Meant to post this earlier, but Christmas chaos has diminished my efficiency. The Inspiration Room has featured the arresting work of Seven Meters in Copenhagen, including some commentary by founder Jens Galschiot. Their grim and dramatic statues were installed around the city for the COP 15 Summit on Climate Change. Much of the work deals with the issue of climate-driven displacement.
There are no flies, as they say, on Design Sponge. Here they feature wonderful French artist Martine Camillieri, whose description of her work adds to it another dense layer of enjoyment.
“All my artistic work aims to prevent the proliferation of objects on our planet. It is a lot of small ecological experiments aimed at recreating daily life. It is an ecological idea of everyday design, of slow-design or eco-design. The transformation of objects which are around us which we don’t see or no longer notice, it helps to give them a certain charm, avoiding the necessity of new ones. For me the object in itself doesn’t exist, it’s nothing but an endlessly interchangeable Lego brick, it is only important when we look at it. This is my work: If we look at objects we ( beautify them, turn them inside out, change them..) the fact that they are all around us should be enough for us. Let’s stop always wanting more, making too many or importing so many: one day all these goods will overwhelm us. After the factories which produce them, the warehouses that stock them, the shops that sell them, the discount shops in the suburbs which sell them off cheaply, we have arrived at whole cities which are totally dedicated to them, you can even visit them by train!”
The best antidote to hecticity is idleness. For complete idleness, mental as well as physical, I suppose one could meditate. But if that is an overdosage for your particular circumstances, you might try being still, staring into the screen, and programming the screen so there is less to process. More than a screensaver, say, which could return you to the level of meditation. But less, far less than the programming usually appearing on your screens, most of it unbidden. Try these:
Gerry – so minimal it is almost ambient. Do not watch this with anyone inclined to “what are they talking about?” or “well that doesn’t make any sense”. In fairness, I suspect co-authors Affleck and Damon’s inclinations (“scenarios”, “dialogue”) probably hurt Van Sant’s (time and space revealed?) and allow for such moot analysis.
Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives – many many more things happen in this one than in Gerry, but it still sends audiences packing midway. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I get this non-getting, but the whole rest of my mind is like “PEOPLE! What do you have against ghosts, monkey-men, talking fish, and the absence of violence and evildoing? This is cinema utopia damnit!”
Jeanne Dielman – the influence of Akerman, especially this work, can be seen in Weerasakathul’s. Not the talking fish, nor the absence of violence, and in this sense it does not create that thrilled wonderment that a picture like Boonmee can. But hanging out real time while someone does chores can be mesmerizing, and comforting somehow. Actually, this is a good one to watch with your “what is that – a little stove?” friend who you’ll not invite to the Gerry screening. I wonder if I were watching it when it was made, without the constant appeal of “period” everything – decor, autos, wardrobe, architecture – would I still be captivated?
Despite this post’s title, it’s worth noting that pacing alone is not enough to satisfy a need for quiet. Remember this? Not a good comparison with Dielman’s vintage eye candy or Boonmee’s magic, perhaps, but why do I prefer the desert void of Gerry to that of A Taste of Cherry? It’s a question too challenging for my newly idle mind.
We are uptight about our regular online destinations. With limited time and limitless destinations, decisions on whether to view something even once are made hastily and with enormous anti-click bias. Decisions on whether to subscribe or follow or bookmark or otherwise invest repeated time in a site are made with less haste but even more reticence.
The Os Gêmeos blog reassures me that we have not gone too far with the filter. It’s not in English and includes something that prevents Google translate from working. It’s not part of any of our existing “follow factories” like Tumblr or Posterous or Flickr. (There is a link to Flickr but it returns a locked or possibly empty account). It appears not to be designed, not even mediated by the designs of a blogging platform. Yet we visit regularly, using that clunky old school system of memory and bookmark.
The contents range from the expected (documentation of their work), to the classic (“watch this music video we love”), to the whimsical (snapshots of their travels, some with Portugese commentary that would have to be clipped offsite for translation). Scrolling the page, the overall feeling is – surprise - Os Gêmeos: colourful, human, joyful.
And perhaps the absence of bells, whistles, or even helpful features is part of the experience that keeps us coming back. It’s not a gallery with perfect light and soft seating. It’s a wall viewed from inside a speeding train.
Loren seduces gay guy Mastroianni: that’s a heat we cannot yet measure with our crude technologies. FFWD the opening news reel the moment you get the point, because it goes on for a long long time.
As with so many youtube franchises, some of these are funnier than others. I like this one. You may like others. We will respect each other’s preferences.
A post named not to celebrate my freedom from Facebook, no, but for a song in a playlist. Not because it’s the best song, but because it has the word “year” in it, and it’s January 1st, and that’s just how far we can push the envelope round here.
A day like this in a year like this deserves bonus music. So not just one track this Focussed, but a whole playlist. These are all 2010 releases, and another thing they have in common is our love for them.
“I don’t wish to touch hearts. I don’t even want to affect minds very much. What I really want to produce is that little sob in the spine of the artist-reader.” Vladimir Nabokov