Revving Up the Engines

As I empty space in the antechamber above my eyebrows, I gather information for FINDING THE SKY.

Mapping the ideas, the project manager in me keeps saying hold your horses! while the artist in me says take the plunge!

Time is so limited, however, and the desire to move this project forward is so great, that both passion and stoic organization will need to reside side by side like roommates in a studio apartment.

Tooling on the web this morning, I found a recording of the frogs in Barichara, Colombia, a region not far from where my project plans will bring me. The recording is the first step in building a sound archive. Right now, I'm gathering sound from the libraries of insects and frogs. 

Random Flight

Only now do I post this, and I'm sorry I let it lapse.

On a day off (what that?) a few months back, I found myself strolling toward The Invisible Dog, an experimental art space in downtown Brooklyn. The art space is housed in a 30,000 sq-ft (2800 sq m) converted belt factory that has all the trappings of what's very much in style right now--hewn ceilings, reclaimed lumber floors, a rough but delicately designed combination of daylight, plants, books on shelves and comfy chairs.

The Gowanus Ballroom it's not--since it operates in tandem with Diptique, a purveyor of French fragrances, setting up a delightful environment for art intake. Rather than moving steel-working equipment to make way for artworks and performances, The Invisible Dog can dedicate itself to commissioning and exhibiting site-specific collaborations.

The one I stumbled on, sadly on its last day, was a huge, multi-media collaboration of a fascinating group of artists and non-artist creators, who carefully crafted, stick by stick, a fallen thorny jungle in Mesoamerica.

In ANIMA, artists Prune Nourry and Takao Shiraishi collaborate with magician Etienne Saglio, Valentine Losseau (dramatist and anthropologist), Raphel Navarro (artistic director) and Benjamin Gabri (scenographer) to create a mythical environment based on the legend of an indigenous Maya who lived decades ago.

The full story can be accessed at http://theinvisibledog.org/anima/, but what I'd like to discuss here is the beautiful random flight of a firefly over the lake created in the installation environment.

First, the lead-up: Upon entering, the viewer walks into a long tunnel that descends quickly into total darkness. Ambient sound of birds and insects are sufficient to quell any fears of disorientation. The stay in the abyss is brief, since the path turns and opens to a rendition of an archeological ruin--the head of a Mayan figure, partially submerged, and whose reflection forms the image of the complete face, peacefully at rest.

In the middle of the lake flitters what appears to be a handkerchief with a small light within it--a firefly, and it turns randomly on itself in all elevations and directions. The image included does it no justice. [noted in red]

The firefly gives life to a remote, still chamber of the abandoned past; very much like a nuanced memory. Bouncing to and fro without pattern or path, it acts like the jump or one thought to another. 

Although I tried, I wasn't able to get in contact with the artist, so I have no details on this part of the piece--either conceptually or technically. If it ever is shown again, anywhere in the world, I will post it--since this work is the true embodiment of a fleeting awakening of the past.

Bravo!

It's Been A Year

New project on the horizon, called Finding the Sky, the story of a centenarian's memories.

I'm thinking about this project as random memory; its delivery is imagined as downloaded motion media; and the jump to video and random download will be the true experiment. Already in the throes of acquiring funding and searching for an exhibition venue, the piece is snowballing with concepts.

Starting from the beginning:

I met someone who was turning 100 years old. When someone lives to have seen a century pass by, tapping into memories becomes a different type of journey. As the day of his 100th birthday grows closer, the memories seem to coalesce.

What questions would I pose? Everything I could think of was painfully insipid:

"What do you remember as the most important event of your life?"
"What you remember most often?"
"Is there anything that happened in your life that occurred again in a different circumstance, different place?"
"Is there anyone you've known for your entire life--that you can remember?"
"Where do you remember a significant event occurring in your life?"

Note the two-layered roof to allow cool air to
enter from the top and the watery streets in front.
The front porch served as a sidewalk.

I did find out the person was born and grew up in a remote village in northern Colombia. A member of a large family, most of his siblings had lived to be over 90. Another older brother still lives with his wife in the town which has grown into a major city not far from the Panamanian border.

According to the blog from which this
image was borrowed, this house belonged
to a one of the French families of
Monteria.

The stories started slowly, but began weaving a web as the memories extended farther and farther into the past.

Some quick research revealed a French population in the area dating from when the Panama Canal was built--before Teddy Roosevelt and his bunch instigated the revolution that turned Panama into an independent country and the Canal Zone into US territory. Some photos show the slow plantation lives that developed from those of military or engineering tradition.

In slowly recounted tales, the man mused that
the childhood memories he cherished most were those that he no longer had access to: those of Model T's wading through the muddy streets, layered with the croak of frogs and crickets, the rustling of thick gardenia leaves in the trade winds.

All were gone with modernization, perhaps; extinct as anything too mundane to be remembered.