So after talking to a couple of people at uni about some of the stuff I was interested in especially in terms of sounds one mentioned that Cadbury had done a promo about the 'Sound of Joy'. Basically, they asked the question 'What does joy sound like?' and got the public to send in their ideas as well as asked Bobby Mcferrin (whom I'm pretty sure is the guy who sung 'Don't worry be happy'? To google!...) to make a collaborated effort. I hadn't actually heard that this project was going on and hadn't really thought twice about the ad when I saw it on tv. But I must admit there is something curious about a collaboration of peoples ideas on a sound for the feeling of joy. Using sounds to express a feeling, especially when it's different for everyone is really interesting to me. Here's the song, see what you think
And more information about the project can be found at http://www.sharethejoy.co.nz/#/?page=thesong
Friday, 9 March 2012
Finding Inspiration
The slow-mo guys.
A friend over the break introduced me to these guys. I have this distinct memory of him commenting on all the things that we miss with something as simple as a cup breaking. The fad of slowing down things is not new but no less amazing to watch. What really got to me was the sounds. Listen to the sounds that the cup makes it has this beautiful tinkling sound that I find really exciting and wanting to try out with all sort of different objects.
It also reminded me of this-
A Justin Bieber song that has been slowed down by 800% and completely changing the sound to be something altogether more interesting. Instead of a beat of rhythm it suddenly sounds like a wave crashing. In relation to my ideas I like how it shifts the listeners perception, I like how it almost takes you on a journey, I like the transformative quality and how it allows listeners to click on their imagination.
A friend over the break introduced me to these guys. I have this distinct memory of him commenting on all the things that we miss with something as simple as a cup breaking. The fad of slowing down things is not new but no less amazing to watch. What really got to me was the sounds. Listen to the sounds that the cup makes it has this beautiful tinkling sound that I find really exciting and wanting to try out with all sort of different objects.
It also reminded me of this-
A Justin Bieber song that has been slowed down by 800% and completely changing the sound to be something altogether more interesting. Instead of a beat of rhythm it suddenly sounds like a wave crashing. In relation to my ideas I like how it shifts the listeners perception, I like how it almost takes you on a journey, I like the transformative quality and how it allows listeners to click on their imagination.
An artist statement
The new year has begun and my brain has emptied of anything useful from last year. So. Action must be taken to get back into the groove of what on earth I'm was going on about last year. My plan begins by reviewing one of my artist statements written for intro to research paper from last year. As follows.
Dear Reader,
I consider myself an art sponge. And like all sponges I am not picky as to what I soak up, one can't be particular when inspiration strikes. But being in my third year of University, patterns can't help but be noticed. If I were to place my work, I would say it was site-specific with an object-based output. If I were to describe the media I use, I would say a mix of photography, performance, video and at times construction. But all that really provides is the framework, a skeleton if you will. Where's the meat? The nerves? Muscle? Organs? Heart? Flesh? Here I will dissect.
The Organs, the Heart.
I have a stack of all my unfinished diaries, often abandoned after their first entries. Sometimes I would reattempt, trying to rekindle the initial vigor I had started so many of them with. Names marked simply with an initial or surreptitiously left out for fear of exposing secrets should the diary be found. Harriet the spy had learnt her lesson. I know the entries to be filled with hope. Even today, that same kind of hope continues. It seems a lesson I do not yet fully understand, a new notebook purchased; perhaps this will be 'the one'. This continual optimism I have often held throughout many situations. During a recent project, I remember sitting, waiting, wishing, watching passers-by, my art strategically scattered on the pavement. Waiting for 'the one' to look down, engage, see.
This idea of 'opening' and 'seeing' and 'connecting' has often plagued my efforts and themes in my work.
I remember going to view Da Vinci's 'Mona Lisa'. I was completely struck by the paparazzi crowd that surrounded the portrait, there was not one person that I could make out who was actually 'looking' at the work itself but all were documenting it, camera's striving for space to take the perfect shot. Making sure the holiday checklist box was ticked so gloating rights were assured on returning home. I refused to take a photo for this very realization. I found myself beginning to question, what was it about this portrait that was so special? What was its 'X' factor?
Similarly, while I perused the National Gallery in London. I remember stopping and looking at 'The Execution of Lady Jane Grey' painted by Paul Delaroche and after the prompting of button pushing, the tinny headset voice began to tell me how Delaroche had exaggerated the depicted scene. This was, the voice proceeded to inform me, to evoke emotional responses from the viewers. Again I was completely struck. The idea of going to see a painting during the 18-19th century could be likened to now days, when we attend the theatre or movie cinema. That a painting had enough power to evoke such emotion in viewers, that they could experience an actual physical reaction. Perhaps I am a romantic but I fell in love with this idea.
I remember feeling such excitement, being in such grips of a film that my breath caught in my throat, I was breathless from the anticipation. I remember such movies removing my voice afterwards, condemned to a contemplative silence. I now consider these experiences as catalysts for my fascination with both painting and video and where they intersect. How often is a television in a room and people's attention can so easily be held? I wish to shift art back onto the same level, to begin a conversation with the public to see Art as something more, that anyone can be more.
Da Vinci and Delaroche (among others) have inspired my motives with art, just as the hypnotic power of film and television. They are responsible for my interest in the separation between art and the public today and the relationship people have with art as well as their own everyday environments. With this in mind I have become an advocate for the little things, the everyday little wonders because 'Life is art'. As Claes Oldenberg writes “I am for an art that is put on and taken off, like pants, which develops holes, like socks, which is eaten, like a piece of pie, or abandoned with great contempt, like a piece of shit.”
The Nerves.
I envy the audacity of street artists, their courage. I envy their talent and their wit. I have a fascination with street art that stems from my move to Wellington. The city is covered like a body with tattoos. But what many don't consider is how they draw your attention to the nooks and crannies the city hides. They hit the reboot button on your fuzzy brain and empty a bucket of water on it, providing the needed 'zap' back into the present. They offer a new perspective. It is from these everyday spaces I draw my inspiration and see the most potential, what I have come to think of as ‘in-between’ spaces. These waiting periods between A and B are easily considered the boring part of a day or journey. While trudging paths, it is easy to get caught up in one’s own thoughts, the routine of life and to forget to open the self to the everyday environments.
I am heavily influenced by artist Keri Smith and find I am continually returning to and referencing; her guerilla art guide has become like my bible for simple ways to interact with spaces. Add to her outlook, the genius of Francis Alys performances such as ‘Looking up’ or ‘the winner/the loser’. Both performances through simple ideas create narratives that the public can interact with.
Gerhard Richter is another who is always recurring. I remember first looking at Gerhard Richter’s book ‘Florence’ and being unable to pick a favourite. I still am unable too. It is the use of colour and texture that captures me. I have always been fascinated by colour. The rich and vibrant in particular. The colour that smacks you in the face and leaves a bruise. The colour that a photograph can never do justice, despite numerous setting changes. The colour that acts like a shield to the grime of the city or the grey of the rain. The colour that lights up a face, boils a nervous giggle or bulges the eyes from their sockets. The colour that leaves people squinting to make it out. The colour that causes discussion and heats passions. The kind of colour that jolts you into everyday life, that IS everyday life in every sense of the word.
The Muscle.
I remember the freedom of watching the sun rising, the last summer gone. That sudden cold just before the eye opens lazily, still wearing make-up from the night before. The rare treat of being at the beach on the dunes. There was nothing in particular that marked these mornings as special aside from my self-invitation but it was on the second morning, after sitting alone for half an hour I was joined by a travelling artist who set up and in the cool pastels of the morning took inspiration for the day.
I completely understand that feeling. Where nothing matters except the excitement of the paintbrush against a surface, the potential of that surface. I had always thought painting would be my major but have had my definition of painting stretched and challenged to include video.
My first video work I viewed more as a painting in motion. My feelings of complete terror about doing video viewing my inexperience as such a disadvantage, has only made the journey more interesting. I remember Sam exclaiming recently, 'It's like painting with your eyes!' when excitement had replaced apprehension for her current video project. Both her words and excitement still come to mind whenever I am working.
The Flesh.
My original inspiration for the most recent work was through my attention being drawn to the litter lying along the gutter, strewn on the street and how something as simple as the wind can animate it. With the recent exhibition I was involved in named 'Still attached', I presented my ‘banal’ videos as entertainment on a television in a lounge - a space used to ‘switch off’ from the day, which becomes an interesting contradiction. With the added dramatic music, the perception of the objects in the video change, given a character they become much like actors in a film.
The Meat.
Can it be possible to not be heavily influenced by the constant flow of the everyday? I would argue that we have learnt to filter, desensitized to the constant bombardment on our senses. It makes sense. We cannot remain switched on; always aware of everything that is going on. But we have become too good at filtering. It's time to wake up.
“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery- celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: ‘It’s not where you take things from- it’s where you take them to.’” –Jim Jarmusch
Art has a responsibility to make the public aware; whether it is issues that the world over faces or is as close as relooking at a wall you pass everyday.
Yours sincerely,
The Art Sponge formerly known as Jess.
Dear Reader,
I consider myself an art sponge. And like all sponges I am not picky as to what I soak up, one can't be particular when inspiration strikes. But being in my third year of University, patterns can't help but be noticed. If I were to place my work, I would say it was site-specific with an object-based output. If I were to describe the media I use, I would say a mix of photography, performance, video and at times construction. But all that really provides is the framework, a skeleton if you will. Where's the meat? The nerves? Muscle? Organs? Heart? Flesh? Here I will dissect.
The Organs, the Heart.
I have a stack of all my unfinished diaries, often abandoned after their first entries. Sometimes I would reattempt, trying to rekindle the initial vigor I had started so many of them with. Names marked simply with an initial or surreptitiously left out for fear of exposing secrets should the diary be found. Harriet the spy had learnt her lesson. I know the entries to be filled with hope. Even today, that same kind of hope continues. It seems a lesson I do not yet fully understand, a new notebook purchased; perhaps this will be 'the one'. This continual optimism I have often held throughout many situations. During a recent project, I remember sitting, waiting, wishing, watching passers-by, my art strategically scattered on the pavement. Waiting for 'the one' to look down, engage, see.
This idea of 'opening' and 'seeing' and 'connecting' has often plagued my efforts and themes in my work.
I remember going to view Da Vinci's 'Mona Lisa'. I was completely struck by the paparazzi crowd that surrounded the portrait, there was not one person that I could make out who was actually 'looking' at the work itself but all were documenting it, camera's striving for space to take the perfect shot. Making sure the holiday checklist box was ticked so gloating rights were assured on returning home. I refused to take a photo for this very realization. I found myself beginning to question, what was it about this portrait that was so special? What was its 'X' factor?
Similarly, while I perused the National Gallery in London. I remember stopping and looking at 'The Execution of Lady Jane Grey' painted by Paul Delaroche and after the prompting of button pushing, the tinny headset voice began to tell me how Delaroche had exaggerated the depicted scene. This was, the voice proceeded to inform me, to evoke emotional responses from the viewers. Again I was completely struck. The idea of going to see a painting during the 18-19th century could be likened to now days, when we attend the theatre or movie cinema. That a painting had enough power to evoke such emotion in viewers, that they could experience an actual physical reaction. Perhaps I am a romantic but I fell in love with this idea.
I remember feeling such excitement, being in such grips of a film that my breath caught in my throat, I was breathless from the anticipation. I remember such movies removing my voice afterwards, condemned to a contemplative silence. I now consider these experiences as catalysts for my fascination with both painting and video and where they intersect. How often is a television in a room and people's attention can so easily be held? I wish to shift art back onto the same level, to begin a conversation with the public to see Art as something more, that anyone can be more.
Da Vinci and Delaroche (among others) have inspired my motives with art, just as the hypnotic power of film and television. They are responsible for my interest in the separation between art and the public today and the relationship people have with art as well as their own everyday environments. With this in mind I have become an advocate for the little things, the everyday little wonders because 'Life is art'. As Claes Oldenberg writes “I am for an art that is put on and taken off, like pants, which develops holes, like socks, which is eaten, like a piece of pie, or abandoned with great contempt, like a piece of shit.”
The Nerves.
I envy the audacity of street artists, their courage. I envy their talent and their wit. I have a fascination with street art that stems from my move to Wellington. The city is covered like a body with tattoos. But what many don't consider is how they draw your attention to the nooks and crannies the city hides. They hit the reboot button on your fuzzy brain and empty a bucket of water on it, providing the needed 'zap' back into the present. They offer a new perspective. It is from these everyday spaces I draw my inspiration and see the most potential, what I have come to think of as ‘in-between’ spaces. These waiting periods between A and B are easily considered the boring part of a day or journey. While trudging paths, it is easy to get caught up in one’s own thoughts, the routine of life and to forget to open the self to the everyday environments.
I am heavily influenced by artist Keri Smith and find I am continually returning to and referencing; her guerilla art guide has become like my bible for simple ways to interact with spaces. Add to her outlook, the genius of Francis Alys performances such as ‘Looking up’ or ‘the winner/the loser’. Both performances through simple ideas create narratives that the public can interact with.
Gerhard Richter is another who is always recurring. I remember first looking at Gerhard Richter’s book ‘Florence’ and being unable to pick a favourite. I still am unable too. It is the use of colour and texture that captures me. I have always been fascinated by colour. The rich and vibrant in particular. The colour that smacks you in the face and leaves a bruise. The colour that a photograph can never do justice, despite numerous setting changes. The colour that acts like a shield to the grime of the city or the grey of the rain. The colour that lights up a face, boils a nervous giggle or bulges the eyes from their sockets. The colour that leaves people squinting to make it out. The colour that causes discussion and heats passions. The kind of colour that jolts you into everyday life, that IS everyday life in every sense of the word.
The Muscle.
I remember the freedom of watching the sun rising, the last summer gone. That sudden cold just before the eye opens lazily, still wearing make-up from the night before. The rare treat of being at the beach on the dunes. There was nothing in particular that marked these mornings as special aside from my self-invitation but it was on the second morning, after sitting alone for half an hour I was joined by a travelling artist who set up and in the cool pastels of the morning took inspiration for the day.
I completely understand that feeling. Where nothing matters except the excitement of the paintbrush against a surface, the potential of that surface. I had always thought painting would be my major but have had my definition of painting stretched and challenged to include video.
My first video work I viewed more as a painting in motion. My feelings of complete terror about doing video viewing my inexperience as such a disadvantage, has only made the journey more interesting. I remember Sam exclaiming recently, 'It's like painting with your eyes!' when excitement had replaced apprehension for her current video project. Both her words and excitement still come to mind whenever I am working.
The Flesh.
My original inspiration for the most recent work was through my attention being drawn to the litter lying along the gutter, strewn on the street and how something as simple as the wind can animate it. With the recent exhibition I was involved in named 'Still attached', I presented my ‘banal’ videos as entertainment on a television in a lounge - a space used to ‘switch off’ from the day, which becomes an interesting contradiction. With the added dramatic music, the perception of the objects in the video change, given a character they become much like actors in a film.
The Meat.
Can it be possible to not be heavily influenced by the constant flow of the everyday? I would argue that we have learnt to filter, desensitized to the constant bombardment on our senses. It makes sense. We cannot remain switched on; always aware of everything that is going on. But we have become too good at filtering. It's time to wake up.
“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery- celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: ‘It’s not where you take things from- it’s where you take them to.’” –Jim Jarmusch
Art has a responsibility to make the public aware; whether it is issues that the world over faces or is as close as relooking at a wall you pass everyday.
Yours sincerely,
The Art Sponge formerly known as Jess.
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Screen shots
It's difficult with digital media to show a fair representation of how much you learn and work on things. Here I have included for screenshots so that you can see some of my progress and how much work is involved.
Video I showed from the exhibiton
From video I showed on crit week
Further working on same video but cleaned up sound a lot
From 'Extrteme' clip, here can really see the use of 4 main parts of sound which I learnt at the Simon Cumins workshop- dialogue, soundtrack/music, sound effects and background sound. (This one obviously doesn't have a dialogue track though!)
This is from when I was first learning. I was using a lot of my re-created sounds and chopping and changing them and then had the original sounds as a base.
This is the battle music with background sound. Can see how I change the volume on the sound quite a bit, trying to lessen the distracting sounds like the wind.
Outside music added in.
Here is a shot of my final. Have the gun shots in the first 2 audio tracks, then actual outside track, then the last 4 are filling in empty sound which happened from when the volume gets too low. I used segments of sound from the original track.
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