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estellacalvert · 5 years

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Painting as Performance

Recently I have been exploring the performative aspect of mark making. In the past, I related performance to painting only in the material sense of using paint. When applying the paint to myself, while there may be similarities in movement and gesture, I don’t think I am “painting” in the same sense a painter would use paint to externally record a gesture or feeling or whatever the subject may be. But then again, in considering the cases of insert artist name, I started to see the painter as not so different from the performer, and I started to think that maybe film was not the only way that my performances could exist. In reading

Painting Beyond Itself - The Medium in the Post-Medium Condition

, I liked the notion that painting was basically mark making, a way of recording a gesture and allowing it to exist almost frozen in time in the object of the “painting.”

I also find it so interesting that the object (noun) “painting” is the same as the action (verb) “painting,” and that you can be painting a painting, drawing a drawing, but not filming a filming or printing a printing. The fact that the nouns for the latter two media in finite I think reveals something true about their processes and the outcomes. In most cases, a film has a beginning and an end. Even if it is designed to play on a seamless loop, it still exists within time: if you were to pause it no one still could be said to bethe film, the noun “film” encompasses all the still images that run in succession to give the illusion of a moving image over a certain period of time. You could argue that print is more similar to painting than it is to film, but at this moment in time I think I would have to disagree. The process of printing, like film, increases the distance between the artist and the work produced with the introduction of machines. Furthermore, the medium of print, like film, creates this problem of the noun; you can make 1, 5, even 200 editions of the same print, and they are all equally that print. Is it not strange that you can have 200 objects and refer to them as “aprint?” It is like the reverse of stills in film: in print, each edition can be equally regarded as being “the print.”

To return then to “painting” and “painting.” A painting is an object in a different way to both film and print. In its finality, it is able to surpass the temporal existence of film and the multiplicity of print. Consequently, a painting possesses a definitive quality, as well as the freedom of having no beginning or end. It is an object much more in the way that a table is an object: yes, a table was made, but while it was being made it wasn’t a table yet. Now it is finished, it is a table, and will forever be a table. If it stops being a table, perhaps it is broken into scraps, as opposed to having an end it will simply just not be a table anymore. A painting is like this: when it is finished, it is a painting, and will forever be a painting. If it stops being a painting, perhaps destroyed or thrown away, as opposed to having an end it will simply just not be a painting anymore. What is the main point of interest though being that even before it is complete it is a painting, the noun itself reflects the idea that the object is not only the result of an action but in some sense still the action itself.

The act of painting is in itself performative. It involves translating a gesture of the body into a mark on a surface. This performative element is what allows the mark to carry a different significance to that made by a printer or typewriter. The intention behind the mark becomes intentional, personal…

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estellacalvert · 6 years

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The Potential of Film as a Medium FMP - blogpost

Film as an extension of photography

To begin with, I regarded film as an extension of photography. When watching commercial movies, what excited me most were the held frames. One that notably sticks in my memory is (I believe) from Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone, 1969,) although I must admit to only watching it in part while my dad had it on the TV, and if you asked me what it was about I would scarcely be able to tell you more than its genre. I am not even sure if my memory of the scene is correct, but the frame I recall was of a white building, with the camera set far away so that you could see clearly the blue sky and the horizon line that fell behind the building. The foreground was that dusty stone that seems almost terracotta in stark contrast to the blue, and the landform formed a frame around this building. This shot was held with no movement of the camera, and small black, ant-like figures walked around the area of the building. I just remember thinking ‘this would be a beautiful photograph, but it's more than a photograph – it's alive.' I think this more than anything is what drew me to the medium of film. More and more I found myself feeling that moments were inadequately captured in a photograph. Film made it easier for me to get at what I was trying to say – whether that was ‘look, how this line follows, how it looks like a drawing' or … Film, especially when observing things, gives me the power to record what I regard as a visual sentence. In my "sketches" each shot is one sentence: a change of frame in a continuous shot may relate to some kind of punctuation.

Post-production

Not only does film allow me to document my train of thought when looking at something, but through editing I can make connections between different clips that could have been considered as having no relevance to each other. The seams (when one shot changes to another) of a film are critical to the fluidity and continuity of the film as a whole, as it is not natural to have such immediate jump to another space, time, point of view etc. This is not how we experience our own reality, and so when viewing a film if there is no necessity or logic in the transition from one shot to another it can feel disjointed and jarring, and viewer engagement is easily lost. In editing footage, it's interesting to discover what shots complement each other hinged together. It allows for me to have control over what the viewer is likely to be thinking; I can guide their train of thought as if I were delivering to them a dictation – just as they would follow my words, they follow my image.

When watching films, I always take note of the seams. One of my favourite cinematic techniques I see used is when a frame is held for just a split second too long. For example, in John Crawly's Brooklyn, there is a scene where Saoirse Ronan is sat on a bench if I recall correctly, waiting for a ferry, and that basically sums up the entire shot. The difference being, and I remember this scene because it was the first sign this was drawn to my attention, is that the frame was held for longer than I expected. I realised I was almost counting down in my head when the shot was due to change. I think that it is true when it comes to cinema that we sense a general pattern din seams: we are used to seeing a character looking after another who has just walked out of frame for about 3 seconds; maybe a shot of a character deep in thought for about 5 seconds before the shot changes to show a close up of their face, so we may better understand just how deep in thought they actually are. I have been accustomed to expect these changes, and why I remember Brooklyn is because the change did not happen when I expected it to. The effect of this "second too long" was an almost tangible tension and sudden anxiety as a viewer – I felt as if I had been looking at the wrong thing, perhaps that's why my expectation was unfulfilled. I was left not just looking at the leading lady waiting for the scene to change but spurred into searching throughout the entire frame to try and assess what I might have missed. This meant when the scene did cut, soon after this (what I can only describe as a) little anxiety shock, the film had won my full attention. Amazed at the effect this technique had had on me, I always keep it in mind when constructing my own films. The balance is in knowing when a single shot has been held for too long to the point where it has lost its tension and the ability to cause that moment of slight stress at potentially mislead expectation.

Alain Fleischer makes the statement that "something is lost for the film to continue" when it moves from one shot to another (Film Cuts, 1995.) I think his implication that there is greater value in the subject matter of the film than in the actual film itself is not necessarily true. He assumes that "something is lost" when the shot changes, and in one sense I can understand since when editing my own footage there is often a sense of reluctance in having discard footage for the sake of the film as a whole. However, I hope I have argued that there is something to be gained in these abstract interruptions through the medium of film.

Relationship to light and space

One property of film that broadens its potential as a medium is its intrinsic relationship to light and space. The very first moving images were created using firelight and material form to create shadows on stone walls, making the immediate world an image. With advances in technology, there are different ways in which light can be used to permit the experience of film. We are very familiar with screens; film seems to exist within them, and if we wanted to we can go right up to the film and touch it, and it will stay under our fingertips. In this way it is very controlled, contained. Even the shape of our screens resembles a frame, and I feel like choosing to display a film work on a screen on the wall invites the viewer to consider the work in a very similar way to displaying any other rectangular composition on the wall whether it be a painting, print or photograph.

I think the medium of film has greater potential through the means of projection. Light is both a wave and a particle; When an object is projected, be it moving image or photograph, it inherits both the material and incorporeal properties of light. You can feel the energy of the projected image (moving or still) and know that it is not contained to the boundaries of a screen but takes on the space around it. If you were to go up to try and touched a projected film, you would find yourself left with your shadow: you cannot touch the object under your fingers; its existence is not defined to a given space, and if you raise your hand in front of the light, you in effect alter that objects existence for as long as you choose to keep it there. Tacita Dean in her exhibition Portrait at the National Portraits Gallery in 2018 used semi-opaque lightweight board as the surface upon which to project her works. You could walk round the suspended film and view it from both sides, and the space in the darkened room surrounding fell away. The floating films seemed to transcend, the energy of the projected light being so focused and concentrated onto their designated space.

(I recently took a different approach to projection. In a group crit I chose to project a film across a large spread of wall, which meant that the film functioned more in creating an atmosphere and altering the viewing experience of other pieces of work rather than being considered in a one to one dialogue with the viewer.)

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While I am aware that this may sound very lofty, I genuinely believe it to be true. There is so much more energy contained within a film when it is projected; when it doesn't depend on a wall, a canvas, or any other set surface. It could exist anywhere.

This also is what helped film so accessible to the public in history, as it was able to be delivered to audiences anywhere so long as there was a means of projection and a wall. Working with projection, therefore, offers a great deal of flexibility: a film can be distorted by exploiting the surface it's projected onto, made to take up a greater or lesser amount of space. In the future, I think the idea of projecting onto public buildings could be really interesting – since the image created has no permanence, the duration I would be allowed to continue what I would be doing before being asked to stop, especially with films that are about exploring different media.

The moving image and the temporality of film

Film is a fascinating medium to be working with now as our relationship with time is changing. Everything is becoming faster, and with that comes the expectation that we become faster as well. Film can be difficult to engage with sometimes purely because it demands time from the viewer. While it is true that any artwork which aims to be considered demands time, the way in which film demands time is different because time exists within the film. A film's request of a viewer's time seems a lot more formal than the request of a painting, because the film's time request is specific, whereas the request of the painting is indefinite and ambiguous. When using film as a medium, there is an extent to which the filmmaker has complete control over the length of the conversation between itself and the viewer (to hark back to my previous analogy of a film as a sentence.) But this can make the relationship between the object of film and the viewer dictatorial. The exchange completely breaks down if the viewer decides to cut the exchange short by removing themselves, and the choice to do this feels a lot more detrimental than when the same choice is made in front of a painting. There is no concept of "start" or "finish" with other mediums. Consequently, someone can disengage at any time without causing any real offense. However, film cannot shake itself of this concept of "start" and "finish." Even if a film is played on a loop, the fact it cannot be its whole self all at once still demands this linear definition; the object of film exists in time, not materiality.

The fact that a film cannot be its entire self all at once is an intrinsic characteristic of moving image. After all, all film is numerous still images shown in quick succession so as to feign movement. No one image is any less a part of the film, but none of them alone can make it up. It is not even enough for them to exist together, they must exist in running succession, otherwise, the object in question is not a moving image. This calls into question when the moving image actually is, what is it and how can it simultaneously be one thing and a plurality of things? The question of the movement of film challenges its wholeness and integrity, and I think this element of film has incredible philosophical potential worth exploring.

People on film

People or persons as the subject of film draws the medium out of philosophical abstraction. It grounds it in something we consider real, and that we can immediately relate to our everyday experience of the world. The fact that film is able to use real images (‘real' here used in a sentimental, not scientific sense) that directly relate to our experienced reality gives the medium unparalleled potential to construct characters. The consideration of characters pulls film into a different playing field – it is at this point that I feel the distinction between the terms "film" and "movie" becomes blurred. When I think of the potential of film with regards to character, a number of what I would consider "movies" come to mind; I think that part of the difference is made by the fact that the object of film is being used to ends entirely separate from the medium itself: in movies, film is the medium of storytelling, but storytelling is not a prerequisite of film as a medium.

One of the movies that come to mind is Peter Farrelly's Green Book. The subject of the movie is, in fact, the relationship between two unlikely companions, and each scene is geared towards the telling of their shared story. Other subjects of the film tackled issues of race and prejudice, but in reality, these were by-products of the primary subject, questions that were raised due to the nature of their relationship. It is undeniable that a focus on character has the ability to have a significant impact on a viewer, and in the case of Green Book I left the cinema with a feeling of something between happiness and joy – I had fallen in love with Tony and witnessing the loving relationship between him and Dr Shirley left me unable to stop smiling for the next 45 minutes.

Another movie which had a similar effect was Naomi Kawase's An. The plot of this film is incredibly simple, and if asked what it is about the tempting answer to give is "bean paste." While this is not entirely wrong, it is misleading. The movie forms the character of Tokue, an eccentric old lady with leprosy, with incredible sensitivity and managed to move me to tears within the first 10 minutes. Although this is perhaps more telling of me as a viewer than the movie, I think it is true to say that when the subject of film is human, emotions come into play – although this is more the potential of persons as subject as opposed to the potential of film as a medium. I think this is an important distinction relevant to my art practice: I am concerned primarily with the properties of the object of the medium in question, not the subject.

To come back to the focus of this inquiry, I think Han Bo's An Elephant Sitting Still is a good example of a work that almost calls for the title "movie," but not quite. It is interesting that in all the descriptions of this work I have read, it is referred to as a "feature-length film." Bo uses character as a tool to talk about the harsh society of impoverished urban China. His effective use of character accompanied by his skilled use of his chosen medium meant that he was able to hold my attention to his dictation for just under 4 hours. The way he builds character is not through dialogue, a critical tool for character building used in the previous two movies I have mentioned, but through image (his choice of shot, from the length of time it is held to how close to the character the viewer is allowed) and action (how the characters act and interact with their environment in the film – the choices they choose to make.)

Film and abstraction

While reading The Cinema Effect by Sean Cubitt, I found it fascinating that after reading for a good hour, only once had the camera been referenced in a mention of the shutter. That was it. This was strange to me since in doing film, the camera is indispensable. As an extension of the filmmaker, it is the means of creating film. Film cannot happen without the camera (or perhaps it can…this may be something I return to for later inquiry.) This being said, it is true that when experiencing cinema, one is not thinking about the camera; it departs from its means of creation. This distancing effect, the ability film has to transcend the material yet retain the façade of being of our world and retaining features that we recognise as belonging to our own reality, gives film the potential to abstract subject matter, while making it feel less abstract. I will attempt to illustrate this point further: in personalising an individual through film, giving insight into their private world, their private thoughts, makes the viewer feel closer to them, and feel as if they are less abstract due to their enhanced understanding of the individual. However, to personalise the individual is to abstract them from the social world. Even the individuals closest to us, our friends and family members, are not to us personalised in this way. Other people are object – we can refer to them by name, we can describe them with language. The personalisation of individuals and even places through film lifts them out of the object realm of language and into the subject realm of experience, the experience of the individual becomes the defining element, and so the individual has been abstracted.

The film Lost Highway (David Lynch) has no moral, its plot is incoherent, you do not warm to any of the characters, it does not have any profound emotional or intellectual impact. I found that you can take nothing of value away from this film – all of its value is completely contained within the experience of watching it. This is why I think it is a good example of film's potential to be abstract, in the same way, a painting might be, but obviously with their necessary distinctions.

The expectant relationship we have to film

Our present relationship to film originates in the shortening of the working week in the late 1800s across Europe and North America, which gave people a lot more surplus time, and led to the commodifying of film. This is what has framed our standards and expectations of being entertained by film – this was displayed very clearly when the feedback cards from the 2018 Turner Prize exhibition, which consisted of 4 films, contained comments like "would have been better with comfy chairs and popcorn." I don't think I have ever gone to a gallery with the intention of viewing art expecting there to be snacks to enhance my experience, nor have I left thinking "that would have been better with biscuits." Film's intrinsic relationship to cinema cannot be ignored when presenting work to a public audience.

The question stands as to whether this association of film and cinema is a limitation of film as an artistic medium, or offers the artistic medium potential. Undoubtedly, film's connection to cinema can bring the subjects of art to more people. Film is accessible and does not have the same class boundaries historically that art does, hence its potential capacity to bridge the high-low art gap. Film has the potential to reference itself without undermining it: you can make a film about film without undermining film. "Art" does not have this capacity: you cannot make art about art without undermining art.

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