hello esé

Kitchen Stories (2012)

Makers: Sebastian Tan, Liviana Andrian, and Nuraidah Binte Mohamad Taip.

“Food, cooking, eating. Arranged by colour. A narration of recipes which becomes ambient in relation to the footage. This year quite a few projects where a continuous sound track has been used to solve the problem of how to identify connections between parts, though here it is sound and the use of colour. I like that it mixes languages. This is work from students from three different countries and so they were encouraged to use their own recipes but also to narrate the recipes using their own languages. It is about food and cooking and cultures. The backing music, no. A more complex soundtrck mixing kitchen and restaurant sounds would have worked much better.

I begin in yellow, then move through to red, orange, back to red.”

For this analysis of past students’ work of Korsakow films, the work “Kitchen Stories” will become my subject. The intention of a Korsakow film is to provide its audiences the chance to create narratives based on the interaction between short video sequences and patterns. “Kitchen Stories” is introduced by its authors as being a “narration of recipes”, that serves to complement the ambient footage. As a piece constructed by three students of differing nationalities, the audience is informed that the narration with be conducted in each student’s native language, assumedly as reference to the diverse culture of food.

“Kitchen Stories” begins with a warmly toned title page with a food porn-like sequence of shots of popcorn in a red bowl, paired with a quote lying near the bottom of the page – “To eat is to live, to live is to eat”, which is then repeated in both Japanese and Indonesian. This provides the viewer with a fairly clear idea that the authors are following through with their intended exploration of different artichokes for different folks. Moving past the title sequence takes the audience to a similarly coloured page where the main video sequence is set to the left and accompanied by four static thumbnails of differing sizes and placement on its right. From the information supplied by the authors of “Kitchen Stories”, the untidy arrangement of the thumbnails could perhaps be excused by the film’s aim to represent differences across cultures.

As the audience progresses through the film, the messy arrangement appears to be consistent, a certain patterning in its own right. Another pattern that becomes apparent almost immediately is the colour relationship patterning. As the film begins with bright yellow popcorn as its main subject, the adjacent thumbnails are similarly coloured and seem to continue the yellow pattern for a fair while. This pattern is interrupted by a splash of red in a thumbnail depicting gummy worms, which prompts the audience to consider other patterns such as shape, texture, and food type. This is the first example of noticeable differences after the tri-language quote from the titles, and is the first step away from being a relatively basic and whimsical piece on food. For instance, the red and yellow worms lead to four panels of which two are new; the relationship exposed between these new thumbnails is of food type and colour. What also becomes apparent is the previous pattern and relationship the worms were following; each click through the interface reveals more complexity in the film’s past and future. This could perhaps be likened to viewing a film more than once in order to understand it at another level.
The title page ft. WordArtthe title page ft. WordArt

The interfacing within “Kitchen Stories” does work, even if the layout seems a little scattered at first. Because of the basic patterning of colour-coded food, the audience can almost predict an outcome very quickly; in reference to the red and yellow worms again, a viewer can expect that selecting a thumbnail also containing a red food item will produce similarly coloured foods in the next sequence. However, by following this pattern of colour, the audience is restricted in its choices of narrative as they are not being challenged to choose another pathway; triumphantly speeding through the colourful thumbnails masks the option to explore texture and food type until completing a fairly lengthy showcase of yellow, orange and red. Because of this easy monotony, “Kitchen Stories” falls a little flat in this area.

In terms of content, the audience is really not provided with much. The authors’ aim is assumedly to promote an exploration of food and culture; both the connotations and denotations of the K-Film’s introduction suggest so. The various patterns within the work, once fully realised, offer more depth to the footage than first expected; even so, the videos do not seem selected to represent the multicultural world of food as much as selected to conform to an idea of a warm colour palette. Pasta, gummy worms and onion rings may be universal but in this day and age, they don’t belong in an international kitchen.
how did I get worms AGAIN !!?how did I get worms AGAIN !!?
Upon a first viewing of “Kitchen Stories”, the content, interface and patterns do seem to move well together in a simple ambient piece about food, but with analysis to a level likely far further than the authors originally intended, the film falls short of the mark. There is very little meaning that the audience can derive from too many treks through the piece other than that at least three student households within Melbourne are lacking in iron, but not in Vitamin C.

the social attitude test

An internet test just told me I am selfish and unwilling to make strong opinions.

I already knew that.

“This test is adapted from Hans Eysenck’s own political inventory which was developed after extensive empirical investigations in the 20th Century.”


Find out who you represent in society by way of big political words about values

Have a go.

 

life without arguments, whaddup

An essay is a river

Takeaway idea from “The Age of the Essay”

Apparently, when writing an essay, it is okay to take an unexpected direction. It is okay to let an idea take off on its own course. It is okay to correct the river, to nudge it back south when it has gone a little too far east, and then let it flow free again.

This goes against everything I was ever taught in high school.

 

Food for thought.

mog out

walking wieners

I bet most people around my age have already seen this.

Hot Dogs or Legs?

So many photos have boiled up over the last few years of (mostly) girls’ legs at a rather nice place, usually some form of waterhole, that emphasises their shape, shade and size in a way that is flattering. This is done with the outwards motive of showing viewers a place they’d rather be, when really, the subject just wants to show off in an annoyingly vain fashion.

In a way similar to the plump pout becoming forevermore the “duck face”, someone special on the internet has managed to turn the sexy stick-legs into walking wieners.

Beautiful. The Facebook page was created about 15 hours ago*, and I’ve seen it jump from 40 000 likes to over 120 000 in the last few.

 

mog thanks dog for social networking

 

*at time of post

In Love, Not Limbo

It’s three years since I first heard this track, and it’s three years of wishing someone else can experience the same attachment I do to it. There’s nothing particularly ground-breaking about it; it’s just a solid piece of quality that carries a lot of good feels.

I have an old friend and a new friend that love this artist too, but more people should.

Join the club.

by mog

The “Batter is Better” Conspiracy

On a day where my savings account rises dramatically, the first thing I rush out to do is buy food. Not just food – small components that will eventually make a larger and (hopefully) greater mix. I am the envy of all my fellow students; my status as a culinary god is golden. There are no packets of mi goreng in a single cupboard, the vegetable drawer is full to the brim. There may not be an oven in my room, but that has not stopped me from creating dense, rich cakes. I know how to cook.

Or at least, I act it. The number of times a recipe has promised so much in a raw form and then taken a sharp turn south during its final process is getting embarrassing. Why is it that cake batter is always far superior to the actual cake? Sweet potato and spinach dumplings fall apart with that first touch of hot oil? An uncooked carrot swims gloriously in hummus but limps around after a brief sauna session?

Such an experience usually finds me huddled in front of the television, starved by disappointment. Wind back to Saturday evening – the new paleo fad had let me down (perfect example of single-looping)and the Sex & The City flick was not providing much of an escape from the theme of failure. The main character’s relationship is going beautifully, until the decision to seal the deal with marriage ultimately ruins absolutely everything. Huh. It seems in movies, the “batter is better” ideology pops up a fair amount. Bugger.

With this in mind, I began seeing how this idea could actually manifest in real life. Making things official is like taking a heavy-footed step off stable ground onto a precariously perched platform; you really don’t know how it’s going to take the change in weight. In fact, following this ideology, you know for a fact that the platform will crumble beneath you. Why bother in the first place? Your relationship is not going to be better if you put a label on it. There’s a reason Ben & Jerry’s sells cookie dough-flavoured ice cream. The batter is better! Seriously. If it’s good, it’s already great.

More on this later. Maybe not more on this later.

by mog

 

The Village

Why should I let someone talk at me about uninteresting things when I could be spending that time elsewhere? My room could have been cleaned by now. Or not. Regardless, I’d rather not be here.

“Here” is a lot of places. “Here” is here on my cruelly cold chair, instead of my bed. “Here” is a classroom, instead of outside. Next to the smelly kid at the pub, instead of the beautiful specimen in the gazebo. In Melbourne, instead of home. Alas, it has come to my notice that you mostly cannot choose whether you’re here or there.
As it is, I am mostly “here” in the Village. If a village is what the Village is, then this city is the jungle surrounding, and I am just another feral tribe member in the midst of it all. Not a native but a travelling shaman of some sort, dipping my hands in all sorts of Mogly mischief. Since moving to the new neck of the woods, I have forged strong bonds with my new tribe members and recognise the local rites and rituals that govern us.
For example, the nearby watering hole must be visited religiously each Monday evening. I also follow the ritual of travelling many times per week with like-minded members of other tribes to an elders’ meeting place, so that they may pass on ancient knowledge through song and dance. We will become the new generation of movers and shakers. We will adapt the knowledge to suit the ever-changing, ever-growing jungle. We may lose some shamans along the way; it is a necessary culling, we are told. It allows the rest of us to better spread across the pathways forged and forging.
Back at my village, and even in other places throughout the jungle, my path of choice sometimes feels wrong. Other ferals feel scorn, anger, superiority, even pity, towards it. This unsettles me – did I make a mistake? Should I have chosen a direction more “useful”? I haven’t even had the chance to fully explore the path myself. Then I reaffirm my decision by learning more songs and dances and beating further down the path.
Today’s meeting with the elders was particularly cheering; one elder saw a vision in the fire. He spoke of a revolution to come where the skills we all have been developing could be made use of. We then all danced a dance of joy. It is nice to have someone wise tell you that you’re doing okay. That you’re on the right track, you’re not in the wrong place, your place is here.
That’s swell and all, until the next meeting with other elders. I have a meeting tomorrow that is sure to completely convince me that my life is a shambles and I’d be better off becoming  a wife to one of the Village’s more dominant tribe members. If all meetings with elders were as interesting as the one today, my fellow shamans and I would probably make our way through with boundless enthusiasm. Maybe we would even feel indifferent towards being neither here nor there.

Day in, day out.

by mog