Author: keshav

This Friday I attended a performance of PAT Master Student Simon Alexander-Adams’ Master Thesis, Noise Void. Noise Void is an advanced multi-media production created with digital compositing technology accompanied by an electronic score, solely created by Alexander-Adams. Alexander-Adams also made use of projection-mapping, mapping his project onto a series of screens in 3-D space in order to create a complex and immersive visual experience.

Noise Void is a short experimental piece drawing inspiration from the glitches everyday computer software produce. Alexander-Adams collected hundreds of sounds and images from corrupted Windows files as a starting point for the project. Seeing the presentation reminded me of the adage, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”. Glitched files are junk–useless, a waste of storage space. Alexander-Adams approaches corrupted date from a different perspective, seeing them as an opportunity to explore the recesses of cyberspace.

Noise Void, although quite experimental, maintains semblances of narrative. A blank screen freezes, glitches, and descends into the void of unruly data. I felt like I was tumbling through a vortex of information, bombarded by waves of sound and light. The visual experience is quite compelling. Jagged lines undulate violently across the screen, warping through phases of color and intensity.

The accompanying score is equally impressive. A drone of beeping digital sounds which clamor with increasing intensity as the lines of code move ever more frantically across the screen. This was clearly a meticulous work, as layers of audiovisual patterns gained increasing complexity, and despite the rhythmic nature of the piece, I never felt bored, I watched on fascinated by what could possibly happen next.

After a tumultuous ride through glitch space, Noise Void ends with a return to a static screen and shuts off. I interpreted this experience as a journey through a corrupted file as it’s being read by a computer–the computer tries to interpret the data, but ultimately fails. I’m not sure if my interpretation is correct, or whether there is really a single correct way to interpret this visual marvel, but the experience is certainly provocative. The meticulous design, crisp sound design, and intricate aesthetic culminate in an audiovisual experience unlike anything I’d seen before. The use of projection mapping enhanced the experience, adding a 3-dimensional aspect to the performance, heightening my immersion and whetting my desire to delve deeper into the void.

here is a link to Noise Void. Not as visceral as the live performance, but still an awesome video to watch.

The Michigan Theater recently screened Oscar Nominated documentary The Act of Killing, a spine-chilling re-enactment of multiple political assassinations under the supervision of Indonesia’s late fascist regime. The film will soon be available for streaming on Netflix, and I highly encourage watching it. Seeing it in a theater setting was a rare treat, as documentaries are hard to come by in such a viewing context. The filmmaker asks former government elites under Indonesia’s fascist regime to re-create some of their assassinations however they see fit. What follows is a disturbing gaze into the mind of cold-blooded killers.

 

Each recreation is unique in style, and not only a representation of the assassinations, but also a glimpse into the mind of the men behind the murders. The director makes an interesting decision to cede artistic authorship to the individual whose memory they are trying to gain insight into. The death-squad members choose various styles of re-enactment–from crime scenarios to musicals. I will focus on two re-enactments left the most intense impressions upon me.

 

Therefore, The Act of Killing is stylistically incoherent, episodic in nature, and constantly changing in style and tone. For every murder recreated, there is a unique cast, style of cinematography, and atmosphere. One of the first killings casts children as the assassin’s and target. Although initially appearing tongue-in-cheek, this choice is perhaps the most disturbing of all–seeing this rendition through an innocent facade is highly unnerving, accentuating the ruthless nature of the act.

 

Another killing involves family members of the victim. The family members are unable to maintain composure during the shoot. They have still not recovered from the psychological wound inflicted by their family member’s death. In contrast, the man who sanctioned the murder calmly ridicules the family’s softness–he shows no sign of remorse, no sign of conscience.

 

The vignette nature of The Act of Killing emphasizes an important point–the cinema or television viewing screen, through which we receive ever-increasing amounts of information, is anything but objective. Someone always has an agenda, an ideological filter which transforms the viewing conditions of information. Some sensationalize, some propagandize, some omit. Regardless, the realization that the same story can be told several different ways to different affects is an important lesson–we should be skeptical of the screen, because the screen is not truth, it is a facade.

 

Moreover, I personally reflected on the number of deaths I have seen on cinema and television screens. Most of the deaths I see on screen are pretend, fictional deaths in Hollywood films or network TV shows. Although I develop feelings for characters and empathize with their losses, at some level I understand these feelings aren’t real–they’re a reaction to a falsehood, after all. The Act of Killing lead me to consider exactly to what extent I have been desensitized not only to the physical act of violence, but the long-lasting psychological damage it inflicts.

 

I credit the documentary’s style: over-emphasis of the re-enactment. Since every segment is jarringly different in style, I am constantly reminded that no matter how visceral the experience, I am not seeing the real thing. I am seeing a mere shadow of the horror inflicted upon a nation of innocents. A mere fraction of the terrible things humanity can conspire to inflict upon itself. Something to think about, something to remember, something to constantly be on guard against.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SD5oMxbMcHM

Tuesday Night I attended a free screening of the 51st Ann Arbor film festival’s collection of short films, hoping to get a taste of what’s to come for the 52nd Ann Arbor film festival , which will be this March 25-30. Each film ran between 1 and 20 minutes, the entire viewing lasted about an hour and a half. Films ranged from imaginitive experimental animation to documentary to narratives with a twist–there’s no catch-all genre to describe what I was in for. Long story short, I was blown away by the talent–not only did I thoroughly enjoy my viewing experience, my entire perspective on what a movie screening can or should be is forever changed.

The first screening to catch my attention was called Burning Star. Running barely over a minute, this kaleidoscopic visual treat rendered what I interpret to be the artist’s rendition of a gaseous star. Strobing patterns of light pulsated around a black center, slowly morphing in shape and color. The stunning visuals were accompanied by a muted buzzing sound, like the crackle of an electric engine. Everything converged to the center, but the center did not remain a passive sight, beaming out pulses of fresh lights and patterns as the star continued to burn.

Another animated story that caught my attention is called Bite of the Tail, a short story about a couple going through financial troubles while the wife struggles to diagnose a strange illness–ultimately implied to be a snakebite. Bite of the Tail deviated from standard narration, each scene episodic and loosely connected to the preceding and following scenes. The film could be called a dysnarrative, if you will–a story which intentionally strays from logical scene-by-scene narrative progression in order to tell a different kind of story–an emotional, psychological journey. Less important than the events were the character’s hopes to make it through financial strife, fear of illness and human frailty–symbolized by the recurrent sinewy dance of a snake.

The next film, Pictures of Skinningrove, departed from animation altogether. This documentary is a series of pictures of the town named in the film’s title, taken over several years by a narrator. An interesting piece because the narrator did not get along with many of the town’s residents, and for this reason, it is as much a documentary about the difficulty of cultural diffusion as it is about the town in question. Although seemingly mundane at first, the stream of pictures slowly glean insight into the living history and culture of Skinningrove, a rural town recalcitrant to interact with the outside world.

There are many more films worth mentioning, such as Meteor, a 20 minute story compiling various archival footage of humynkind’s awe-inspiring explorations into space, and others which I have regretfully forgetten the name of, but the memory of which is forever etched into my mind.

If there’s one thing I learned from the short film exhibition, it’s that there isn’t a right or wrong way to make a movie. The movie screen has a bewitching power over its audience, and its a shame most blockbuster films rarely deviate from such a safe and predictable pattern of discourse. I therefore wholeheartedly encourage my peers to consider attending the 52nd Ann Arbor Film Festival on March 25-30. You will see things that you simply couldn’t at your standard theater. You will be exposed to ideas that Hollywood refuses to approach. It’s an experience that will be different, new, refreshing, inspiring.

schedule here: http://aafilmfest.org/52/events/

buy tickets here: http://www.eventbrite.com/o/ann-arbor-film-festival-3169155882
students get discounts!

UMMA: Stop Making Sense; Constructs and Narratives, Real and Imagined

“We all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth at least the truth that is given us to understand. The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.” ~Pablo Picasso

UMMA will be holding the three-part exhibition consisting of the three-part work Affecting the Audience by Anthony Discenza, Aurélien Froment, and Dora García. Each artist contributed one work of art—a blank screen which presents a textual evaluation of the audience in real-time (an exhibit I felt needed its own separate review, which can be found here), a dark room featuring an audio track of a series of google search results for the query “and the effect is…” read aloud, and an HD broadcast of a jellyfish floating around in a tank. All three pieces are particularly challenging because they call into question what an artist’s responsibility is towards their audience—they’re all designed to confuse and trick the viewer rather than present a coherent narrative.

I had the unique privilege to attend a post-exhibit discussion with three art and design school professors, Heidi Kumao, Matt Kenyon and Melanie Manos and SAC professor Terri Sarris. This discussion by artists who themselves have contributed to museum installations was particularly illuminating into the strengths of the exhibit and the strategies employed.

In order to “decode” this three part exhibition, a useful key is understanding the concept of an unreliable narrator—too often do we assume everything in a museum is objective, undeniably true. Unfortunately, this is never the case. The artist’s own life experiences, audience expectations for what art should be, and museum standards all limit what is allowed in a museum.

For example, one core assumption all 3 exhibits deconstruct is that a museum is a designated zone for “painted art”—when we go to museums, most of us expect to see lots of paintings and not much else. Anything that isn’t a painting is automatically a wildcard. But why? (I’m being rhetorical here, I can’t say I have a satisfying answer, rather I think this question is worth asking).

So I think to anyone who goes to check this difficult exhibit out, approach it a little differently than you would a standard set of paintings or photographs. See the exhibit as a series of questions about why museums are set up the way they are. Hence my opening quote—challenging or confusing pieces of art are often meant to force the audience to feel uncomfortable or unsatisfied, because this struggle or dissatisfaction forces the audience not only to reconsider their expectations, but to re-evaluate them.

This week I checked out the Instant Narrative exhibition at the museum of art. Instant Narrative, an exhibition by Dora García, turns the museum audience into the exhibition. A blank white screen faces a large open space. People gather to stare at the wall, wondering what this piece is all about. That is when words begin to appear on the screen. At first, people may be under the impression the timing is pre-planned—that is, until they discover the typing is about them. This is the beauty of the exhibit—it’s never the same thing twice, a spontaneous work of art always-already in the making, completely dependent on an audience, completely independent of any external inspiration.

The typist will be one of a handful of students hired by the UMMA. This only adds to the multiplicity of voices participating in the art. I was so interested in how the exhibit worked that I visited a total of 3 times to make sure I was around for different audience sizes and different student writers. The composition of the audience certainly affects what gets written on-screen, but the student writer’s voice is equally important. Some students are highly descriptive of the spectator’s clothing or mannerisms, while others ponder the stories behind the audience members. One student writer even expressed relief that a couple audience members had shown up at all on a particularly slow day.

By my third time visiting the museum, I started feeling a little adventurous. Realizing I was as much an author of the exhibit as García, the museum, or the student writer, I decided to give the current student writer something interesting to write about. So I broke out into a spontaneous dance in the middle of the floor. I got as weird as I possibly could. I start waving my arms around, doing fist pumps, spinning in a circle. I’m sure if I did this at the MOMA I would’ve been kicked out in a second. I actually did seem to upset the security guard standing in the room a little bit—but more on that later. The writer described my strange actions, describing my actions with creative adjectives, even expressing excitement to see an audience member attempt to interact with the exhibit directly.

This brings me to my one fault with Instant Narrative. Although I understand the need for security in a museum full of priceless art, I believe the presence of security guards surrounding Instant Narrative greatly alters the effect of the exhibition, perhaps in a way the artist did not intend (although I do not know much about García’s work so it would not be fair for me to say this). I felt the purpose of the exhibition was that if we look at our lives the right way, everything we do is awe-inspiring, everything we do is a work of art. Instant Narrative is supposed to work because the audience members do not realize they’re being watched at first. I felt watched all 3 times, however, not by the typist, but by the guards. Particularly on my last visit, I felt unwanted, I felt perceived as a threat, and I feel this places problematic limits on the scope of what Instant Narrative can communicate. Now I understand this is a society and we can’t all act like animals, but at the same time I feel like Instant Narrative should open up a space for the audience to get creative, and I think more could be done to make the exhibit feel natural rather than controlled. So go check it out, see if I’m wrong, if I’m crazy, or maybe if I’m even on to something. Only one way to find out.

Pataphysical Explorations to Disrupt Reality in the Most Unproductive Ways: An UMMA Dialogue with Christian Bok, David Doris, and Stephen Rush

Last week the Museum of Art held one of the weirdest series of performances and dialogues I’ve seen in my life. Presented by experimental poet Christian Bok (University of Calgary), art historian David Doris (UM), and music performance professor Stephen Rush (UM), the event challenged the audience to reconsider their preconceived definition of art, philosophy, and what ought to be presented in a museum in the first place.

The event featured a poetry reading and dance, a lecture on the art of turd polishing (which is exactly what it sounds like), and a talk on avant garde musical performance. I will focus on the poem recitation/interpretive dance.

I expected something a little off-kilter—pataphysics is a philosophical precursor to Dadaism, an attempt to create “imaginary solutions” to explain physical pheonomenon in the world.

But I still wasn’t prepared to see an interpretive dance performed by a group of students while Bok read Green Eggs and Ham aloud. Bok spoke aloud with energy and enthusiasm, accenting words at odd times such as to break the rhythm of the meter. He broke from his recitation at points to ask the dancers questions, and as they all yelled their answers in cacophonous unison, he told them to “shut up!”. The dancers themselves lay on the ground, performing independently and entirely uncoordinated.

The performance felt spontaneous, unrehearsed, and highly chaotic. Nevertheless, it was an excellent demonstration of Bok’s philosophical premise: the notion that the universe is chaotic and beyond human understanding. He explained his philosophy through the lens of multiple disciplines, primarily quantum physics, Hinduism, and Dadaism—a strange, perhaps even contradictory set of disciplines.

Quantum physics and Dadaism cohere in that quantum physics suggests a level of unpredictability and incoherence intrinsic to life and the universe. According to Bok, humanity’s scientific understanding of the universe is still so limited that we have trouble even randomizing models for planetary movement.

Hence, our everyday life is full of unwanted unexpected events. Bok’s pataphysical response to the accidents or randomness of life is colored by the Hindu philosophy of mindfulness—living in the moment, seeing the unexpected as an opportunity rather than a problem.

Keeping this in mind helps made some sense of Bok’s nonsensical performance. Artistic performances are intended to be creative acts. Yet most performances are rehearsed, binding originality and individual expression in a very specific structure. This pataphysics-inspired performance give the performers the freedom to be unique and individual with their every movement—Bok’s breaks from the Seuss poem allow him to imprint a personal touch on a classic text.

Bok’s performance also forces the audience to re-learn how to watch an exhibition in the first place. Rehearsed performances not only limit how an artist can express themselves, they also force a set of conventions on how to appreciate art on the audience. When we’re confronted with a strange, avant-garde performance unlike anything we’ve ever seen, we don’t know how to react, how to understand what is going on. Instead of feeling confused or uncomfortable, perhaps we should go with the flow, appreciate that we’re doing something new.