Now Hear This

These readings immediately reminded me of two things.

The first is the oft quoted (yet never credited) “God gave you two ears and one mouth so, that you could listen twice as much as you talk”. This device is most often used by the frustrated and tired schoolteacher in the hopes of inspiring one moment of semi-silence as though, who actually were listening, could chew on that sentiment for a moment before regurgitating some halfway sensible sentiment.

The second is Shannon’s obsession with sound. The sound journals in 302 were one of the best assignments that I have ever done. How often are we really forced to think and digest all the sounds pouring into our conscious? Often, we are not even aware of a sound that we make or hear all the time until someone else asks us what it is. How many times have we all had to take a moment to really think about that oh-so-familiar noise before we could finally respond with “Oh! That’s the dishwasher” or “Huh? Do you mean my neighbors pipes?”, or my personal favorite “I do not make that noise when I chew!”

Why don’t we think about sound more? And why are we so willing to make noise thoughtlessly? Would anyone really be less likely to honk their horn in rush hour traffic if they knew they were hampering the mating rituals of the birds in our environment? If we aren’t listening to these birds are they even really there?

Even now, I am focused more one the noise inside my head than the hum of the machinery, and the occasional trickling in of the conversation being had downstairs. Ironically, just like Gordon Hempton, I could not hear a “natural” noise right now no matter how hard I strained—I just tried.

So, what does this mean to us as filmmakers? What does sound do for us?

I really liked what Chion did in the beginning of the readings with Tati and Bergman. That was the perfect way to show the power of sound and image. I am not saying that silent films do not have the meaning and depth that talkies have—that’s ludicrous. Just that the filmmakers, who truly utilize sound are the ones that we really remember. Whether we like it or not, sound is a device that has become incredibly pivotal to filmmaking—and we should like it! Sometimes, the visual is not enough (and neither is slapping a song over incredible images).

Oh, Mr. Wells

Wow. Wells hates narrative animation.

I had a feeling this reading was going to remind me of the Hans Richter piece Shannon assigned in the experimental class, and I was right. I remember wishing I had a more visceral reaction to the reading—Cassandra had it covered though, and I wonder if she will have a similar reaction this time around.

Poetry was my first real artistic outlet. It was the first time something came to me that I had to capture. Poetry can mean many things or nothing just like experimental animation; however, Wells believes that the attempt of an abstract animator to attach deeper meaning negates the art all together. I’m not sure that I agree with him.

I grew up with the Looney Tunes and Disney cel animation. I was very fond of both of them. Being born to the first generation that was truly saturated in Cartoon Network, I spent most of my life with narrative animation, and I really enjoyed it—I still do when the mood strikes.

That being said, I realize that these cartoons are not necessarily the highest form of animation, but that’s not to entirely negate what these animators are doing. Sure, some of them are simply repeating the same styles that were there before them and they will continue you to use them without any thought of innovation—such is the nature of art when it exists within a capitalist system—but some of these commercial animators are attempting innovations, no matter how small they may be.

I think Wells does make a valid point, but I guess I’m just too tender hearted to accept the harshness of it. We can’t all be Van Gough! Some of us are just the guy doing caricatures on the corner. Maybe that does diminish our artistic output; maybe not being politically charged/controversial/provocative/abstract means that we are less than those, who are cutting edge. Who am I to say? I just know that even the guy on the street corner is making art no matter how low an art form it may be. It’s a beautiful thing that made someone feel something even if it was just a fleeting chuckle.

(Wo)Man With(out) a Movie Camera

Where to begin?


Barrett taught me how to do a magazine transfer during the last class—since I missed last Monday—and that was pretty sweet.

I got to see more of cute little Kai and how to make the incredible texture that is actual film get turned up to 11.

I got to do some pretty sweet hand painting with ink and oil, which I’ve always wanted to do.


I’m still not sure what was the coolest thing.


Obviously, seeing the Kai footage with the little extra oomph was awesome. I mean, who doesn’t love adorable children? But actually getting my hands dirty was incredible. The magazine transfer was super cool, and I can’t wait to show other people how to do it. The hand painting was one of the most rewarding and tactile experiences of my life—mostly because I got to experiment with the tape and figure out how to make things absolutely ridiculous.

I have to say, this is the least anxious I have ever been while filmmaking. I didn’t have to worry about whether or not my variable shutter knob was in the right position; there was not hunting to find the perfect bit of found footage to fit my agenda; I don’t have to hunt for the quote in an interview I did months ago that I may not have taken the best notes about.
I felt liberated.

Not that the camera is too restrictive! It’s an incredible device. With almost nothing (just film stock and light) it captures life rather than just imitating it, which is what makes it so beautifully unique and separate from the other arts. In making that kind of art, it too is liberating, but without it I am without worry or fear. I don’t have to stress about the frame since it’s already decided. My job is simply to manipulate it and let it be what it wants to be—like sculpture, I merely have to shape the clay and find emulate its essence, only I get to determine what about its essence I want to share.

Well Color This Green

So, cymatics is AWESOME! When I was a kid I used to love watching the VOX visualization in Windows Media Player while my tunes played (especially Selling the Drama, which is the best Live album). The idea of being able to see sound is beautiful.

Perhaps, I’m a little biased.

Spencer Addison wrote a piece about how sight was the most beautiful sense that we were given and continued to enumerate the reasons why in a way befitting the Enlightenment Period in England. Afterwards, I pondered which of the senses I treasure most, and I actually love sound more than sight—my friend, Ashley, told me that I’m a “bad filmmaker” in jest. I just love sound. I love words and the way they sound, the echo of an object dropping to the floor, the tapping of fingertips on different solids. Sound is so beautiful.

Since cymatics is so awesome, that would mean by extension that synesthesia is also awesome. While, I am not lucky enough to have synesthesia, I do associate certain smells, words, and sounds with different colors. I often get strange looks when I ask what “that pink smell” is.
When I first saw read the Wikipedia articles about synesthesia, I thought of Harry Smith’s Early Abstractions, which we watched in Shannon’s 302 Experimental class. I don’t think Harry Smith would meet Richard Cytowic’s criteria for being a bonafide synesthete, he certainly played with color in a way that gave a new feel to the Beatle’s songs that he chose—I’m sure the acid helped.

I find it interesting that the Neurological Synesthesia article reports both that most synesthetes do not know that their condition is strange, but they also keep it a secret their whole lives. If they don’t know it’s strange, are they really keeping it a secret or are they simply living their lives?
In the Synesthesia in Art article, I really appreciated a lot of the artistic rendering of things that are not thought of as visual. Carol Steen’s discussion of Visions (as shown in the margin) was really interesting. Does that really count as synesthesia though? She painted something she saw no matter how abstract. I sometimes see different colored spots when I get up too fast. Does that count as synesthesia?

The idea of visual music is intriguing, but I sometimes wonder if I get it. There was a film that we watched in 302 that was a bunch of lines, and I thought that was quite good. I can’t remember, who made the film, but it was the only time I felt I could hear the music according to what was on the screen.
I really can’t remember, and it’s going to bother me all night.