Tag Archives: art in progress

Before, After (Part 2 of 2)

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Before the machine is tripped and Larry’s chance is lost. From Channeling.

Transformation, Transition and the Song of Myself

In Part 1, I referenced how an experimentation with selfies and the reflexive psychology spent reviewing them led to several new series: Whitespace-Bluespace, Poppy Transitory (formerly Wheel of Fortune) and Channeling.

The selfies are not themselves a new series, nor were they the only impetus behind my new projects, but they did lead into further philosophical exploration of image-making, serialization and methods of re-orienting my idea of “self” and “other” (and self presented as other). They formed the outset of deeper methodology for these new bodies of work, distinct but interlaced, each emergent from The Cascade- Moments in the Televisual Desert and Desert (Loss).

I have always delighted in being a very analytical, even impersonal, artist. I’ve focused on philosophical and social-theoretical contexts, even when the core idea emerged from a secret, personal impetus. I have avoided the self-indulgent biographical–partly out of defiance, partly out of disinterest–denying how fiercely personal many artists can be about their work. But I see things changing. I am allowing more of the personal to guide the conceptual. While this essay reveals much that appears biographical and terribly personal, and I find myself conflating the personal with the public more often in this year’s work, there is still a distance between the private language and the outward manifestation. In other words, I outline the personal-historical here to help support my bigger-than-the-self concepts, though I now adroitly nod to my own participation in the “self.”

In moving through this territory, I also embraced the meditatively self-ascendant Whitman–adopting an aware position of the self, a poetic system of “selfies,” an expansion of self into non-self, and a recognition of our selves oriented within the flow of language and image, thought and word, event and recollection, place and displacement.

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“My Life is not Better than yours,” 2016. From “Whitespace-Bluespace.” Manual glitch (experimental cell phone photography). Size variable.

I sing myself.

The landscape sings itself, sings the self of my re-invented heroes, of my self re-engaging material from my past. My far past. My recent past. My soon-to-be-past in the delicious present.

I sing the association and connections of myself, within myself, within that unique, time-stamped moment that fascinated Charles Baudelaire—that for all of the sameness one moment to the next, there is something vital and undeniable about our presence in our unique moment in time, with our whirl of knowledge and histories, influences, memories and locations; “for almost all our originality comes from the seal which time imprints on our sensations.”

I am a product. A production.

I am a result of the weird, Hollywood-desert-Mojave; an abstract of my parents and friends, memories and lovers (narrative and episodic), my philosophies and writing, the fullness of food and softness of body, the buzzing of screens and static of audio, the shapeshifting Lego blocks of television and music, rocks and sky–commercials and sand, politics and play, spiky Joshua trees and burned-out cars, flaming deserts and earthquake rubble. I am the dialectic of objects lost, objects gained. The childhood-internalized language of Whitman, Heller, Plato, Dostoyevsky, Mom, Dad, truck drivers and trailers, stolen pizza and scribbled poetry, space shuttles and aerospace, mine shafts and abandoned boxes. I am a product of the television narrative, strung across so many series and characters, so many enshrined decades. Those stories written in the spare spaces in old magazines, stuffed dog under my arm (the dog dad and I picked out at an arts & crafts show, from a table of handmade plushies wrapped in coffin-like plastic, in the parking lot of Antelope Valley College in 1979).

I am a side-glance of the weird, plaster King Tut bust, bought for $5 at the Four Points Swapmeet, presented by mom & future step dad, delivered proudly in a white sheet. Brady Bunch orange and ’80s electric blue. Heavy and life-sized. Grounded and cheap. I still think of how I wrapped his head again in a sheet when we had to evacuate my childhood home. He was waiting for me to return, to retrieve him, alone in the leftovers of my room, on the knobbled orange-brown carpet, nestled with my bottle collection and space shuttle, my clothes and childhood books. He waited. I never returned.

Just as the passages above moved from the abstract to the concrete, each of my new series vacillates between the almost-gained and almost-lost, straddling subtle clues and purposeful diffusion. There is a fascinating tension between the nondescript, compressed recollection of moment-as-concept, and the radiant, often fixating pulse of raw detail–of moment-as-exposition, and I try to engage this in different ways with each of these new bodies of work. The tension between specificity and obscurity is certainly the key to much of this new work. The in-between space is where it all happens…

…The space of gray within gray, the cat whose corpse crawled with worms, my foot plunged into his cavernous body, bare in the desert, and who I later buried with a garden trowel, sending his quiet form back to the sand beneath the Joshua tree (the same tree still visible on Google Street View, on David Hockney’s–my–Highway 138, Pearblossom Highway). All those stolen guitar picks I snaked from my brother’s friends when their bands rehearsed in my parent’s bedroom, also buried under the Joshua. All those stubbed toes, seed pods and firearms…

So many luscious and terrible moments, ideas, pinpoints, pinpricks.

Whatever became of my box of plastic animals? My sister’s stories, written on notebook paper and illustrated with plastic toy animals, Scotch-taped to each page as a 3D visual: cows and fences, horses and cats, creating a thick, metered book with strange pages and caverns? I felt guilty pulling the black and white dog from his place near the end of one of her stories… I played with him out of context, with my own toy animals, and his adventures continued. I did not put him back in the book.

Now all the animals are lost. And things are still just things. And whatever becomes of them? Are they lost in the tension between specificity and obscurity, like memory, like each individual held delicately in a photograph? Before they left our possession, after they were lost?

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“These things, in their places,” from Whitespace-Bluespace, 2016. Real time photographic manipulation.

What’s become of my blue bottle and tape player? Those black trash bags filled with ephemera from our old house, piled in the cracked-stucco Model A garage, alongside the single remaining grapevine?

These mundane things, the coffee cup of our daily greet, the blue toothbrush and broken-prong comb. These delightful, simple things… I sing for them in these new visual pieces. I sing for the simple associations, as much as for the grander connections to personal loss, to cultural grief.

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“In this Moment, he heard,” 2016. From Whitespace-Bluespace. Real time photographic manipulation and additional digital glitch.

I sing the song of ordinary things. Of ordinary selves folded into ordinary moments.

I sing the tones of my self-as-formality, that outlined person on off-white bond, presented and polished, distributed and structured. I was part of the first dot com boom. I’ve been an editor in chief, private investigator, copy writer, video editor, web designer, artist assistant, sheet music salesperson–you name it, from bowling alleys to amusement parks, window painting to entertainment writing. I’ve sold hot dogs and held international conference calls. I performed for the space shuttle Endeavor roll-out at Hangar 10, marched in two Rose Parades, been on TV, built websites and wrote copy, published and rejected, I’ve lectured and researched, even been a “cover girl” for a Japanese technology magazine…

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Currently untitled, from Whitespace-Bluespace, 2016. Real time photographic manipulation and additional digital glitch.

Are employment stats part of the song of ourselves? The linear facts of metered existence?

My resume doesn’t tell the time I was nearly stabbed and coolly disarmed the knife-bearing attacker. It doesn’t reference the summer I saved a friend from wild dogs in the desert, or the after-lunch pause where I yanked a co-worker off the street by her blouse as a bus bore down on her in muggy San Francisco. These are the socially heroic thing, but there are just as many (or more) moments of fear, confusion and longing, and even more points of quiet heroism: the process of waking up each day. Of continuing. My resume doesn’t log the times I’ve been without food and electricity, couch-surfing and family-less, washing my clothes with a neighbor’s hose in high school, when I ate leftovers from friends’ lunches; the tail-end of bananas shared by my friend Dave, the tail-end of everything, all the time. It does not reference the time I missed the chance to meet Allen Ginsberg before he died, thanks to an anthropology final. Or the time I once found a life-sized, headless Buddha in the Mojave Desert. I’ll share the story some time, with or without the formality of our public, published selves.

What is biography but a creative, forced-linear narrative? Accentuating the colorful?

What is a resume, but a forced-linear evaluation of the concrete and ‘important’?

What is biographical artwork? How much biography is necessary (if any) to engage a piece?

Dissipated memory is itself pressed into coherence, and extraneous or negative details often airbrushed and removed, sensations bound to a host of romanticized facts or apprehensions, misaligned and finessed. Fierce details are often distilled into crystalline, prescient moments (but often unstable, unreliable). Other details are skimmed and polished, forming inanimate phrases like “parents and friends.”

What is a resume? Are we the sum of our “jobs”? Our roles and proscriptions? Are we the sum of our experiences, or our perception of those same encounters?

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“The Extended Agony of Finding out (after),” 2016. From Whitespace-Bluespace. Manual glitch experimental photography with digital glitch and manipulation.

Enter the song of my characters, another song of my extended self.

A friend’s large-scale figurative paintings frequently make use of his own “self” as the body-subject, though I am not certain he would consider them “self portraits” in a literal or traditional sense. There is certainly a self-portrait aspect (or else he would have enrolled other male models), and these “self” portraits speak as metaphoric modernity, becoming selfless in their representation of cultural and philosophical typologies, and are themselves headless, homogenized, repetitious, dulled in the face of the antithetic machine. Just as my discussion of the resume and the uncomfortable tension between personal detail and the airbrushed, presented self are in disharmony, the men in his paintings are rendered with sensitive realism, such exquisite specificity that blemishes are elevated to the divine, concrete.

But his figures are denied the specificity of identity, yet they possess a peculiar level of detail that would render the nude, fragile and exposed men utterly recognizable to me, if I happened upon them. There’s a tension here between the face-as-identity and the body as identifier. Quite unlike most selfies, actually, where the map of the body, in its fierce detail, is in contrast to the headless erasure of implied, conceptual decapitation. His “selves” are disconcertingly anchored in predictable normalcy, yet denied any identity through the recognizable face, any ability to communicate or understand.

My selfies are so heavily based on the “face” that they become repetitive and dulled, inseparable and blended. A monotonous stream of the same essential form and set of colors, providing a different kind of tension in the weighted specificity of features. As my friend’s work has moved to embrace first a more complete image of a headed figure (after its early headlessness)–again allowing the face to enter–a kind of non-self-portrait rooted in the self,  it now engages an emptied sense of space. The figure has been, or will be, present, but is not located within the represented moment.

My earliest Cascade works were more focused on that kind of recently emptied, but obviously occupied, urban environment, or lived space. I suggested that figures had recently passed through, left imprints, littered the environment with their stats and biographies. Slowly, vehicles snuck into the landscape, then figures emerged, oddly embraced by my formerly all-abstract eye. The tail end of my MFA work, then, allowed figures to be fully present, but the landscape was potentially more vital than the characters, a division I now find upended. Just as my friend’s work naturally moved into new territory, I bring my characters forward now, into several new phases–and the figures are more crucial than the lived space they inhabit.

My friend’s work was thus an important and direct influence on Whitespace-Bluespace and Channeling.

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“The Extended Agony of Finding out (during),” 2016. From Whitespace-Bluespace. Manual glitch experimental photography with digital glitch and manipulation.

The face and the body are the matrix upon which we exchange and interchange, the space others identify, a literal and conceptual anchor of placement, within place, within culture.  As two of the three new series are filled with figures, these bodies are a curated response to myself, to my insecurities and questions, to my isolation, dignity and indignity–and as I am not particularly an emotional or very personal artist (though these last few articles might suggest otherwise), these new series are allowing me to indulge a bit in the very idea of self.

This move toward the character, the self as other, and the time-distorted whirl of indeterminate events allows me to abandon some of the ties to regional specificity I’ve been focused on (though the ties remain, if less prominent). The character as being, as figure, as selfie, as referent and referrer, has become fascinating to me. The desert, Hollywood, California, all undercarriage, superstructure now.

The de-centered and de-structured heroes are moving into new territory, allowed to be whole and present in a sense. I grant them access to the previously abstract picture plane, just as I once allowed vehicles to enter the empty expanse. My friend Pam, a fellow printmaker, says “I don’t like the ones with the people,” preferring instead the more abstract environments. The abstraction, for me, is only one variable. I have not abandoned the abstract stills, but now they offer vital tension for the panes with people. I see myself in the people. I’ve seen myself even in the flimsy posters and watery re-reruns, the action figures and advertising.

Two of the three series are centered on men, my ultimate self-as-other (like The Cascade…) More on this gender tension in a future post.

I will also fully flesh out each of these new bodies of work in separate posts of their own, but here’s a taste:

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Whitespace-Bluespace

This is my biggie. My solo exhibition and beyond.

I spent 8 months doing real-time, photographic capture-manipulations of the Miami Vice television show, which is currently airing each weekday evening, 9-10 pm MST on Cozi TV. As with all my media work, I had watched Miami Vice in its original run, in a particular time-and-place context. More on that below.

Each night, for an hour, I did experimental photographic “monotypes” right from the television screen, making good use of the show’s one-hour time slot and its watery, softened, broadcast form. I set rigid parameters for my manipulation times and methods. I could have easily watched it all in a week or two, binge-style, and done my work in this manner, but there was something about slowing down, about restricting the raw manipulations to an hour each day, preventing me from being out, from doing other things, tying me to the TV screen each night–sometimes against my will. Slowing down put me in a different headspace. Different events, moods, daily affects–these all impacted the way I engaged the televisual language on a given evening.

Limiting myself to an hour of generating imagery created both tension and frustration–some nights I was energized, wanting more and more! Other nights, my life-circumstances bogged me and the project was dogged, nagging, relentless. That’s how I knew I was on to something. When I felt like doing more, I curated and glitched selected moments, rather than finding a way to gather more raw imagery.

As always, I used my cell phone. On my knees, in front of the TV. I’ve gotten so that I can manipulate and shift color, form, focus and distortion in fluid ways, and I worked my little iPhone 4S so hard, I killed it.

The project was all-consuming. Gathering became an intense daily ritual that lengthened the scope of the project, requiring focused introspection and systematic gathering. After gathering, I also put some of the stills through additional glitch manipulation, to purposefully lose, obscure and erode key information that might have provided clarity and resolution. I watched the series through twice, researching and taking notes, then on the third time through, one hour each day, I extracted particular kinds of imagery–one season at a time.

The result is a 23,000 + image archive, composed of the original, real-time manual glitch / experimental photographic pieces and digital glitch images. This in itself has a stark relevancy I’m still unpacking. It makes prolific use of the “before” and “after” I describe in Before, After – Part 1, and the characters are trapped in a terrible cycle, suspended within an indeterminate space of the impending and the retreating. Some of the experiemental photographs, rather like monotypes in their single-shot pull from the screen, are left raw. These don’t undergo more manipulation after the fact, and are prescient, alive. Others, as I mentioned above, receive glitch treatment for conceptual reasons I’ll explain in a future post.

Whitespace-Bluespace – Project Statement

Life is a rush of contingencies. The wonderful, terrible sublime of “before” and “after,” a strange and delicate dance of relativity. As we commit experience to memory, details become blurred, lost, remixed—fact folded with sensation, sequencing lost to the abyss of recollection. Over time, we may even embellish, or crystallize moments, often losing more than we retain.

Memory formation relates to the way we engage television—we grab bits and pieces of information about characters and situations, often by viewing episodes out of order. We understand events by assembling a sensitive web of memories, culled, even appropriated, from different seasons. Like episodic TV viewing, we construct a mosaic by assembling clues extracted from the media flow—from our life experiences—allowing us to “know” people, places, and events by collating often disparate pieces of data, much of it reframed (often misunderstood).

Using cell phone photography in a real-time system of manipulation, I spent 8 months capturing digital “monotypes” from the TV screen, generating an archive of 23,000+ experimental images. These image-cells were mined from a personally poignant television series—Miami Vice, which I watched in its original context, during a time of personal loss and disruption. Using an obsessive, ritual system of watching and extracting, combined with manual and digital glitch, I suggest the imperfection of memory and our incomplete understanding of situations. These suspended moments are seemingly extracted from the “before” and “after” of an unclear, yet disturbing, system of events that vacillate between the almost-gained and almost-lost.

The characters, like memory, are composed of fragmented, episodic information, sampled and informed by our own recollection of other images in the installation. The viewer might begin to understand, but true clarity is denied. There is a tense passage of moment into moment, an endless catastrophe of “instants” presented as passive works on paper, active video and intimate View-Master spaces.  My eroded heroes are denied resolution, forever stuck in transition, their lives suspended as frozen, oddly linked moments—undermined, human, uncertain, temporary.

Why Miami Vice?

My engagement with the televisual language of the program is tied to a distinct sequence of “before” and “after” life-moments of personal impact. As I mentioned in the first half of the essay, I watched Miami Vice on our little TV (when we had electricity), recorded at a friend’s house on a watery VHS tape because we couldn’t afford a VHF antenna, watched and re-watched because it was a precious capture. The process of borrowing and remixing media via tape, and savoring each chance I got to watch it, was tied into my parents’ impending divorce, and the downward spiral of homelessness, distancing and confusion that resulted.

The characters seemed so strong at the time, I longed to be both of the male heroes in alternation.

I reacquainted myself with the series quite by accident, just after my thesis work, which also dealt with the impact of televisual media on concepts of self and place. Stumbling across it on Cozi TV also coincided with tumult in other parts of my life, and at first it was a welcome, aesthetically compelling refuge.

After only an episode, I found it stirred a lot of surprising sensations within me–from gushing philosophy to raw emotion, adding fuel to my media-mind. I found a fascinating, compelling thread running through each episode–the male heroes often faced loss, destruction of the self, a terrible sense of distancing–the deaths of loved ones, failure to complete missions, subjugation by terrible enemies, denial of closure–in episodic tenacity. They were rarely successful in an iconic fashion, instead suffering loss and resistance at every turn. Resolutions were complicated, problematic, and even when things tipped in their favor, it rarely resolved the way they expected (or hoped). There were no ridiculously triumphant heroes here.

I had rediscovered heroes already plagued by a strange tension between the appearance of success and the corrosion of endless defeat. A progression that unsettles and warps the main characters, with Sonny in particular emergent as a jaded, unwilling participant. As I mentioned above, I watched the series several times through, savoring each moment as I had in my youth, while realizing I was simultaneously tipping over into a new body of work, with new territory. It’s funny how that happens.

It’s so easy for many artists (and people in general) to deride “old” TV, as if by the very nature of its context, it epitomizes failure and deserves ridicule because it is from the time “before.” You, dear readers, know me by now. I never deride. Each media-moment is vital, worth refreshing and revisiting, or revitalizing in the present moment. I never judge the programs that compel me for being simply themselves. How could I?

 

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Poppy Transitory

You can read more about Poppy Transitory in this blog post, as I went into greater depth about the now completed series.

Artist Statement

Poppy Transitory investigates the sincere absurdity of processing loss with decorative memorials, themselves transitory tokens of grief. Based in a fiercely personal, yet oddly abstract pain, the series considers the story-infused space of mourning—colorful, obsessive layers behave like memory extracts.

Conflating the mysterious Mojave Desert deaths of my sister Cindy Adams (1972) and musician Gram Parsons (1973), I ask what it means to “know” someone through location-tied story; to “understand” events via embellished clues, just as I “knew” both individuals through family narrative. What does it mean to assuage loss through well-meaning transference? Do gifts for the dead resolve our perplexity?

To engage this, I use transparent layers to suggest recalled memory, story cycles, and the deluge of tokens posthumously offered to Cindy and Gram. I deconstruct and reframe the language of the Mojave Desert, the visual vocabulary of memorial shrines, and personal iconography from Cindy and Gram’s clothing, whirling them into a sensitive system of overlaid shapes. The desert they loved represents and consumes them.

Aware of its own artificiality, the work earnestly embraces our candy-colored attempts to mediate the space of grief with flowers, cards, and condolences—the physical trappings of a cultural process of mourning, often our only recourse in grappling with the unexplained. Poppy Transitory is itself a fragile, momentary monument to the passage of imprints, the trace of Cindy and Gram, and to our moment, an undeniable passage of its own.

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Channeling

The most undeveloped of the new series, I see Channeling as a project destined for excavation in fall and winter, bleeding into 2017, just as the seasons echo an appropriate, often monstrous shift in perception and place.

I watched a lot of movies and TV growing up. Obviously. Hell, all of my work in maturity grapples with this, my “self” intricately connected to media. I recorded sounds, voices, music, from the TV screen and remixed them with portable tape players. I took pictures of the screen long before I knew it could ever be “art,” ever be socially relevant in any way. I understood the world, the interactions of people through media, parallel to my own physical dealings in the “real” world, through media.

Thus, I experienced a lot of films broadcast on TV, scrunched and reformatted for the mosaic mass audience. Of particular interest to me were the Universal films with tragic, despairing heroes like the Wolfman–monsters more human than the humans who attempted to subjugate them. Lon Chaney Jr. was a recurrent figure, and my familiarity with his form,  his voice, is tied to an experiential window that speaks to me both of childhood, and of survival-as-desperation; his characters are nearly always haunted, ineffectual. His lifespan nearly echoes my grandfather’s,  born the same year,  died three years after grandfather, before I was born, but after Cindy had died. Another fascinating shuffle of before, after tied to the other two series.

Each time I watched a reprised film, it reactivated the media in the present moment. Each time I watch one now, it’s like raising the media-material from the dead–revitalizing it in the present. Film supercedes mortality in a sense, both the original recording and in the re-engagement of older films… as if the characters, the actors, the movie sets and lived spaces, the flora and landscapes, are all reborn in perpetuity because of media.

I see this work dealing with living memory, re-emergence and the transitional states of bodies (and images) that are positioned between manifestation and death, between the archive and the actively engaged. Watching the performance of before, after, watching the performance of dead performers in lived, current space, is, in essence, a method of summoning. Channeling. Not unlike the Wolfman, who rises from death when hit by moonlight, the act of engaging material in the present moment reinvigorates it, reinforces its presence, its existence. It returns to vitality what has been lost.

Then there’s the added lore of film still impacting living memory. My memories of watching the films years ago–my new memories and connections, made when revisiting each film, when discussing and viewing, capturing and renewing–channeling the before into the after. This will be developed in the series. Artists Renee Green and Douglas Gordon deal deftly with this in different ways, and I am also turning again to their work for dialgoue.

Television as medium becomes, in itself, a medium (think spirit medium) spanning lived memory, experience and the inheritance of media culture as cultural and personal memory. Is watching a film akin to attending a media seance?

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With Channeling, I also see there is something in this utter, diligent sense of despair… recognition and denial, submission and resistance found in Lon Chaney Jr.’s character panoply.

Is it the curse of modernity? The desire to find a place within the chaos?

The deliciousness of silence, each image and its mutations are a recorded, but experiential point—there was the point lived by the actors and creators, the viewers and me as the manipulator, the literal time in which I am photographing and working with the raw digital bytes. The literal time it took to film and cut the original footage. This is the experiential point of both subject and manipulator, mortality and immortality.

 

Blog Futures

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This blog’s original purpose was to document my progress through the Lesley University College of Art and Design MFA program, serving as a storehouse of information and a log of my research and production. That phase is complete.

I’m adopting a David Hockney stance and I’m planning to continue using this blog as I move forward. I don’t mind leaving a trail of where I’ve been, as it is all relevant, useful, maybe interesting/boring/wild/necessary.

You may notice, however, that I will be making organizational adjustments to the blog, to suit its new role. If you’re looking for the links that used to fill the right hand side, check out Links and Resources.

And from here, we embark.

The wild freedom, the gamble, the beginning of the road, that terrifying, mysterious visual-desert sublime…

Here’s a Gary Snyder poem for this new departure, (from Regarding Wave, 1970), which I’ve read and re-read over the years (like my copy of Catch-22).

It’s not just what you should know to be a poet (artist), it’s what you need to know.

What You Should Know to be a Poet

all you can know about animals as persons.
the names of trees and flowers and weeds.
the names of stars and the movements of planets
and the moon.
your own six senses, with a watchful elegant mind.
at least one kind of traditional magic:
divination, astrology, the book of changes, the tarot;

dreams.
the illusory demons and the illusory shining gods.
kiss the ass of the devil and eat shit;
fuck his horny barbed cock,
fuck the hag,
and all the celestial angels
and maidens perfum’d and golden-

& then love the human: wives husbands and friends
children’s games, comic books, bubble-gum,
the weirdness of television and advertising.

work long, dry hours of dull work swallowed and accepted
and lived with and finally lovd. exhaustion,
hunger, rest.

the wild freedom of the dance, extasy
silent solitary illumination, entasy

real danger. gambles and the edge of death.

– Gary Snyder

Second Mentor Meeting, More Mock-ups

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Above: two shots of the third painting, in progress. The lower image is the most current state.

I had my second mentor meeting on Thursday. We focused on the installation mock-ups and discussed the nature (and viewer reception) of different arrangements.

Oliver suggested that since each medium intentionally behaves differently, it might have greater conceptual impact to group like media together, rather than dispersing them through a symmetrical arrangement (see my previous mock-ups). Progressing through the space, one speeds up or slows down in response to the unique nature of a given work. If the media are interspersed, it has a different (though not necessarily undesirable) effect on viewer reception.

Oliver articulated this well by saying, in essence, the different distances involved in the experience of space is what makes the installation work–space becomes compounded with memory. The way media are installed, therefore, can contribute to, or disrupt this connectivity. Symmetry might disrupt the flow too much. In response to this, I produced a few more install variations (below).

Other highlights:

  • Make sure they don’t give me a freestanding wall. It won’t work well for this installation.
  • A corner set-up, on the other hand, might be advantageous. Paintings on one wall, video on the other, View-Masters in between or flanking outside the shape. This would encourage bouncing, without dispersing the like media too much. It would need to be a fairly open corner.
  • Two paintings are absolutely necessary (I agree). They speak to each other as part of my process of making this stuff my own. They slow down the overall speed. The single painting mock-ups miss out on a certain amount of dialogue.
  • One video screen is fine (I agree). Given the limitations of the space, only one video screen would have audio anyway, which means the others would be silent and would therefore take on different, possibly unintended, roles.
  • A slightly larger video screen might be good.
  • Differences are what make this piece work. It’s okay to separate the installation  by medium. The different works relate.
  • The time-based work is sensorial and benefits from focused intensity (like a single screen or a corner).
  • 1 or 2 View-Masters are fine.
  • Be ready to adapt the final mock-ups to the space.
  • The street views and screen caps might actually belong to a different, or future, version of the project after all.

Flat wall arrangements:

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Corner arrangements:

 

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Semester Summary, Fall 2014

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Ren Adams
Peter Rostovsky – Advisor
Semester 3 Summary – Fall, 2014

Download PDF Version

My work this semester centered on the development and articulation of my interdisciplinary thesis project, The Cascade – Moments in the Televisual Desert, including the production of new pieces and formatting refinement. The semester was punctuated by major decision-making, significant breakthroughs in video work and continued cohesion of the three-part installation.

Studio Work

I knew The Cascade would be interdisciplinary, but the final format had not completely coalesced. This semester, I determined the final media, refining, reshaping and abandoning divergent leads. Research, residency feedback, mentor conversations and personal brainstorming made this shape-up possible. The final three components are: video, painting and digital imaging (View-Master reels), reflecting my investigation of Lev Manovich’s three-screen theory (classic, dynamic, real-time) of new media.

Other developments:

  • I worked with ways of dimensionalizing the television experience. Feedback from my advisor and from the residency encouraged me to consider methods of collapsing viewing into geometric interludes. These interludes locate references specifically in the text and can synthesize, simulate or otherwise add dimension to the act of engaging television. This investigation impacted all three formats—and I considered how large-scale paintings, video and hand-manipulated digital reels played on different qualities of viewing and consuming, literally and philosophically.
  • Working with SOUND. It came up in nearly every residency critique. I needed to work with sound—and I did. Rather than simply add sound to the original video animations, I dug into my audio background and sampled, recorded, remixed and produced entirely new soundscapes designed for the video art (and also to be ‘overheard,’ as we do televisual noise, if played aloud near the paintings and View-Masters). This required a combination of sourcing and recording both appropriated and original material, then deeply mixing the clips into complex, articulated audio. Sound is absolutely pivotal to the project and I made ample use of my musical background, combined with theoretical concerns. My mentor was also very pleased with how radically the sound intensified and complicated the video experience.
  • Developing a clear iconographic system. I investigated ways of using direct referentiality to my advantage. Stuart Steck suggested, “why not embrace Hollywood more directly? Specificity is okay.” In response to this (plus advisor feedback and personal research), I folded more specificity into the mix, allowing some segments to remain ambiguous, others to embrace their Hollywood referentiality. I considered the ever-expansive mythology of the west as a cultural and political construct and I asked how these considerations were playing out in the work. The west behaves as a blank physical and cultural canvas, cut through by human intervention and I added and removed material to create a ‘scape in flux, no longer shying away from specificity. Characters allow a point of entry and disrupt the ambiguous space. Thus I settled in on iconography related to hero types, as well as an iconography of vehicles, colors, marks, shapes, mountains, industrial symbols (power lines, factories) and other rhythmic motifs.
  • Tony Apesos suggested I go either more minimal or intensely baroque—avoid the in-between—and I worked with this. I made the painting denser, more populated and more entangled while simultaneously emptying some of the newer digital stills (and certain aspects of the video work) to balance.
  • I also continued:
    • Allowing the work to collapse the essence of site into a single moment
    • To produce directional entanglements that create a philosophical space where the past erupts into the present.
    • To maintain a sense of time-relativity, ambiguous perspective, contingent and indistinct intervals.
    • To deny finite resolution. There is no single, grounded moment—the instability and contingency speaks to the unreliability of memory, geology, Hollywood fabrication and television.
    • To manipulate a sense of memory, recollection. To use layers to make it a challenge to separate memory from lived experience; a sense of obscuring/revealing occurs.
    • To deal with the space between objective and subjective ideas of landscape, operating in a middle-ground that provides tension; an engagement with interstitial space.
    • To reference our strange reality we’re, where TV informs our memory of real places and events. To manipulate the scripted, the cultural and the real.
    • To suggest that characters and landscape behave as ephemeral, ghostly, even spectral intrusions—spirits from our own mind (personal or cultural) that inform how we understand landscape, place and time.
    • To produce images that act as sites of activity and archaeology.
    • To investigate ways of representing how fantasy-Hollywood happened in real space.

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Video

I produced several video art pieces by synthesizing residency, advisor and mentor feedback on the original set of oscillating videos I presented in spring.  The video work made tremendous headway and brought a whole new vitality to The Cascade that has become indispensable to the final project. I made an effort to stay at a critical distance from the exactness of film, instead embracing the mosaic/montage flavor of television and deeper issues of television theory.

Major pieces:

  • So I Asked…
  • Elevator (Finding a Way out of Here, I Hope)
  • Encounter
  • Rental (Requesting Backup)

Rough Cuts:
Early, in-progress drafts which will not be shown at the residency.

  • Ambush
  • Untitled (Car Chase)

I also produced a number of side experiments leading up to the formal video pieces, to investigate formatting, aesthetic relationships and the language of digital elastic-space. They were useful in working out technical details and conceptual rhythm.

Another completed side video, Opening, was a useful foray into overlaying multiple opening credit sequences with painterly flavor, guided partly by feedback from the residency where some viewers suggested trying a literal method of building out the physical parts of a television program. My mentor and I ultimately decided the video was a useful exercise, but not a specifically relevant part of The Cascade, especially when ranked next to the other videos.

Video Display

At the start of the semester, the exhibition format of the videos was literally up in the air—they could have taken nearly any form, from wall projections to tablet playlists. My mentor suggested that I make critical decisions about the final installation format, in order to better work with, and serve, the videos as they are produced. Knowing how they will be engaged, and in what scale, affects viewer response and even production. I comment on this decision in several other parts of this summary, but in short, television will be shown on television.

Finished piece.

Finished piece.

Painting

I need several paintings to form a counterpoint to the digital work and I completed the first in the series last semester. This semester, I finished Roy and the Mojave Subsequence, another 38” x 50” work on Lenox 100 cotton paper, composed of layers of acrylic, watercolor and ink.  

The painting collapses time and a sequence of (potentially) interrelated events that play out in a dramatic urban-desert landscape. There is a sense of anxiety and unreliability as planar intrusions fracture to suggest various moments witnessed simultaneously. I consciously played with establishing shots used in television to indicate location, and I gave critical consideration to the migration of work between painting and digital. When I asked myself what happens in this transitional state, I found there are fascinating ways of expressing ‘digitality’ through the classic ‘screen’ of paint. Paint even made it possible to show a collision that seemed too artificial or noisy in a completely digital context.

During the residency, Tony Apesos pointed out that over time, landscapes became emptied of people. 16th century landscapes, on the other hand, were crowded with characters, events and intersections of activity. I had this in mind when further investigating landscape repopulation.

My students also gave candid responses to the work as it developed. Some suggested a sense of pervading violence—the car culture of Los Angeles and its hurtle toward physical ruin. Others suggested it captured a rather direct sense of our lived, real space—where industry and accident fuse with geology. All of them gathered a saturated sense of Hollywood. Thanks to the specificity of television, friends who grew up in the same region instantly recognized and cohered an understanding of televisual space-place and its connection to Hollywood memory.

I have also begun work on a third painting, which engages aerospace. I may proceed quickly enough to bring it to the residency, but it is currently in early stages.

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Digital Images

I produced a number of straight screen caps this semester—so many that I have not documented them all on The Cascade sandbox blog. The stills were worked into stop-action sequences, used as stand-alone works, or folded into the View-Master slides. I also produced several new sequences of digital images, abandoning the printmaking and drawing intrusions that populated earlier stills. Selected pieces can be seen in the “gallery” section of my blog.

I also produced a number of stills taken from the video pieces, which added a new dimension to the project.
Interactive

The interactive component underwent major changes this semester. Prior, I had an overwhelming list of possible formats—everything from websites and phone apps to interactive prints on paper (like QR codes). I did some conceptual housekeeping, sweeping away techniques that did not directly communicate my concept and its ties to televisual experience.

Instead, I am producing a series of 2D and 3D View-Master reels, which provide a semi-narrative of linked slides. My reasoning (mentor-approved!):

  • The View-Master format provides a relevant, interactive method of negotiating the digital stills. Using an app, website, Processing/Arduino or specifically electronic angle may have pushed the content and concept too far away from televisual language (though they are options for future work).
  • View-Masters have been a popular way of dimensionalizing television, media and even landscape/vacation photography (site as participatory culture) for a number of years, especially during the 60s, 70s and 80s (the related period of TV I’m working with). They may also suggest nostalgia, which is fine, but they are not completely rooted in it as they are still actively produced and consumed.
  • It provides a method of interaction that speaks to the original, semi-narrative forms of the reels themselves (and to my video works).
  • It breaks the digital stills away from a simple life on paper
  • It provides an opportunity to work with micro-narratives, of archival considerations, where reels contain sub-groupings of space, event or specific categories of visual information.

I will have three of the 2D reels and two View-Masters at the residency:

  • Foothill Incident
  • Mojave Superchase
  • First Responder

I am treating each reel as part of the installation, but also as a self-contained work. 

Major Decisions

I had several major decisions to make, in order to direct my final thesis work:

  • I narrowed down my list of television programs. Hundreds of programs were filmed in the area; an overwhelming list of sources. To make matters worse, every viewer suggested their own favorite shows, stretching the list farther. Early in my first mentor meeting, Kevin asked me why I had chosen Emergency! (an admittedly obscure reference). In answering his question, I also answered broader questions related to which programs I was using, why I used them, and which would be allowed to participate in The Cascade (see mentor report: https://renadamsmfa.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/first-mentor-meeting/ and https://renadamsmfa.wordpress.com/2014/09/24/major-decisions-the-narrow-way/.I laid out ground rules for the incorporation process:

1.) They had to be filmed in Los Angeles County during the 1960s, 1970s or 1980s (the heyday of LA County as the seat of American television).

2.) They had to be programs I had originally watched in their first (or partial first) run, or in syndication during those same decades (in-context viewing).

3.) They had to offer some kind of iconographic contribution to the project; the “paramedics” or the “detectives,” yellows or blues, etc…

4.) They had to be dramas (I excised sitcoms, cowboy serials and other programs early on, as the language is quite different–though I can see returning to investigate these genres in the future).

5.) They had to be programs I had actually enjoyed watching, or felt some obsessive compulsion to engage with. This is why, for example, Airwolf isn’t on the list. I frankly didn’t like it. This is important for the earnest angle, which leaves sarcastic critique at the door.

6.) It had to be a distilled, representative array, including highly recognizable works paired with obscure memory-traces (a la Douglas Gordon, Renee Green).

  • I finalized the interactive format: stereoscopy / View-Master, which folds nicely into the commodification of television and landscape, and also functions as a sufficient interactive, digital-bridging element.
    • I also have a backup, in the event response at the residency does not find the View-Masters compelling. Digital images can alternately be shown as looping, semi-static sequences on digital frames.
  • I finalized/narrowed video art format
    • The videos are sticking to a 1-6 minute time frame (most are 2:30, the average length of a television drama lead-in before the credits).
    • Videos are to be presented on television screens, with one screen per video. In the event of space limitation, the display can be limited to 1-3 televisions, cycling through the videos as if displaying timed programming.
      • The video display has been narrowed down from a wild list of on-site projections, digital photo frames, and room-filling environmental shifts to a single monitor or system of multiple monitors which play the videos with out-loud audio on the main display. During the last residency I found viewers were split 50/50 on reception of the videos on a large scale or more intimate size. The larger scale referenced the black box of cinema and filmic language. The smaller scale referenced television. While it would be interesting to construct an enter-able televisual space, with multiple projections in a darkened room, I found that referencing television via the televisual screen makes the most sense, especially the more I’ve dug in to the differences between television theory and cinematic theory. The black box of cinema expects the viewer to sit down and focus on the language of film, much like the novel, which restrains, constrains and uses its own cultivated language–characters and locations are fully rendered in a lengthier window of time than your average television episode, yet it has a much shorter expanse in which to develop virtual relationships than a 24-episode TV season. It’s more complex than this, but in a nutshell, cinema is over-arching, encompassing. Television is episodic, fleeting, but builds a dynamic mosaic for interpretation. We engage with TV on different days, in different moods–but film is meant to be consumed in one shot, one specific length.
      • Television is a “white box” medium which co-exists in our personal, social and lived-in spaces. We don’t turn the lights down (unless we’re watching a filmic experience on television) to engage with it. Instead, TV occupies a light, lively room. We may pass in front of the box, doing chores, talking, temporarily engaging the screen, getting wrapped up in bursts of sound, snippets of dialogue… it is a medium of oral tradition, of mosaic image-memory, of fragmentary, flowing storytelling. It occupies more hours with us in our physical geographies, in our relationship to friends and family in location-situated space.

Abandoned Paths
I received a number of formatting suggestions, which informed my final choices. However, there were a few approaches that were attempted and set aside:

  • Print on large paper to test the effect of scale on the viewer’s ability to enter ambiguous space.
    • The painting satisfies the classic screen, past-present-future collapse on paper and offers a similar sense of ambiguous space. The digital images were better received as moving images or as backlit digital components, when viewed in context with the painting. I am therefore relegating digital images on paper to future versions of the project, or side projects.
  • Print many small versions of the digital images and/or try a less modest installation.
    • Will definitely do this for a future version, or adaptation of the project, but the main project is best served by addressing paint, video and digital as manipulation. The three-part installation is growing immodest already. J
  • Try displaying video on cathode TVs.
    • Tried it. Relates too directly to antique, retro or ‘old school’ considerations, making the work more specifically nostalgic or sentimental, even potentially sarcastic, as we have mostly abandoned that technology. Instead, the video art will be shown on what we currently recognize as television in our context, making the work more about re-context in the now, rather than nostalgic, or tease-worthy, retro imaging.
  • Try videos or stills in digital photo frames.
    • This is still a compelling back-up option, as it allows multiple stills to cycle effectively, but I bumped it in favor of the View-Master, which allows a level of interaction by the viewer that the frames do not. If the View-Masters are poorly received in January, I will return to this option.
  • Panoramic horizons refer to cinema, rectangles to television.
    • This was more of an observation made during the last residency, and with deeper consideration on my part, I decided to relegate the widest horizons to a future project, instead choosing to stick with television reference for conceptual reasons.

Mentor

My mentor this semester was Kevin McCoy, of the new media duo, Jennifer & Kevin McCoy. Kevin was consistently helpful, providing clear, conceptual insight into the project and its realization—always able to see right to the core of the idea. He provided direction on which aspects were working and which were leading the wrong way, formally and intellectually, and his insight and familiarity with new media (and other artists I’ve been studying) was indispensable.

Kevin was pivotal in encouraging me to seriously refine and direct the video installation, pulling me out of the ‘stuck in with too many display options’ whirlpool. We worked through the details of the video pieces and the direction of the View-Master reels, philosophically, technically and conceptually. He was also a font of useful information, recommending artists, pieces and projects to consider in relation to my own work.

Since Kevin has worked with televisual material before, he was able to provide critical, experiential responses to each situation. In short, Kevin made the refinement of my multi-part thesis possible. We were able to have enriching conceptual discussions that tied nicely into the more physical aspects of the work. Kevin also took the time to keep up with my blog and to read most of my papers, which informed his response to the work.

I have detailed each of our meetings on the blog:

Meeting #1 – https://renadamsmfa.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/first-mentor-meeting/
Meeting #2 – https://renadamsmfa.wordpress.com/2014/09/24/major-decisions-the-narrow-way/
Meeting #3 – https://renadamsmfa.wordpress.com/2014/12/08/third-mentor-meeting/
Meeting #4 – will happen in December

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Direction of work in Semester 4

Final Videos

As part of my thesis refinement, I drew up a blueprint of additional videos I plan to produce, to round out the virtual programming—treating each as a self-contained work of art. These videos will work with my existing sense of place, dominant iconography and televisual tropes/situations. Some of the pieces included in the timeline (working titles only): Secret Air Base, Auto Accident, Car Chase, Desert Fire, Sniper, Military Action.

Final Paintings

Had originally intended 5 paintings in the series, expecting only or two to be exhibited in the Cambridge show. I will aim for at least two more in semester 4, rounding the total to 4. The third painting has already begin, related to aerospace.

View-Master Reels

I will be digging deeply into the production of 3D reels and additional 2D reels, working with digital images and screen caps. Target number of reels currently undecided.
Research

Topics included, but were not limited to:

The Celestial Jukebox

  • Remix, appropriation, sampling, recombination, mashups, plagiarism.
  • Remix culture and its relation to Information Age concerns.
  • Remix and database logic, open-source and collaborative remix in digital systems.
  • Relevant artists: DJ Spooky (Paul Miller), Eduardo Navas, Douglas Gordon, Jennifer & Kevin McCoy, Anthony Discenza, Claudia X. Valdes, Cory Arcangel.
  • Fan culture
  • Contemporary paradigm shift—read, write, read/write culture replacing old models of strict ownership and idea theft.

Television Theory

  • The nature of televisual language, television as medium, television as critical investigation.
  • Televisual impact on daily life, socialization of the medium, domesticity.
  • Television history (and subsequent conceptual changes).
  • White box medium. Fundamental differences between cinema and television.
  • Television as oral tradition, mosaic, montage.
  • 1970s and 1980s television – common tropes, heroism of middle class and underdogs, valorization of civil servants. Television formula, structure.
  • Nature of channel surfing, commercial breaks and program shifts as form of remix, rapid-fire editing, pause and re-context.
  • Televisual impact on memory, cultural history, social roles and understanding.
  • Television as vital component of 20th century thought and as transitional 21st century medium embodying Postmodern and Information Age collaborative flux.
  • America packaged, presented, distributed to the world (and itself) via television.
  • Understanding or constructing knowledge and mythology of place by televisual viewing.
  • Fan culture as expression of subjugated ‘other.’ Fan culture collaborative research.

Video Structure

  • Loops, patterns, anti-narrative, semi-narrative in video art
  • Semantic webs
  • Using stills within motion
  • The “third meaning” and its application to video art (Barthes)
  • Relevant artists: Zbigniew Rybczyński, Dziga Vertov, Anthony Discenza, Len Lye, Maya Deren, Tamás Waliczky, Cory Arcangel, Chris Marker.

Memory

  • Critical modes of memory. Process of memorization and recall.
  • Scientific and psychological understanding.
  • Memory as abstract attachment, method of processing.
  • Memory as incomplete, truncated, montaged, mosaic, relational form.
  • Memory through media, memory of television (and cinema) blended with memories of the ‘real,’ deeper considerations of whether memory of fictional media is real in itself—questions of the real, artificial, experienced and implied.
  • Mediated memory and cultural, personal, historical understanding.
  • Cultural memory, social memory, regional collaborative memory.
  • Televisual memory carried within television programming itself, television cannibalizing its own past. Re-runs, remakes, revisitations.
  • Déjà vu. Haunting, specters, information and media haunting. Re-enactment, re-enactors.

Landscape

I continued research into this broad category by digging into sub-categories like:

  • landscape and memory
  • landscape and cultural identity, political power, social leverage
  • landscape as identity, nationalist ideal
  • 16th century landscape paintings


New Media

I continued investigation into new media and interdisciplinary modes of thinking. Additional sub-categories included digital imaging and questions of remix and authenticity, new media installations, web objects, games and music videos.


Individual Programs

I also did specific research into individual television programs, including documentary material related to filming locations, personal accounts of media impact, etc.
Visual Research Archive

http://www.pinterest.com/renadamsart/research-board-residency-3/

Third Mentor Meeting

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Kevin and I had our third meeting on 11/10. We discussed several specific pieces, as well as logical directions for the View-Master reels and exhibition display.

We discussed the completed Encounter video in depth, covering everything from formal considerations to broader intellectual angles, including:

  • Consideration of TV vs. cinema and their underlying paradigms.
  • Kevin was interested in the evolution of Encounter and its narrative flow. The process of events and interactions are enjoyably difficult to entangle, even ambiguous. This is compelling.
  • Encounter has the most narrative of the bunch, though it’s still operating on a semi-narrative level.
  • The repetition, overlap provide a dreamscape feel.
  • The addition of landscape-specific information and desert physicality successfully anchors it in the same ‘scape’ as the rest of the installation; an improvement over the rough cut.
  • The darkness addresses a psychological, mythological space.
  • I made many positive improvements between the rough cut and the final version,

We also discussed the interactive / digital image component, the View-Master.

I explained my reasons for choosing it:

  • The View-Master format provides a relevant, interactive method of negotiating the digital stills. Using an app, website, Processing/Arduino or specifically electronic angle may have pushed the content and concept too far away from televisual language (though they are options for future work).
  • View-Masters have been a popular way of dimensionalizing television, media and even landscape/vacation photography (site as participatory culture) for a number of years, especially during the 60s, 70s and 80s (the related period of TV I’m working with). They may also suggest nostalgia, which is fine, but they are not completely rooted in it.
  • It provides a method of interaction that speaks to the original, semi-narrative forms of the reels themselves (and to my video works).
  • It breaks the digital stills away from a simple life on paper

I also explained that I was a little worried about it being too kitschy or gimmicky. Kevin pointed out the View-Master itself has always been gimmicky, so there’s no reason to shy away from it. It fits well with the project, the language of commodified television, and the moving-stills aspect of the digital work.

He suggested that I make the reels stereoscopic-proper; fully 3D, like most of the originals reels. Kevin felt considering the three-dimensionality of the digital stills in a stereoscopic, or anaglyph manner carries contemporary importance, especially with increasing interest in 3D viewing, and in light of other artists investigating structure (like Godard’s Goodbye to Language, which intentionally breaks 3D, preventing typical resolution).

To do this, I can turn the original stills I made into 3D versions, or I can use tracking shots found in TV footage. Composites can develop spatial distance.

Kevin also encouraged me to consider ways of grouping images from the Cascade archive. I can approach the reels as entries in a system of typologies (gunfights, car chases, joshua trees, freeway shots…). He encouraged me logically group stills, so that there is some categorical relationship to the other stills in the same reel, and then to the project at large.

Videos

We discussed several of my original format and exhibition ideas for displaying video works in the installation. Kevin and I were on the same page with my final decision to present television ON television and we went over (agreed upon and expanded) my reasoning for leaving other formats behind, like:

  • Larger scale video projection references cinema, not television, and leads way from the televisual core
  • Projecting images into a self-contained space, to suggest “walking into” television, could be interesting for a future project, but my thesis makes more sense when presented on a contemporary television screen, especially in context with the paintings and View-Masters.
  • Setting up a TV / DVD player with remote and allowing the viewer to choose which video they want to watch directly references television, and could be interesting in another context, but it would shift too much emphasis on the nature of interactivity itself. Kevin pointed out that once the viewer is given creative control of video choice, the flip-through takes center stage, undermining the power of the videos as self-contained works of art. Viewers would inevitably flip around and spend more time engaged with the act of action, than with the works.
  • As with above, any kind of choose-your-own or Jukebox setting would detract from the weight of the autonomous pieces.
  • Presenting the works on a computer screen or as an app does not specifically suggest the language of television and again could be part of another project in the future.

Kevin also suggested that each video feels self-contained, though related through the larger body of work. They are individual works that should be considered as complete thoughts in themselves.

Since each video has that sense of individual impact, he felt they would be best be served with discrete screens set for each of the video. So, if I selected 7 videos, there would be 7 different television monitors cycling through the videos individually.

My idea had been to offer a single television, or a set of three televisions, each cycling through the videos on a playlist. Kevin’s suggestion makes more sense and in an optimal installation, each of the final videos would have a single TV presenting (and looping) them as discrete units. Knowing that my Cambridge installation will *not* be optimal (as in, I will likely be physically limited in the number of television sets that can be displayed), I will limit the video display to 1-3 TVs as originally planned, but I may adjust the videos shown, or the cycle of rotation, to more adequately address Kevin’s observation.

We will meet again in December, at which time we can discuss the newer version of Elevator, Rental (Requesting Backup) and any other final thoughts.

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Roy and the Dimensional Dilemma – painting #2 progress

It’s been a while since I shared a painting update, and I do apologize! Here’s the current state of the second large painting, plus a gallery below featuring all progress shots to date. Time warps in the desert. Currently untitled. IMG_3836_2

Almost finished!

Here’s the current state, with the previous painting nearby for context.

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Progress shots, in order:

 

Haunted Temporality: The Loop as Semi-Narrative Engine

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AJ is trapped in an endless helicopter-gunfire-convertible chase through the desert…

Ren Adams
Research Paper 3
Peter Rostovsky – Advisor
October, 2014

Haunted Temporality: The Loop as Semi-Narrative Engine

Note: Footnotes are below, if internal links don’t direct you there properly.
Download and Read PDF Version

Loops are powerful invocations, abandoning linear narrative for the intensity of a continuous present, capable of establishing, disrupting and directing temporal relationships. Media theorist Lev Manovich suggests the loop is actually “a new narrative form appropriate for the computer age,” even as it occupies a liminal, anti-narrative space between story and instance (Manovich xxxiii).[1] The term ‘loop’ itself describes a complex range of repetitive gestures, from 3-second animated GIFs to middle-ground montage (establishing shots, action sequences in television) and the broader, or nearly imperceptible, cycles found in contemporary art (e.g. Douglas Gordon’s 24 Hour Psycho[2]). Woven into longer segments, loops can even establish a haunting sense of repetition and reappearance, affecting the viewer’s relationship to the viewed and the recalled. This flexibility allows loops to serve as an effective investigation into the conflated space of time and memory. In the case of my own video work, they allow access and reference to the uncanny familiarity of television and its rapid-fire montage experience. The video components of The Cascade incorporate loops to provide the kind of mosaic understanding of space-place that come from a de-centered, semi-narrative form. The loop provides critical negotiation of the televisual structure and the ways we commit and recall memory-images,[3] opening my artistic process to post-narrative methodology.

The contemporary loop recalls proto-cinema and early avant-garde film[4]—the active image repetition later supplanted by cinema’s reliance on linear narrative (Manovich 315). Early cinematic devices like the zoetrope and zoopraxiscope animated short sequences—dancers whirling, a horse jumping a fence, and so on, by “mapping time onto two-dimensional space” using sequenced, discrete images spaced around a circle (Manovich 51). These analog devices used physical motion to speed through individual shots, simulating activity within a closed-circuit (Manovich 296-7). They were capable of expressing an instant in time, a suspended action, often with its own micro-narrative (the horse jumps, the dancers dance), but without reliance upon storyline. With the emergence of cinema proper, the language of film abandoned the ‘artifice’ of the loop, avoiding repetitious sequences to stress the illusion of realistic ‘capture.’[5] The more cinema embraced capture, the more it bound itself to the forward-moving act of storytelling (Manovich 300-01). Cinema thus behaved like novels and theater, with clear progression through a series of events.[6] Since early television heavily mimicked film, it initially embraced the loop-free approach (Fiske 15), but as television developed its own language and aesthetic system, it integrated (even centralized) loops for defining program elements, story structure, and all manner of serialized and episodic development—even systems of re-run, re-make, programs, commercials,[7] and consumption.[8] Loops also resurfaced in video games, animation and the internet, reincarnated as short videos, animated GIFs and the like, carrying a renewed sense of the immediate present (Manovich 315). In current pop culture, loops are critically, even playfully integrated into the fiber of daily life, popping up in Facebook feeds, apps, games and television, expressing emotion, advertising products, making political statements, and so on.[9]

Thus, loop forms are an alternative to cinematic narrative. Repetitive structure prevents a clear understanding of beginning, middle and end, erasing our reliance on static waypoints while expanding a single moment into a potentially infinite, self-spiraling universe.  This allows contemporary artists to manipulate the viewer’s relationship to time and memory (even to place and event), just as the use of repeated sequencing in television programs reinforces the viewer’s sense of flow, place and character by offering a mosaic[10] of recorded experiences the viewer must link by viewing.[11] Where cinema unfolds an elaborate story system, loops invite focus, even frustration, functioning as discrete, contained occurrences or as open-circuit systems that manipulate the audience expectation set by visual media (Fiske 62).

The loop in a broader sense can also describe the progress of televisual language (and structure) itself. Most programs rely on formula, such that viewers gain a sense of familiarity with series they have never personally watched, simply by participating in televisual exchange (Fiske 17).[12] Unlike the linear drive of cinema, television reveals the nature of its ideas, characters and events as cross-referenced mosaics that may even span years of development (Fiske 125)(Footnote 9). In TV, literal looping segments become intertextual references, suggesting the repetitive structure of the programming and a GIF-like condensation of proto-cinema, while establishing rhythm, expository information and aesthetic value. The re-use of stock footage loops, for example, provides a punctuating rhythm that can link multiple seasons and ideas across, and through, the visual mosaic.

Looping stock footage is an established television practice and though the loop may contribute to the story, it is actually a collapsed, or excised, unit of time, without narrative—used repeatedly to transition the primary material.[13] Driving sequences from Emergency! and Adam 12 are excellent examples of this kind of punctuating loop. Each episode contains pre-recorded, circular footage of emergency vehicles or police cars leaving the station, hurtling through city streets or returning to the garage. The loops are not immediately apparent, but reveal ticks over time: the same cross traffic, pedestrians and clouds populate the time-frozen cycle. Repetition also suggests the endless, grueling process of rescue and law enforcement, so the loops also have conceptual meaning for characterization, but there is a composite relationship here, where action sequences and establishing shots form a kind of nonlinear temporality (135), resurfacing across multiple episodes to mark infinite spiraling points, yet the “narrative does not proceed as simple causality” (Birnbaum 137). Though the story moves forward because the police rush to the scene, the act of rushing is divorced and looped, intertwined with the “indiscernibility of the real and the imaginary, or of the present and the past, of the actual and the virtual…” creating double images, or looping engagements (Farr 23).

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The Day After (1983)

In contemporary art, loops can provide overall structure, as in Gordon’s 24 Hour Psycho, Cory Arcangel’s Clouds (2002) or Stan Douglas’ Overture (1986).[14] Punctuating longer works, or used in variation, the loop encourages viewers to consider the nature of time and the relationship between the reinvented continuous and the discrete, to see multiple potentialities simultaneously and to establish formal rhythm, as in Claudia X. Valdes’ In the Dream of the Planet (2002).  Valdes employs intense cycles and ‘reincarnated’ excerpts, in order to direct viewer interpretation and to reinforce Cold War conditions. In The Dream of the Planet (2002)(Fig. 1), Valdes appropriates made-for-TV-movie The Day After (1983), compressing the two-hour film into a 56-second loop.  The loop is repeated six times in rapid succession, with each incarnation skewed to emphasize a different aspect of Cold War anxiety: the military complex, social upheaval, survival, detonation, media, etc.… The original film grapples with a fictional nuclear escalation between the United States and the Soviet Union, culminating in a full-scale nuclear war. In the condensation, images hurtle past, allowing only a frantic glimpse of each person, each situation. The cycle slows with terrifying agony as missiles launch, buildings collapse and the media responds—distilling the doom of the original into a frenetic, semi-narrative commentary. The painfully recognizable, yet ultimately unreliable loop incites a state of hyper-arousal that parallels nuclear paranoia. Valdes’ ability to distill the made-for-TV movie, its subtexts and anxiety, with her own queries, is an excellent example of the haunted loop, which refers to, and reenacts, its own apparitional forms—making it incredibly relevant to the distillation of action and interaction in The Cascade.[15]

My video work considers the way loops are capable of suggesting the space of spatial memory and whether repetition provides a condensed sense of the mosaic found in televisual language.[16] Embedded, unstable grooves offer the viewer contextual déjà vu—where they begin to identity recognizable sequences, but are confronted by uncertain, semi-narrative that haunts itself with its own re-visitation. This perpetual re-enactment suggests the denial of traditional story, while establishing a dream-like state where characters engage and re-engage, running over a tight temporality that flirts with story.

So I Asked… (2014)(Fig. 2) establishes this kind of haunted, repetitious cycle via deeply interlocked, repetitious passages. Opening with two firefighter-paramedics caught mid-conversation (then interrupted by an emergency call), the tumbling, heavily altered stream collides with a rotating sequence of loops (a landing helicopter, a high speed gunfight, rescue vehicles en route, etc.). The loops continually intertwine, ghosted, as intensity builds. The increasingly anxious, overlapping dialogue suggests “something happens, is happening, goes on happening…” (Drucker 23), though sequenced temporality ruptures: the ‘goes on happening’ may actually occur before the initial ‘something’ that sets off the chain. The paramedics seem to be responding to a gunfight, yet the rescuers themselves are caught in a disruptive loop that leaves the title question unasked and the rescue unresolved, though viewers can rely on their knowledge of televisual language to determine that a rescue has been, or will be, attempted. We are unable to rely on linearity, yet the hurtle of loops describe the events most likely to have occurred, though order is unclear—rather like catching episodes out of sequence, leaving us to infer connections.[17]

I also take into consideration the telescoping stages of video itself: the time of the original filming, editorial time in appropriative postproduction, the immediate present of the watching viewer, the viewer’s present-into-past transition and the after-processing (and any subsequent recollection). The intensity of repetition is meant to reinforce the experience of an immediate, unyielding present, both in terms of ‘story’ progression and reception. The moments-after transition through what has immediately passed suggests: “time flows and each present fades but doesn’t disappear” (Birnbaum 139), amplifying the sense of déjà vu as almost-identical snippets continually resurface. This holds true in Valdes’ work, as well as in the stock footage loops I reference in my own work. So I Asked… (and other Cascade videos) may even behave as fragmentary, fragile archives—bound by our desire to sort out the phenomena of “haunting,” and the activation of memory that occurs with reappearance (Farr 12). Are we seeing the same event as an instant replay? Are we remembering an earlier incarnation, or is a similar event happening repeatedly in the same space, over time? The embedded loops thus recall the instant-moment introspection of proto-cinema, or the characterizing, time-independent stock footage of the appropriated programs.[18] The semi-narrative is stitched, overlaid and underwritten by time.

Loops possess a kind of visual déjà vu adapted from proto-cinematic experiments, re-contextualized by digital culture, manipulated by television and increasingly fundamental to contemporary art. They are versatile vehicles of conceptual delivery, raw enough to link and characterize television and capable of leading to surprising engagements with the haunting re-enactment of contemporary life. Loops can be semi-narrative, providing time-introspective context for larger stories, or they can perform as narrative-defying moments of their own, operating outside traditional viewer expectation. They fundamentally speak of time, memory and reflective space, especially when divorced from big-picture enslavement, becoming a postproduction, anti-narrative engine, disruptive and interstitial. Repetition changes our engagement with the ‘place’ of moving image, making loop investigations a relevant, even vital, expression of our time—a way of zeroing in on the atoms of information flow.

Works Cited

Adams, Ren. So I Asked… 2014. YouTube. 8 Aug. 2014. Web. 15 Aug. 2014.

Birnbaum, Daniel. “Crystals.” Memory. Ed. Ian Farr. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2012. 137-144. Print.

Boyd, Mark Cameron. “Postnarrative Structure.” Theory Now. 10 April, 2008. Web. 17 Oct. 2014.

Culley, Peter. “Two Works by Stan Douglas.” Vanguard 16:4 (1987).

Dienst, Richard. Still Life in Real Time: Theory after Television (Post-Contemporary Interventions). Durham: Duke University Press, 1994. Print.

Drucker, Johanna. “Temporal Photography.” Philosophy of Photography 1:1 (2010): 22-28. Print.

Enwezor, Okwui. “Documents into Monuments: Archives as Meditations in Time.” Memory. Ed. Ian Farr. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2012. 133-136. Print.

Farr, Ian. “Introduction/Not Quite how I Remember it.” Memory. Ed. Ian Farr. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2012. 12-27. Print.

Fiske, John and John Hartley. Reading Television. Florence: Routledge, 1978. Print.

Manovich, Lev. The Language of New Media. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2001. Print.

Valdes, Claudia X. “In the Dream of the Planet.” Portfolio. Claudia X. Valdes. 2002. Web. 26 Oct. 2014.

inthedream_valdes

Figure 1. In the Dream of the Planet (2012). Claudia X. Valdes. Video (Installation View).

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Figure 2. So I Asked… (2014). Ren Adams. Video.

[1] Manovich also suggests it is “relevant to recall that the loop gave birth not only to cinema but also to  computer programming,” thus tying loop logic to database execution—a fundamental 20th and 21st century interface   (Xxxiii)Loops are found in proto cinema and at the beginning of cinema, then re-emerge in new media. (215).
[2] Gordon’s installation incorporates two projection screens which simultaneously play an endless loop of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), one proceeding forward, the other backward. The loops move at only a few frames per second—so slowly that casual viewers may not even recognize change or directional progression at all. Longer consideration of the piece reveals the uncanny, unnerving and crystallized sense of frozen (yet endlessly progressing) cinematic time, as they loop in such long spans, few could sit through the entire motion—even as they are aware of the sweeping loop.

[3] Theorists like Paul Ricoeur and Jean-Paul Sartre suggest the uncanny, layered experience of memory is a process part logic, part hallucinatory. Ricoeur applies some of Henri Bergson’s memory theory, when interpreting Sartre’s psychology of imagination by describing a kind of intermediary memory as a mixed state, where “the ‘memory-image’ [is] halfway between ‘pure memory’ and memory reinscribed in perception” (Farr 14). The memory-image, or mixed media we construct in our minds, is never wholly factual, or entirely reliable, instead a play between the imaginary and conscious, between the interpreted and the understood.

[4] Dziga Vertov’s 1929 Man with a Movie Camera re-enacts the proto-cinematic loop, embedded in longer experimental montage that remains relevant to new media considerations (Manovich xiv, 316).

[5] Manovich suggests “narrative cinema avoids repetitions; like modern Western fictional forms in general, it puts

forward a notion of human existence as a linear progression through numerous unique events” (315-316).

Cinematic linearity is not just a storytelling structure, but an attribution of larger psychological ordering techniques in Modernity.

[6]       At least mainstream/dominant cinema. Avant-garde cinema plays by different rules.

[7] Television theorist Richard Dienst claims television endlessly cuts away from program moments to return to the “traffic of images and sounds, to all the messages carried by all the messengers crossing through the world” (129). This creates a loop of program-commercial-program-commercial.

[8] Artist Nam June Paik echoes television theorists when he suggests “the fundamental concept of TV is time…” (Dienst 159). Television is recorded, produced, cut and offered in terms of time, so time is not only a fundamental concept, but also the fundamental shape of television. The familiar loops we encounter in viewing owe much to the backbone of the medium. Thus, “time is the substance of television’s visuality, the ground of its ontology and the currency of its economy” (Dienst 159).

[9] Their ubiquitous culture-wide return can be attributed to larger postmodern and ‘digimodern’ cultural shifts, not expounded here.

[10] Which more closely resembles oral tradition than novels or theater, where characters repeat, refrains establish elastic structure and context, but in which stories exhibit a kind of fluidity not found in directional cinema. Television has been likened to oral tradition by more than one theorist (Fiske 125). Viewers gain an understanding of characters and events by viewing, digesting and cross-referencing visual information. We get a sense of who Jack Bauer is, not because of lengthy cinematic development, but because we cross-patch, experience and unite threads from 9 seasons of 24. This is similar to the way in which audiences might come to understand the epic poetry or folktales of Odysseus or Coyote.

[11] Cinema and radio are considered ‘hot’ media because they extend and deliver a focused sensation; the viewer or listener watches, listens and receives to gain understanding. Television is considered a ‘cool’ medium because the viewer must do most of the work; “the screen supplies mere metonyms, we make them meaningful” (Reading 123). Because information about characters, events and plotlines are stretched across multiple episodes, even multiple seasons and years, and TV occupies living space, rather than the black box of the focused theater, television asks the audience to perform and engage. Episodes do not even need to be viewed ‘in order’ to garner a sense of the program’s reality. Thus, it is “only at the moment when the semiotic codes interlock with the cultural awareness supplied by the viewer, whose own context will play a part in shaping that cultural awareness” (Fiske 123).

[12] We may catch an advertisement for a new detective show or medical drama and already have a sense of the kind of language, pacing and aesthetics that are likely to be offered, related in part to past viewing experiences, or to general cultural understanding of genres. We know how sitcoms are meant to behave, etc.
[13] Thought it may contain the kind of micro-narrative present in the spinning zoetrope: the vehicles turn a corner, the firemen jump into the engine and leave, etc.
[14]  Arcangel’s Clouds is a new media projection piece, endlessly rebuilt in real time from a modified Super Nintendo game cartridge. The background clouds from Super Mario Brothers provide an infinite, fabricated loop.

In Stan Douglas’ piece, a 16mm Edison Company promotional film is looped under a narration from Proust. In the cycle, a train curves through a British Columbian landscape in an infinite circle (Boyd)(Culley). The voice-over is contemplates the transition from waking to sleeping, echoed in the uncanny monotony of the endless train ride. Here, the loop is at first uncertain. The film lasts 6 minutes—enough time to seem discrete, yet the viewer realizes the train is passing through the same terrain, just as our minds do (especially during the process of recollection). Here, the loop offhandedly illustrates the philosophy of Proust’s memory-grooves (Boyd).

[15] The Cascade is my three-part, interdisciplinary thesis, which includes painting, video and interactive elements. The interactive component also makes use of loops, though it is not discussed here.
[16]  A number of television theorists describe cinema as ‘linear’ and television as ‘mosaic.’ Viewers gain a sense of who the characters are, the world they inhabit and t, mosaic, oral tradition(reading television 125)

[17] Due to my schedule, I was unable to watch the first four seasons of The Office in real time, or in ‘proper’ order. Instead, I watched their non-sequential re-broadcast in syndication, which made no attempt to present the series in linearity. Instead, I saw snippets of the before and after of several relationships and dramatic story arcs, piecing together the total experience by seeing events out of turn. The overall mosaic offered a smattering of details that came into focus only after viewing each puzzle piece separately. I thought of this as a critical motive when constructing my videos, as this is often the case with shows in re-rerun, or for viewers who miss a week’s installment. We understand television as mosaic, and we know how to complete the metonymic role of television (Fiske 123). We are the connotative agents (Fiske 41).

[18] My videos intentionally reference the looping stock footage of the appropriated television programs. Loops invoke re-enactment, whether suggesting repeat activities or behaving as discrete repetitions in themselves. Thus, the overall atmosphere recalls previous stories and future adventures, while flirting with narrative, but not offering closure.  By overturning cultural expectations of narrative progress, the videos undermine the process of viewing that we are most familiar with (Boyd).

Major Decisions: The Narrow Way

scaffolding2

Besides being the semester mid-point, my 3rd-semester mid-term coincided with major changes in the final direction of my thesis project, The Cascade – Moments in the Televisual Desert. I plotted several distinct pieces that need to be completed before January and determined the final format and physical considerations of the last part of the triad: the interactive.

So, in addition to continued conceptual investigation, I grappled with medium, technique and materials in a direct way–clearing the “limitless possibilities” that were effectively making part of the project freeze, Hamlet-style, from too many options.

The three-part, interdisciplinary installation will include painting and video, which were already decided, but the possible format of the video, plus the final direction of the third element–the interactive R/W component, were still up in the air.

The interactive component had so many potentialities it became limiting instead of liberating.  I had built and cross-referenced output format lists, based on suggestions and investigations, which implied the third component could take nearly any form–from interactive fiction to downloadable apps–digital images on paper to responsive environments. I had also started down all of those avenues, experimenting without critically tying each output back to my concept.

I did some conceptual housekeeping, sweeping away techniques that did not directly communicate my concept and its ties to televisual experience (output formats like websites, phone apps and Processing referenced digitality flavored by the Internet, speaking less about the nature of television and more about the broader computerized spectrum of 21st century communication). Instead I zeroed in on a form of stereoscopy for the third component, which ties in to memory theory and physical interactivity, while referencing televisual memory on several levels. I’ll do a big reveal later in the semester, but it feels good to weed the garden of endless mediums! The interactive has become stereoscopic. If the stereoscopy does not hold up to more rigorous critique, there are several other formats that can be revisited.

Above: Completed Encounter video.

The video display has been narrowed down from a wild list of on-site projections, digital photo frames, and room-filling environmental shifts to a single monitor or system of multiple monitors which play the videos with out-loud audio on the main display. During the last residency I found viewers were split 50/50 on reception of the videos on a large scale or more intimate size. The larger scale referenced the black box of cinema and filmic language. The smaller scale referenced television. While it would be interesting to construct an enter-able televisual space, with multiple projections in a darkened room, I found that referencing television via the televisual screen makes the most sense, especially the more I’ve dug in to the differences between television theory and cinematic theory. The black box of cinema expects the viewer to sit down and focus on the language of film, much like the novel, which restrains, constrains and uses its own cultivated language–characters and locations are fully rendered in a lengthier window of time than your average television episode, yet it has a much shorter expanse in which to develop virtual relationships than a 24-episode tv season. It’s more complex than this, but in a nutshell, cinema is over-arching, encompassing. Television is episodic, fleeting, but builds a dynamic mosaic for interpretation. We engage with tv on different days, in different moods–but film is meant to be consumed in one shot, one specific length.

Television is a “white box” medium which co-exists in our personal, social and lived-in spaces. We don’t turn the lights down (unless we’re watching a filmic experience on television) to engage with it. Instead, TV occupies a light, lively room. We may pass in front of the box, doing chores, talking, temporarily engaging the screen, getting wrapped up in bursts of sound, snippets of dialogue… it is a medium of oral tradition, of mosaic image-memory, of fragmentary, flowing storytelling. It occupies more hours with us in our physical geographies, in our relationship to friends and family in location-situated space.

Showing the videos on a television-referent monitor as wormholes into time, space, memory, landscape, histopry and television makes sense. Even those who prefer to view television via Netflix or Hulu on computers or mobile devices engage with the media intimately, yet with an odd sense of passive control, small and close. In the white box of the gallery space, it makes sense. With lights on, the rest of the installation lit and occupying pass-through space… it makes sense!

My decision was influenced by discussions with fellow students, faculty, advisors, my mentors–and by viewing a variety of video art projections and installations in person, gauging my response to the physical display, as well as the response of other visitors.

I’d still like to experiment with an all-tv room, or with projections on scrims, but in my gut I know tv will show tv.

92314_4

I’ve also narrowed the way further. The sheer amount of material that was filmed in Los Angeles County between 1965 and1989 is staggering. I had initially limited the pool of resources to television, rather than the thousands of hours of cinematic references to the same geographic considerations, because I knew it would be overwhelming.  I also knew the inclusion of film would change the dynamic (and personality) of the language I would be investigating and the forms the project could take. Thus, I had to leave Soledad Canyon gems like Duel (1971) off the table.

These early decisions remain in place. However, the pool of available television is itself a massive, decade-spanning archive. I fielded hours of television time, watching, hunting, scouring, sampling, barely melting that formidable iceberg tip. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my reasons for choosing certain programs are systematic and (hopefully) logical. Even with the guidelines I set for myself, the archive was still too big and expanding too quickly (nearly everyone at the last two residencies has suggested additional programming, additional genres), so I drew the line. I’m not adding any more programs, as tempting as it is (and even as I constantly remember more episodes and programs filmed in these locations!).

I’m finding the ground much more fertile when my ever-expansive view returns home, focused and narrowed on the final stretch.

My crystallized, official schema:

Program Selection

1.) They had to be filmed in Los Angeles County during the 1960s, 1970s or 1980s (the heyday of LA County as the seat of American television filming).

2.) They had to be programs I had originally watched in their first (or partial first) run, or in syndication during those same decades (in-context viewing).

3.) They had to offer some kind of iconographic contribution to the project; the “paramedics” or the “detectives.”

4.) They had to be dramas (I excised sitcoms, cowboy serials and other programs early on, as the language is quite different–though I can see returning to investigate these genres in the future).

5.) They had to be programs I had actually enjoyed watching, or felt some obsessive compulsion to engage with. This is why, for example, Airwolf isn’t on the list. I frankly didn’t like it. This is important for the earnest angle, which leaves sarcastic critique at the door.

6.) I had to be a distilled, representative array, including highly recognizable works paired with obscure memory-traces (a la Douglas Gordon, Renee Green).

For the second half of the semester, I’m planning to complete the rest of the video set, which magnifies various tropes and locations, including Ambush, Airplane (Rental), Car Chase, Auto Accident, Secret Air Base, Sniper, Desert Fire, and Military Action – (titles not final). I’ll be working my way through these with my palette of clips and ideas, though some may carry over to next semester. Plus, I’m working on new digital stills (see the two this post) and I intend to finish the next 2-3 paintings in the series.

And, here’s Pink Floyd’s – The Narrow Way. For the hell of it. http://youtu.be/TJaj_2xsHzc

New Work

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Just wanted to share the new painting I’m working on, including the earliest layers. Expect it to undergo many mutations in the next week!

I’m also plugging away at several new videos, still in the rough cut stage. They continue my investigation into the conceptual nature of looping, telescoping space, situational montage and semi-narrative. They are also allowing me to develop firmer iconography that relates to televisual memory.

Stills from the rough cut of Encounter…

encounter1 encounter2 encounter3

Stills from another of the working clips (currently untitled):

wc1 wc2