reflection three

Upon revisiting the goals of this studio, I have been prompted to consider two questions – has the overall experiment of observational writing been at all successful or instructive? And has our practise of observational writing had any other benefits?

I wish to address the latter first. I’ve been intrigued throughout the course of this semester by how much one has to be open to the experience of an observation in order for a worthwhile observation to be experienced. This openness does not necessarily require one to actively seek out a subject of interest, nor does it demand that someone falsify points of interest for oneself in things observed so that otherwise ordinary experiences may be transformed into inspiration for possible engaging writing. Rather it requires one to be more aware of their surroundings so that they may be more susceptible to potential observations. In turn, observational writing has become a practise of mindfulness and present-mindedness in day-to-day life. The more active engagement in ones surroundings and the disengagement from sources of distraction, including phones and music, which may inhibit someone’s ability to be and remain engaged in their experience of the world is mandated. I have found this to be a worthwhile exercise as an aspect of the practise of observational writing. This increased presence has reminded me of the rich possibility for inspiration which is available in everyday life and the beauty of normal. It has invited me to shift my perception of beauty away from being purely based upon the aesthetic qualities of the world and its photographic potential, and towards a more diverse and well-rounded appreciation for beauty in life that is inclusive of also behavioural and non-visual forms of beauty, such as human interactions. In this, I feel that I have had both personal growth in my general perspective of the world and an artistic growth in the creative sensibilities with which this personal growth is associated. 

Although I am strongly inclined to perceive the effects of this practise as being beneficial, I feel as though I can not label the experiment as being successful on account of the fact that I do not find the observational writing practise which I have developed to be applicable to my film-making practise in a fashion that is I find to be meaningful at this stage. While there are elements to my approach to film-making and my sourcing of inspiration for video work which may be deemed to have an observational quality to them, such as my preference to allow talent to self-direct and behave as they feel most comfortable when photographed and filmed, I feel that my approach to observational writing has little pertinence to my approach to film making. This arises as a consequence of the fact that what is of note to me as an observation typically occurs organically and meaninglessly, while in constructing a film piece I am concerned with the construction of imagery and the meaning which may be ingrained in the construction process. While I acknowledge that making a short film that relates to an observation or has an observational style an exact realism is not mandated and the process is not lacking in the construction of imagery, however I consider the process of writing and the visualisations of my own written pieces to be discordant with my preferred approach to constructing an image. What inspires me to write does not inspire me to film and what inspires me to film is not my own perspective in writing. Thus, the processes of image construction and translating observation into film through writing are essentially mutually exclusive to me at this time. I hope they may be able to assume a more meaningful relationship in the future. I feel that the practise of observational writing is of value to a film-maker, however the path of development which my own practise has assumed over the past months does not facilitate a valuable relationship. 

reflection two

In the process of developing a film based on an observational piece of writing, or developing a film with an approach that is inspired/underpinned by practices learned from observational writing, research into the form and observational-style film, while of potential value, exists upon a fine line between detriment to artistic integrity and benefit to the stylistic character. 

Upon the latter possible mode of influence, research into the potential methods by which aspects of the observational writing process may be concurrent with film-making may have a considerable role in terms of reducing the necessity for wide experimentation and therefore increasing efficiency of production and enhancing the visual literacy of the product. This may derive from the opportunity for the refinement of one’s own taste and preferences which research readily allows; in being exposed to a diverse range of pieces of similar taxa, examples are provided of the potential stylistic avenues and methods to production. These examples provide a background knowledge of the form that contextualises the practise and informs one’s taste. In light of this, where exploration of the potential avenues for the translation of observational writing is integral to the practise, by exploring taste and methods without having to do so in self-production, research allows for the refinement of aspirations in practise that informs decision making processes in production and therefore enhances the efficiency and enables the more effective adoption of stylistic features.

However, where inspirational influence is typically very closely associated with imitation, research may draw into question or otherwise negatively impact one’s artistic integrity. It is difficult to assess the potential relevance of this to artistic practices as a whole as one can only assume the degree to which ideas are original and/or influenced by another individual, however the issue of artistic integrity arises from the fact that the employment of inspiration derivative from other creatives may lead to unintentional imitation in practise and lack of complete authenticity in artistic expression. Expression instead occurs through vehicles and precedents which are established by other creators. In many cases, particularly in mainstream art and media, such serves to enhance the communicative qualities of a piece as recognisable features, symbols and approaches may already have well-formed modes of interpretation. But this expression is no longer individual. In light of this, should one adhere too closely or too truthfully to their inspiration as is made known by research, their work may become a vehicle for the exploration of their inspiring work as opposed to the exploration of their own ideas.

reflection one

In consideration of feedback from assignment 2, I have been led towards further consideration of my practical exercise component and my overall satisfaction with such. It was pointed out to me that the most important vehicle for progression and thus audience engagement was the subject/actress selected. Although her demeanour is generally ordinary, the natural pace and ease of her behaviour came across as a highlight to the piece and thus divergence from her as a subject subtracted from the engagement of the audience and the perceived quality of the image presented. 

It is fair to say that the exercise is exhibiting little attempt to experiment with cinematic and/or production methods and concepts. This was exactly the case. However, such is also the reason for which this exercise was important as a first step towards finding pathways for the effective translation of my writing practise. It is for the reason of interest in the behaviour and movements of the individuals initially observed that I chose to write about them and I did so without any thought as to how my written representation of the event would then be recreated as a cinematic piece. I am interested in the ‘standard’ perception and understanding of human behaviour and demeanour and fascinated by how certain behaviours are normalised to the extent that they go unnoticed. There is a lost appreciation for beauty in these pure and overlooked events of everyday life. 

That said, I am concerned by my own belief in the lack of interest in such for the general public. Although I find these events to be captivating when noticed, I am aware that such may not be the case for others and am therefore hesitant to explore these events in full or in isolation of additional points of interest. As a consequence of this, I feel inclined to supplement these moments with further information, such as additional shots of the scene/setting. While this is somewhat discordant with previously described thoughts relating to lack of desire to pamper to an audience’s expectations, I feel that as I am still seeking out the most effective approach rendering an observation in a video form, in these early stages it is somewhat necessary to adopt more conventional approaches that address potential expectations of the audience, despite the fact that such may come at a compromise of artistic integrity.

Les at dinner

Wrinkles and sun spots that look like liver spots riddle Les’ large hands. Clumsy fingers with splintering yellowed nails tear apart a slice of garlic bread, squeezing the crust and crushing the soft, butter-laden centre and drawing oils and fats onto his fingertips and down his palm. He tears apart the garlic bread and stirs the saucy, meaty remains of lasagne around his plate, collecting the little tomato sauce that is left. He tears apart the garlic bread. 

His hands glisten, deep crevices are levelled to an even surface by creeks of grease. He tears apart the garlic bread, he massages the fats and oils that have dripped down his palms into his hands, he takes a swig from a pint of Guinness, still in its bottle, and leaves smudged fingerprints over the green glass neck as he withdraws his fingers.

He dines with 7, all too full to take another bite of food on their near-empty plates, all watching Les eat out of the corner of their eyes. They chatter about holidays and plans and goals and how delightful the home-cooked lasagne was.

the skeleton statue

Fine art.

 

Beachside steel.

It’s been welded and moulded into the shapes of a disfigured skeletal character, a comical representation of human form, a functionless structure of disjointed bones. Fine art.

 

Useless nuts and bolts are firmly fastened against the smooth curves of the dull grey surfaces, protruding and shimmering like salt-crusted blemished on tired skin, collecting dust and dirt and pollution; perhaps for their own namesake, perhaps for the purpose of something greater than themselves.

 

The sea breeze blows, forcing the thick branches of low-sitting trees and overgrown shrubbery against the metallic marrow. The skeletal frame screams, a hollow and lifeless noise, as the branches try to break the skin of its perfectly rendered surface.

 

The breeze blows on. It rings through those very same bones the branches assault, and to the wind these bones sing a chord of disharmonious notes, a gentle wind-chime whistle that was made its nature by those hands who built them. A flute of spirits that rejects the well-known songs of the lapping waves and branches for its own selfish intent.

 

Fine art.

sunday morning

The glossy glow of growing grass, an oval amongst bricks and roads and suburbia, is the groundskeeper’s misfortune. The season has changed and with it the grass now sprouts new blades with an unbridled enthusiasm with which a lawn mower’s schedule simply can not compete.

The slim sprouts from grass seeds are an invitation. Invitation to the school children, the picnickers, the passers-by. Bikes charge bravely across the green surface with a soft crunch.

A young man sits tree-side, basking in the spotted light beneath baby leaves. A small collection of bags and belongings encircle him and mark his territory as removed from that of the ordinary park visitor; his shirt, a guitar case, a backpack. He might be handsome but his comfort deflects the eyes of observers for fear of intrusion, or offence, or the off chance that he may leap forward and ask for the precious dollar that was being saved to pay for parking.

Should one not divert their gaze to the dandelion weeds sprouting from between the cracks of the footpath on just the other side of the road, one might be blinded by the glare of the sun as it bounces from the face of a wristwatch. One might mistake it for the glare of lingering dew on glossy growing glass.

spring snow

Like pink-stained snowdrops, little spots are scattered across mossy brick paving. They wander mindlessly, hovering over protrusions and textures and catches that might interrupt their dance. Little petals of Spring snow.

The branches are barren. Cherry blossoms fall and leave lonely black skeletons shaking gracelessly in the wind. A brief romance is brought to an and just as abruptly as it began.

reid library

The slow slick of pages turning rings sharp enough to slice the dancing dust particles, suspended mid-spin.

The hasty type of maddened fingers fuelled by caffeine, dancing across keyboards, fades into an irregular rhythm, a cymbal that rings little noticed.

The cautious tap of heavy water bottles atop slim wooden desktops carries only just enough to disturb one’s work state and remind them to check how many minutes have passed.

A small cough is choked.

Mechanical air pumps hum a monotonous tune of rushing air passing through filters of air conditioning units.

 

A song of laughter floats up the stairwell.

 

Rain falls heavily outside, but is silenced by thick roofs and insulation.

time to go home

The screaming rattle of rock hard skateboard wheels on gravel echoes ceaselessly through the air, bouncing back and forth across empty roads. The lone midnight skaters’ slow and steady uphill journey awakens the trees, alarmed by sudden noise and prompted by the soft words whispered by the breeze. They shake their stiff leaf-clad arms and prepare to watch closely this night traveller.

Mindful. In case he should fall. They guard the young man from the limestone rocks and cliffs and drops unknown to those who pass; the dangers of the unseen and unlit terrain which resides just beyond the left curb of the road. Across from these peaceful guards, curtained windows of terrace houses crack ever so slightly and watch sleepily for other passers-by. One might have even seen a small twitch of anxious excitement. They may have been mistaken.

Then the rattle ceases. Quiet makes its heavy descent. The soft, slow rhythm of uphill footsteps ease tired eyes back to sleep and abdicates the responsibility of safety to the windows of terrace houses. The young man watches the tip of his skateboard swinging back and forth under his arm.

women stepping outside

“Look at them, don’t they look like a movie poster or something?”

I hadn’t noticed.

 

The former warehouse windows framed three women standing street-side with cigarettes and half full glasses of deep burgundy wine, their hijab’s and shayla’s  loosened slightly, for they hadn’t considered the change in the night air when dressing earlier in the evening; now less cool than it was a week ago. The soft glow of dim lights and candles radiates through the panes of glass, exposing to onlookers the pools of rose upon their cheeks.

 

“Is it safe?” They had asked.

 

Is it safe? 

The restaurant clientele are good-natured, wine-drinking and morning-loving. They are non-intrusive, non-invasive and conduct their affairs in a politely private fashion, so that they may disappear to the ordinary passer-by in a sea of goings-on. 

Are the streets busy with people at this time of night?

There is a small nightclub a few doors down, a temporary pop-up that’s concealed from the street and attracts sporadic floods of excited 18-year-olds and even more excited 17-year-olds.

What kind of people are on the streets but for kids?

There’s the man who sleeps by the park and the hunchback who wanders by on occasion, pushing a grocery cart filled with bags of miscellaneous goods. There’s the young family who live around the corner, the woman who walks four Dalmatians exclusively at night and the fine-browed mothers from homes in wealthy suburbs in their rare venture out of the comfort of the wealthy suburbs closer by to them.

It is late. The streets are near empty.

 

Empty, but for these three ladies. They are rendered in the style of the Baroque artists in the lighting of the streets at night. Their features are cast into shapes by the shadows which fall upon them from above. Suspended splashes of red, green and blue fabric hallmark their figure, distinguish their form for the observer. A neon light across the other side of the street flickers momentarily. Its loud message, ‘Asian grocer’ is silenced and the shapes of three women melt into the shadows of the street behind them.