it offers nothing that I want to put in my backpack of skills, in fact I'm not sure how I can use a range of who I am in this place, it feels like a wave of mediocrity is meant to bring special people to the surface and acidically blend everyone else who have the same taste in movies and aspirations. Those who did rise are bleached from the process and act as if it is more of a burden to continue to be a businessman that has to oil the gears and that it was never a choice. No one seems to imagine that they could start over, but this time, with feeling.

Thank god I don't have some kind of addiction to drugs right now, because this feels like a place where people blend in the more 'out of it' you are, that's a neutral stance, to let you slip into the abyss. Just standing around being self-conscious or being depressed however... this is not a good place to be.

Getting around LA feels like going from meaningless speck of light to another farway meaningless speck of light. To keep from getting confused I take a lot of pictures so that I can process things later.
But I also feel like I'm in a place where I feel like I have to hold my tongue because sometimes someone really has said the dumbest thing I have ever heard, but I don't want to start off on a bad foot. Somehow bitching about things felt like a second nature in Detroit where something was always fucked up, but at least the next day we were working on how to make our own lives a little better and I actually felt like I could see lots of ways that people were creating humble alternatives. I often felt like people could call out bullshit too, but more often than not they were being cheerleaders (Gilda Snowden). I miss being amongst my people, because it was so expansive. Even if someone wasn't some kind of cheerleaders for me, they were cheerleaders for someone I really cared about. I don't just like small towns, I like places where people look out for each other.

Here, the best a good guy can do for you is to help get you a job...

14 dollars an hour, 9 to 5, in an office with a time table so demanding that it's not unusual to take lunch at your desk, and a one hour and fifteen minute commute one way, hopefully before 7 am, and back while the sun is setting, another hour and fifteen minutes back. By the nature of this job I can't stay up later than 11 pm before a weekday.

Thank you?

Perhaps I'm barking up the wrong tree bringing up some kind of mythical 'social contract', when I should just appreciate when someone is letting little ol' ME know, some REAL SHIT, like the best place to get ice cream. I might not remember your name, but I'll remember which ice cream shop you referred me to because you described it with such intense beauty, I would have mistaken it for getting head while watching the sunset. I can already feel myself turning into a shallow motherfucker, don't let it take me.

One day, LA will be one large gated community pumping in water from thousands of miles away...