Project 5 and reflection

Memory, Sorrow, and Shame

For this project, I sat on a table in front of a screen, upon which was projected a video of my hands engaged in sewing. The video itself was slowed down and given a blurry, dreamlike filter. Ah, why don't I just show you?

The reason I played that video behind me was because I intended to refer to it in my monologue -- or at least hint at it. Having decided I wanted to do some sewing, I would explain, in the monologue, that sewing was on my mind. The fact of not being able to find my sewing kit, if it occurred, was supposed to be ironic/tragic/something of that sort, when juxtaposed to the daydream.

I don't remember if that actually came up in the monologue. Most of what I said was about the other stuff I've  misplaced and lost, like my hats. My goal was to quickly reach the part where I fell to the floor, although, as it turned out, that didn't happen before the video finished.

Now that I think about it, this piece seems more like theater than performance. Performance art usually involves a measure of surprise for the artist, as well as for the audience; unlike theater, where every aspect is controlled, performance art depends upon chance. Who knows what will happen when one measures an entire museum using the length of one's body, or locks oneself in a room with a coyote, or nails one's hands to a volkswagen? Admittedly the last one has less to do with chance than a simple lack of knowledge of what the pain will be like, and how much one can endure.

The element of chance distinguishes performance art from video art as well, for videos can be cropped, edited, filtered, muted, etc.

Project 4, reflection, and revision

Eating Habits

I intended to make this video as annoying as I could. I was attempting to evoke, in my audience, the same reaction I have when listening to someone chew their food loudly.

The graininess of the original video is partly the fault of the camera on my computer; it is subdued with normal video effects, but is made apparent with the use of a high-contrast filter and the removal of color. There is the same constant shifting of tones in both versions, but in color, the tones waver between similar tones, concealing the graininess, whereas in black-and-white the tones have a restricted palette and the graininess cannot hide so easily.

The composition is not entirely deliberate. I filmed the original version in haste, without considering much besides the idea of chewing granola as loudly as possibly. That explains the camera angle. The frame occurred because iMovie didn't let me zoom as close as I wanted. had I been able to capture my mouth alone, or to crop the video to be narrow, the bed in the background would not have appeared and I would not have done the video in bright black-and-white in a desperate attempt to obscure my mistake.

The sound itself was simply the best audio-distortion effect iMovie presented me. I think that worked out well. It made the sound of chewing granola big and pompous. One expects big and pompous sounds out of cathedrals. They've gone to all that expense to create a massive, echoing indoor space, after all. It would be a shame to let that effort go to waste.

Revision:

This one is a different animal. 

As all the video cameras were checked out of the Academic Media Studio, I made do with the recording function on my own digital camera. It takes a much better-quality picture than my computer. BUT the computer lets me see what I'm doing while I'm doing it. So for this video, I had to look into the camera more attentively. Also, where the camera on my computer would be at a low angle as I set it on the floor, the digital camera was on a tripod at eye level. The combination of these factors (attention and angle) meant that the mocking, half-lidded gaze of the first video was replaced by an unsettling, wide-eyed stare. Annoyance has been replaced by uncertainty. 

The background was an attempt to make a more anonymous location. Who knows where that door is? Only, it clashes with the sound of the video, for a cathedral is a deep space and the space in the video is shallow.

I'm not sure if the revision works any better than the first video, but it's less grainy, at least. 

reflection on project 2 : Forgotten English

Ah, that didn't go as well as I expected.

I should have made the instructions clearer, but I chose experimentation and decided to see if people could pick up what to do just from a demonstration. And it worked! Except that the demonstration by itself offered no way for anyone in the audience to know that the definitions weren't supposed to be read.

Whoops.

I also felt that the way I was too imperious. Commands were an integral part of the last performance, but here such a style was superfluous. Maybe I didn't need to read over everyone's shoulder? I was just trying to make sure I knew when to take the notebook back and do the conclusion.

I'm not certain what I was doing with the opening monologue. Maybe that was unnecessary too. What I was going for was a fluxes-inspired music, the music of old English words, long forgotten -- in our practice earlier that morning, Haley said that the words we were working with sounded interesting. See, there's music in our lives every day.

The notebook is a found object in the stye of John Cage, because I rediscovered it after losing it for a few years. The words in it are also found objects, because I rediscovered them while looking for what was int he back. I forget why I added them in the first place.

As for the length, the piece went on so long because I had all the weird old words interspersed with more ordinary ones, and I wanted to include all my favorites and I couldn't alter the notebook or re-write it without changing its nature.

Foo.

I think I need to plan my pieces better.

Who is Eve as an Artist?

Who am I as an artist?
By Eve Schmitt


Not entirely certain. I read a story, in an 8th-grade art class, about a man who did (maybe invented) assemblage, and everyone who knew him said that his artwork eased the pain of his depression, so that he remained alive.

I'm not THAT melancholy, but I do feel more sane when I'm doing artwork. More driven. Focused. 
But that doesn't answer what I'm trying to do, does it? What kind of artwork I want to do?

Hm.

I went full experimental with digital and film photography. That was fun. I got good results. Maybe I do my best work when I'm experimenting with mediums, instead of trying to achieve high technical standards. When I'm trying to meet high technical standards I turn full perfectionist and I spend too much time and effort trying to get things just right and I throw away stuff that might have been good enough and it gets really frustrating and I forget wether I'm doing it for myself or the grade.



Most of the artwork I've done, most of the best artwork I've done, has been for a grade. 

The bit with the digital photography -- that was when I began to do serious artwork on my own terms and schedule. I went nuts with the editing filters on iPhoto. Got some good pics. Discovered a trick to get perfect black-and-white, no greys. Look.

That's me.

But now, with performance work?

With performance work there's no technical standards like there are with drawing or painting -- there is idea, effort, presence, and play, and experimentation.

I've heard it said that all creatures play, because play is free expression, and who wants to spend all day eating, working and fucking? 

and Gary Larson said, in There's a Hair in my Dirt, That play is vital for the mental growth of living beings, because play allows for experimentation, and without experimentation we learn nothing. Ask a scientist.

I'm going to have some fun.