FAVAscope » v1.03

SCOPE NAV
- V 1.3
- Intro
- Feature: Kim Clegg
- David Hoffos
- kelleY boleN
- Scott Portingale
- Geo Takach
- Credits

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Welcome to the inaugural online edition of Scope, the magazine of the Film and Video Arts Society-Alberta (FAVA)! This wired product follows its printed predecessor, FavaScope. Our leap to hypertext better reflects what we do at FAVA, while allowing us to incorporate video, expand our audience and save some trees.

Our theme for this issue is inspired by the eminent video instal ation artist, David Hoffos, who visited our home base, Edmonton, for a talk and a workshop in February 2009. Creating and exploring space is central to David’s work, which features conjured effects reminiscent of early cinema and the magic-lantern shows that preceded it. He uses spaces to express what his gallery, Trépanier Baer of Calgary, calls “the personalized architecture of the self.”

This magazine presents a specially commissioned video artwork featuring David Hoffos’ visit, created by Kim Clegg, and an interview with the artist as well as some of our members’ thoughts around our use of space. J. Scott Portingdale talks about creating spaces in stop-motion animation. kelleY boleN explores the melding of video and space in video jamming. And Geo Takach offers some general musings on creating spaces in film.

Enjoy this inaugural incarnation of Scope online. We of FAVA thank the Canada Council for the Arts for generously helping us bring it to you.

Cheers,
The Editor

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Publisher: Film and Video Arts Society-Alberta
Editor: Geo Takach
Designer: Simple Simple

Contributing artists:
kelleY boleN
Kim Clegg
J. Scott Portingale
Geo Takach

Thanks: Geraldine Carr, Joel Higham, Deanna Kayne, Tayana Jacques, Johan Denooij & Kinsley Jacques

Scope is made possible through a grant from the Canada Council
for the Arts and The Alberta Foundation for the Arts

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When one hears the word space, the brain conjures images of an inky black vastness with ancient points of light, a big empty room or a huge field in the country.

For me, space is a bookstore. You?ve walked into a bookstore before, right? You walk in, fascinated by the rows upon rows of books, the smells, pretty colours, neat stacks of bound paper and kitties sleeping in a corner? all this a prelude, a setting of a scene to finding a good book. Rows and rows hold literature, the art pressed between the folds. And it wasn?t a specific book you had in mind, just browsing. Rows upon rows and then a book catches your eye. You read the first few lines, then a page and that?s it, you?re hooked? you look up, and in the space of two hours, you?ve read a hundred pages.

The smell of the store, the sound of the crowd, the environment around you makes its mark.

Reading that book anywhere else would not have been the same. The art is the same, but the experience is different. Why? Well, space is not the empty thing we think it is; it is tangible and it influences our experiences. Space is another tool that we use as artists, another facet of the art itself.

Space is an important part of media art. I have only projected in a conventional theatre on a screen maybe twice in my life. The rest? Well, I like to play, and space makes for a great playground. When I say play, what I do is mix digitized film and video clips together in my laptop and project them live as I am mixing. Some would call that video jamming, while others call it improvised or performative media art.

I like to incorporate the space into my performance in advance. Before the performance, I take photos of the space: interesting shapes, patterns in the architecture and objects in the space. I build stop-motion animations from these photos, making the space seem to move? become alive. Then I mix these clips with other clips, which creates the story element or imagery with the concept of the art show in mind.

I also look at space as a place onto which to project the art. I am

I also look at space as a place onto which to project the art. I am a huge fan of projecting on surfaces that warp the projection (i.e. projecting on corners where ceiling and walls meet), or cast a shadow that cuts away part of the projection, to make it something new and unique to that space (i.e. pipes, lights, plastic pig dolls).

I like the transience of it; that each space leaves its own mark on the work that cannot be reproduced in a different space. Then there is the power that the space has to shape what is being projected on it. It is not just a passive entity that allows the projection to run willy-nilly. It has tangible influence, like how when you open a book, the smell of it carves into your experience of reading it? so very much like how pipes, light fixtures, cutouts and such sculpt the projections.

If I am working with other artists in an art show, I like to collaborate with them and incorporate their use of space and their art into the performance. Again, I use a digital still-camera and make stop-motion animations from the others? art and the space around it.

An example of this is the Apartment Show held in Edmonton in 2007, in which the theme of the show was the space itself.

An apartment building where a few squatters had resided was converted into several installation spaces where each artist had an apartment or a closet, bathroom or hallway to explore themes of transience. My performance incorporated stop-motion animations of the different spaces, the unique architecture of the building itself, the squatters? residence, the installations of collaborating artists, etc. I mixed these with other clips that explored this theme of transience. The projection surface itself was an empty fireplace with interesting angles and no place to put a fire.

Space + collaboration = happy.

So space? a tool to cleave, cut, warp and shape our art… not bad for a big ol? empty sumthin? or other.

Photos courtesy of the artist

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While space is exalted as the final frontier for the Trekkies of the world, it becomes the world for creators working in media like film and video. For an installation artist like David Hoffos, the created space is a means of exploring his inner world while insulating himself from the outer one. The video jammer, kelleY boleN, blends clips and venues to construct a new space with each live performance. And the stop-motion animator, Scott Portingale, fashions his stylized worlds one frame at a time. When filmmakers create, they define a space and the rules of that space, infusing it with up to at least five elements.

The first element is physical. Even in an abstract film, artists create a physical space by the seemingly simple act of pointing their lens. What?s in the space is in the frame, even if it?s only suggested to us, and what?s out is not, though that too may be inferred. David Hoffos?

spaces play with illusion to create a new reality?a highly subjective one that viewers must interpret for themselves. The physical world of the film colours our perception of its story, along with the actions of its characters and the location fees payable to the appropriate municipal authority.

A filmmaker?s use of space can also reflect a mental or psychological state, from the crisp, stark, prairie-realist precision of a film like Hans Olson?s Baby Boots to the jarring, expressionist study of schizophrenia in aAron Munson?s 2 Fall. If you have a theory or a point of view on any issue, then your film can reflect that, either overtly as in Leni Riefenstahl?s Triumph of the Will or Michael Moore?s Fahrenheit 9/11, or more subtly. The veteran documentary filmmaker, Robert Duncan, spoke of lighting his subject in Sheldon: A Story of Human Courage in

warm golden tones, while giving the antagonist, Sheldon?s abuser, a much colder, blue-hued treatment.

Often, a constructed space sails on emotional currents. Entering the world of the filmmaker?s chosen space can expose us to a kaleidoscope of feelings, be it the wistfulness of first teenage love in Mike McLaughlin?s Maia and Jonah, the sorrow of bereavement in Gerry Potter?s Jake?s Gate or the simple joy of singing and dancing in Sharon Murphy?s The Breakout of the Masala Kid, to name just three. Filmed spaces are often carefully composed and constructed to communicate the filmmaker?s feelings, whether this is done consciously or not.

Similarly, a filmed space can contain spiritual elements, reflecting a personal religious vision or thoughts on the nature of existence, the afterlife or other gravitas. Filmmakers can take us to

unexplored planes?not to mention the boats, buses and pogo sticks of diverse playgrounds of consciousness.

Finally, an art-space can engage us on a level that?s purely visceral. We may not be able to classify our reaction into convenient categories like physical or metaphysical: the work simply hits us in the gut, in the heart, between the eyes or over the head. We can always try to figure it out later, after leaving the immersive darkness of the cinema or viewing space; that?s called criticism, discourse or grounds for a lawsuit.

One of the delights of entering an art-space is that we may experience something quite different from what its creator encountered or intended. Constructivists (the learning theorists, not the Russian realists) tell us that we create our own meaning, drawing on our own state at the time?emotional, psychological, digestive,

you name it?as well as our backstories, our predisposition to the subject, the medium or the artist, and any number of other factors. These factors may be intimately intertwined with the subject of the space in question, or have as much to do with it as Simon does with Garfunkel when the feud is back on.

For some filmmakers, the endgame is not so much to precipitate a specific reaction as to make a connection. Whether it?s getting in touch with millions or only with ourselves, filmmakers define and create spaces that cultivate ties of thought, feeling, belief or experience. It is this pursuit of further expression or understanding that allows us to connect with our collective past, make our present more bearable, and talk to our shared future.

A scene from Geo’s 16-mm short, Accord
Photo credit: B. Sadler Takach

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“What is Cinema??
We might as well ask ourselves, “What is life?”

To me, life appears to be a series of moments in time sewn together by the string of recollection. Cinema is often exactly this with one exception. Instead of the string of recollection, we as filmmakers connect these moments by the string of creation. Throughout the production of my latest stop-motion animated film, Midnight Matinee (2008), I realized that I had to create a world separate from the physical one in which I live and breathe. To do this, I manipulated all of the elements within the film to create a space and time that give the illusion of an alternate reality.

Unlike our bodies, our minds are not limited by the rules of space, time and the physical world. We can create our own worlds that follow rules of physics that we create, in any time or place that we desire. In Midnight Matinee, I created a world where inanimate objects are the characters and possess human characteristics such as curiosity and ambition. This idea spawned from a world that I created shortly after I was potty-trained. I truly believed that everything, including inanimate objects, was capable of emotions and conscious thought. This had me playing with all of my bath toys equally, to avoid any jealousy among members of their peer group.

Midnight Matinee is a stop-motion animated film that illustrates the artistic journey of a capricious camera and the personal discovery of its true potential. Ordinary spaces around a typical

home are transformed into a private playground for objects to come to life. The protagonist, a camera character, discovers a magical flash, which to its surprise can bring any inanimate object to life. Using this newfound magic wand, the camera character becomes a moviemaking maestro, recruiting other household objects as cast and crew before creating its cinematic masterpiece.

When it came to shooting Midnight Matinee, I took a film-noir approach to the lighting design. This was not premeditated, but in hindsight I concluded that the visuals were directly inspired by German expressionist cinematography via film-noir sensibilities. This style of production design and cinematography has a distinct esthetic, and is so visually expressive that it can convey theme and narrative structure without the use of dialogue, of which Midnight Matinee has very little.

The overall effect of warm, amber-toned light, crisp black shadows and retro objects like a phonograph creates a sort of timeless, enchanted space where the camera and its colleagues are free to frolic without the intrusion of their human owners.

Often referred to as the invisible art, editing is where visual and audio media are married in a union that creates a subconscious emotional connection with the audience. Midnight Matinee uses a variety of visual montages with music or staccato sound effects to show the passage of time. Audio played an integral role in creating the environment in which the camera character existed. Each audio effect was manipulated with software to sound like it occurred naturally in the setting defined by the visuals. Keeping the camera character and its cast and crew silent (at least without dialogue) reinforces the privacy of the special world that they have created

inside what would otherwise be a common household. Making movies is a magical experience. Every detail and subtlety in creating the filmed space requires the attention and care of the filmmakers. There are no rules, only a language called cinema, communicated in many different spaces and dialects, but understood by all of us.

Photos courtesy of the artist

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David Hoffos is an acclaimed, award-winning and internationally exhibited and collected video installation artist based in Lethbridge, Alberta.His work blends reality and illusion in a visual carnival of secret doors, hidden passages, mini dioramas, ghostly shapes and Victorian artifacts which his gallery representative, Trépanier Baer of Calgary, calls the artist?s ?personalized architecture of the self.”

In the wake of his February 2009 public lecture and workshop hosted by FAVA, he discusses his art, his relationship with technology, the camera and the spaces that he creates, and more.

David, what?s your relationship with the spaces that you create?

I?ve come to the realization that I attempt to create, through my work, a kind of bubble against the overwhelming complexity and messiness of the world. I?m a bit obsessive, which leads me to feel a lack of control over things. In my art, I attempt to balance that by creating fictitious or fantastic spaces that I can control. We all have the sensation in childhood of wanting to enter a story world, whether it?s through toys, movies, etcetera. I create spaces as an escape from the world for both the viewer and myself.

I?ve thought a lot about how we relate to space. Our experiences with built environments start when we?re very young, in domestic spaces. I like to work with an indication of childhood fascination, fear and wonder, embodied by a dark basement, the edge of the woods, the bottom of the ocean ? imagined spaces mixed in with domestic settings. And I try to invest those spaces with a sense of mystery, fear and wonder.

Your work features images of Victoriana, especially the entertainment technology of the period. How does that inform your vision?

My creative vision comes out of the 19^th century, which was a time of discovery, promise and potential. I?m interested in the technology preceding motion pictures?the zoetrope, stereoscope and kaleidoscope?all the scopes! Often, these parlour devices were amusements with little scientific or commercial value. As a working principle, I keep my mind open to the chance for discovery of hidden possibilities in discarded technologies, to bring out opportunities to use them anew.

I use a 13-inch TV in the same way; there?s potential for a quasi-3D illusion in that box that I try to coax out. That?s part of why I?m absorbing digital tools very slowly. I?m not quite finished with the project of exploring analogue devices. I don?t want to throw away the tricks and gimmicks that I get from older technology, even if that technology is sometimes impractical and more difficult to find. Often, I won?t take the easy way. I suggest to the viewer that an effect could have been done 100 years ago, leaving them to ask why they haven?t seen it before. Viewers expect seamlessness with digital. I find there?s more of an opportunity for them to approach a sense of wonder through older technology.

Can you tell us a bit about how you do use digital technology?

At higher resolutions, like the Red cameras, you can simulate film-quality resolution rather than just the appearance of it. I use a three-chip camera at 24P to make it look more like film. At home, I had to take the HDMI cable off my TV. I mean, do I really want to see Joan Rivers in HD?

They stopped making CRT monitors last year, so there?s a completely different look now. I?m used to my images looking a certain way, so there?s an adaptation period. I haven?t moved to LCD or plasma screens, but I?ll be forced to, as I can only get the CRTs at pawnshops. This inevitable, planned obsolescence means I?ll always be?sometimes reluctantly?adapting to the next, and the next, consumer entertainment format.

Does changing technology affect your vision?

I bend the technology back to suit the vision. I won?t let the technology dictate the spirit, texture or emotion of the thing. Even though I?m using some digital technology, I?m trying to warm it up. I want a warm, analogue heart at the centre of it all. That definitely goes to nostalgia, which has to be an element of my work.

Tell us about the use of reality and illusion in your work. Where does one start and the other begin?

The machine that drives my work is the fact that there is a line between reality and illusion?probably not an actual line, but a shaded area in the viewer?s perception. And it can turn, making the viewer question what is reality and what is illusion. If the viewer has apprehended illusion as reality?or reality as illusion, something has happened that didn?t fit into their expectation or understanding of either one. Many viewers have identified this sensation as ?creepy,? but what they?re really talking about is the uncanny. I want their experience to be alternating between enjoyment of the illusion and discernment of its creation. Perhaps what we may discover is that the lines between reality and illusion are not what we think they are.

What?s your relationship with the camera in your work?

I have a long relationship with the camera. My early interest in art came through taking photographs, and I?ve always seen the camera as a magical device. When the motion-picture camera was first developed, it was kind of hidden from audiences to fool them in theatre productions, and in phantasmagoria, séances and such.

I see it again with cell phones: you open them up and you don?t understand how they work. For me, every camera gives us back the ability to capture the world, and?especially in most of my installation work?the ability to create a world. I think of the camera as a three-dimensional imaging device: you take a two-dimensional image and imbue it with almost another dimension by controlling the point of view, the lighting, the subject and the background. The camera becomes the viewpoint of the viewer; I need it to stand in for viewers, to provide an indication of scale, to portray things in a more or (sometimes) less naturalistic way. For me, the camera is not as much a documentary tool as an illusion-gathering device.

How, if at all, do film and television inform your work?

I still have a very basic fascination with the simple mechanics of the motion picture illusion?and that?s what inspires me more than anything specific. I?ll watch just about anything. For me, films and television programs don?t have to have everything in them. Even if I don?t engage in the story or with the characters, if the show has good set decoration, art direction or a hand-made feel, for example, that?s enough for me. I just watch for the craft and the wonder of the image making.

On a more macro level, how does one go about creating art in such a busy world?

For me, art becomes an arena that allows for my participation in the larger world. I?m generally a hermit at home, and I get out and meet people through my work. I?m conscious of not putting demands on myself to produce crazy amounts of work all the time. There?s no pressure to go to the studio from nine to five every day. Of course, there are business considerations. I keep at it slowly but steadily so I can keep producing, while travelling with my work and maintaining a family life, while not burning out or going broke. It?s a delicate balance, I guess.

I need about three months of studio time spread over a year, and I arrange my family time?and the opportunities that take me away from home?around that schedule. As the years accumulate, three or four installations a year, the work piles up?and starts to amount to something. I look at people like Woody Allen, who has produced practically a feature film a year for the last forty years or so, and I feel like I produce almost nothing in comparison. Woody Allen, David Lynch, Hitchcock?these were my heroes. They managed to maintain a film practice for decades.

Of course, there?s a huge difference between those kinds of gigantic collaborations and my work, and the comparison game is a losing one.

What?s your advice to anyone who wants to pursue an artistic practice?

It would be on a case-by-case basis. But all artists need to give themselves the luxury of a second childhood. Going to art school provides that opportunity to develop, stumble around and figure out what works by testing and developing some sort of vision. To succeed in an art practice, you can?t pay too much attention to family and friends who say, ?This is not practical. It?ll never amount to anything.?

You need solid determination, and a vision has to come out. If there?s no urgency for it to manifest, it probably won?t happen. Just about everyone has creativity, but there?s a huge weeding-out process through high school, university and life that takes it away. Everyone who carries on an art practice has to see it through parental pressure, paying rent, etcetera, and find an inexhaustible supply of ideas. The ability to pull ideas out of the air is essential. You have to be stubborn, single-minded, rebellious and contrary?while somehow nurturing a spirit of openness.

Does self-awareness fit into this journey?

Figuring out who you are is a component of that. If self-discovery isn?t part of it, there won?t be enough energy and curiosity to carry you through the gauntlet of self-doubt, negativity and denials. You need to get your priorities in line. If your priority is to have a BMW in your driveway, maybe an art practice is not the route you might want to take. I was homeless for eight months, living in the studio while parenting my two-year-old son. I had to go through it. You have to meet the test of what seems designed to stop you from doing what you really want to do. You have to keep pushing.

Photos courtesy of Kim Clegg

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“What is Cinema?? We might as well ask ourselves, “What is life?”

“What is Cinema??
We might as well ask ourselves, “What is life?”