The following article was published in N-SPHERE May 2012 issue.

Name: Ramiro Tapia

Location: Salamanca, ESPAÑA.

Occupation: Painter.

Definition of personal sphere: My special sensibility toward the spiritual occurrences of my consciousness. My philias, my phobias, in general terms, everything that surround me turn out through a filter which lately impulses me to translate it into an imagery gifted by quite diverse interpretations, according to my state of mind in that moment. For that reason, my artwork is so versatile and heterogeneous.

Artwork in 4 words: Dreams, feelings, wishes, introspection.

What is inspirational for you: Odd and attracting passages reproduced within the labyrinths of my brain, impregnated in certain emotional moments of my life. I only work on that stuff which leaks over the external milieu, transformed through my keys which automatically configure them in those lucubrating dreams, that is »my dreams«.

Currently favourite artists: Bosh, Brueghel, Paul Klee, Kandinsky, Picaso and the illustrators Arthur Rackham, Gustav Doré and Aubrey Beardsley, between many others.

Tools of trade: Oil paintings, Acrylics, Watercolors, Gouache, Inks, a varied sort of dusts with paintbrushes and sticks, scourers and diverse other tools.

Current obsessions: Capturing symbologies that shake and shudder my soul, recomposing sequences which satisfy my receptive and alerted senses like the tentacles of the subaquatic plants in the pursuit of feed.

Personal temptation: Put the finger on the eyes of those people who hold the power and who want massacre us in life, even the citizens whose occupy exclusively giving the heart with all its blood to our ideals, and to our creative visions. We who walk through other paths, strange to the vulgarity of the markets, to the bastard aspirations of the common, those unsatisfied and ambitious mediocres who hold that power acquired with the corruption; annihilating life, annihilating woods, floras, faunas, waters, airs, and contaminating the blue color of this poor planet at the expense of enrich, even more, its inflated, excessive and putrefied treasuries.

Ingress: ramirotapia.com

Translation from Spanish: Iván Elvira

Artwork: Ramiro Tapia. 1970. Acorazada. Courtesy of the artist.

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE May 2012 issue.

Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant plays like a fashion-world version of the maggot in the apple. The title obviously points towards a state of longing, the heroine’s name inspires a kind of elegance and beauty and yet, in the same time there is that coldness/harshness reminding of tragic heroines. Overall, before even seeing the film, one may form a rather strong image about it.

Fashion posters do that as well and we are sometimes inclined to believe that the person behind that poster has actually a common ground (at least) with the image he/she promotes. But in many cases we are deceived.

And so we are in this film. The Bitter tears of Petra von Kant contains many wounding moments and it is not – by any means – a hypocritical work, but a film revolving around a hypocritical character. Because Petra is not a tragic heroine, nor is her sadness anything else but a strategy to fool others and fool herself and we see this from the film’s opening sequence (the makeup scene, choreography and all).

For those at least slightly familiar with Fassbinder’s work this should not come as a surprise since the German director is known for creating rather unpleasant characters and he is not the only one. However, what I found to be particularly interesting is that Fassbinder doesn’t make his characters aggressive. Even when they seem to be – like in this film – it is just a façade. They are just presented, they present themselves, but there is no parade made around them, there is no moral angle, no direct attempt to be sympathetic about them. An example in this sense is the »Sister Gundrun scene« from In a year of 13 Moons in which we are offered a glimpse of the protagonist’s early life. The material itself is powerful, but it is also presented by Sister Gundrun in a very clinical manner.

What made The bitter tears of Petra von Kant rather interesting for me is that, unlike other Fassbinder films, this one does not revolve around outcasts. Petra is not an outcast, which may not be much of an argument in making the film interesting, however Petra sees herself as an outcast. She is weak because she wants to be weak and in the film’s opening moments we can see that from the clothing she chooses and the way she is filmed and from her overall physical aspect: all of them suggest weakness, more exactly all of them suggest »induced weakness«.

It is something – maybe induced – in some people’s mind telling them that weak people can show a fairly high degree of honesty, that they are authentic just because they seem or decide to be vulnerable. And then the title mutates: bitter tears can be an indicative of a quiet resignation, of letting – go – with a smile on your face – of something you don’t feel ready to let go. But »bitter« can also be an indicative of one being delusional. Petra creates a frail world where she is both queen and victim, but it is a world only she can see, not anybody else. From the outside she is clumsily portrayed as a queen and nearly nonexistent as victim.

What was said before can be also be seen in the dialogue, in Petra’s dialogue with her »love interests«. She either wants to make strong statements which are convincing halfway through after which they fall apart:

»It’s easy to pity, Sidonie, but so much harder to understand. If you understand someone, don’t pity them, change them. Only pity what you cant understand.«

The above quote is an example. Starts with a truthful statement, because indeed it is easy to pity and in so many cases it is also useless and sometimes even insulting, but the rest is just teenage nonsense born out of the desire of saying something that in the end would either be disarming, provoking, or would project some deep yet fictional wound. However, it ends being none of the above.

Other pieces of dialogue pretty much dance on the same tune or if not they are even far less.

There is also a very amusing contrast: the film is beautifully and elegantly shot, the interior is nicely decorated, the same can be said about the costume, coloring and all, however at its core it is a bleak and somehow repulsive film. Not because its heroine is too »deformed«, nor because she made decisions that transformed her in an outcast (13 Moons or Fox and his friends even), but because there is nothing about her that is authentic or at least intriguing. Not because she tries to manipulate, but because she wants to do it, or she thinks she wants to do it, she gives it a shot and fails. One may never be certain if she even tried hard enough.

This is why I said that this film deceives. However, I think Fassbinder was well aware of that as I am well aware that this was one of his intentions if not his main intention. If we strip the film of its narrative layer(s), we can see it as a cheerful attack against the bourgeoisie, the hypocritical social/pseudo-philosophical conveniences masqueraded as »good manners« or values. Again, this is not exactly news, actually you can say this about most of his movies, but I think here he has done it in a deliciously subversive manner.

This having been said, The bitter tears... was a movie I »enjoyed« (not sure if it is the right word) and I am looking forward to see more of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s films (except In a year of 13 Moons, Fox and his Friends, The Marriage of Maria Braun which I have seen). From what I have seen, his films often tackle difficult/scandalous and sensible subjects of matter, they are bitter, straightforward and insightful (especially when it comes to »outcasts«)  and yet quiet and »unsensational«. And for me at least, this is the reason they worked. So if you are fed-up if films parading  »freaks« either for entertainment, either because the director wanted to fool the audience they are witnessing an important and challenging motion picture this may be your call.

by Shade

photo | Rainer Werner Fassbinder. 1972. The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant. Movie Still

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE May 2012 issue.

:: Hello, Mateusz, and welcome to the Spheres. To get us started, we are curious about your work and background. When did you begin painting and drawing?

Well, one of my early memories (of which I don’t have many) is sitting at a table at my grandmother’s place in Vienna, where we were staying while my parents were sorting out emigration from Poland to Canada. My grandmother asked if I would draw my favourite thing. I proceeded to render a large, rather bubbly, but nonetheless, formidable Panzer tank, complete with an armed and helmeted General protruding from the fox hole at the top. This was around my 5^th year of existence, so I guess I have always had a pencil in my hand.

:: What are you working at the moment?

Right now is a busy time, which I do prefer. For 6 months I have been painting a new body of work, that I’m quite excited about. It’s oil on canvas and the pieces are the largest that I have been able to work on since moving to London. The detail levels I’m working to are pushing a new standard for me (on canvas), which makes me quite excited to see where these pieces will end up. Over the past half year, beyond painting, I have had several illustrations published by a London based Magazine called Stalking Elk (www.stalkingelk.co.uk), and I have collaborated (created various animations and video projections) on a performance piece called The Body, which ran for two weeks at the ICA. I’ve also taken up a new direction on the commercial side of things, namely traditional sign writing www.facebook.com/mjoarts, which has been gaining momentum for about a year and a half.

:: What tools of trade do you employ?

I’ve been quite a dabbler over the years, I tend to explore any mediums that are available to me, but I certainly do have my staples. First and foremost would have to be pencil and sketchbook; I’m never without these trusted tools. Oil paint has become my medium of choice for canvas work, although I have been using a lot of watercolour to work out ideas lately. I do most of my illustration with Staedtler pigment liners, or Pigma Microns. When sign writing I use One Shot enamels, and I have to mention the Mack »Virus« line of brushes, truly superb professional tools that respond beautifully to my every move. I will say also that I do employ a computer in many aspects of working (mostly on commercial projects), but in recent times I try to keep the infernal machine to minimal usage.

:: You seem to cover a lot of areas and not restrain yourself solely to illustration. Is it important to blend territories?

I think it’s one of the most important aspects of developing new work. It’s a similar process to evolution, as mediums, techniques and territories merge and in a sense battle for domination, the most useful elements of each rise to the top and combine in new and unexpected ways.

:: How and why did you start working with video?

I started working with video in the late 1980′s. At the time I had two vcrs, a 386 mghz pc with an incredibly primitive video capture card, and a korg poly six synthesiser. Around that time I came across a tape of video edits created by Dwayne Goettel, the keyboardist of Skinny Puppy. The tape was of edits created to play on tv screens during live shows, and was a pandemonium of video and sound from a myriad of sources. I loved what I saw, and the sense of disjointedness and intensity I was left with after watching, so I started trying my hand at the medium. From that point moving image work has always been a branch of my practice.

:: Which would you consider to be your most important project so far?

This is a hard question to answer, perhaps I will treat the word project more in terms of »category of work«. I think the best thing to say is that my ultimate destination is painting. When I paint freely, I’m at my most honest, and direct. The only filters are mine, the connection to the work is organic and visceral. When working with clients on design, illustrating with guidelines, or even working on my own animation, the work is never truly mine, as it is processed through client needs, hardware limitations, or timelines.

Painting, is for me, the sublime moment.

:: You also dedicate yourself to graphic design. Does painting help you in your typographical work?

For many years my mentality towards the two disciplines was very separate. I did not see too many ways to connect the two fields beyond the general principles of image making. However, in recent times the connection between these two sides of my practice are finding an ideal arena in which to merge and truly combine to a new functionality. The arena is sign writing, which I started exploring around 2010 while working with Shunt. Since starting the sign work, I have come to understand a whole new depth of typography through the practice of hand lettering with a brush, and as such, painting is now a major influence to how I approach design, and typography.

:: Your works plumb the depths of the City, revealing a dystopic atmosphere. Do you use the urban space as a main source of inspiration?

Well, the urban space is what I know, it sets the context of my experience, but I’m not sure if it is, distinctly, the inspiration. I’ve always seen the inspiration to paint as a more visceral protagonist, it’s the sensation of disconnecting from my surroundings that keeps me coming back to the canvas. As I paint I tend to let go of expectations and thoughts of anything specific and the work starts to reveal itself only when I stop looking for what may be there.

The underlying themes of my work certainly carry a sense of dystopia. I view the systems and institutions we inherit generation after generation with a great foreboding and melancholia, as sources of great strife to the pursuit of wholesome, unencumbered, self- regulated existence. Around the age of 14-15, I was greatly taken by A.Huxley’s Brave New World, O.Wells 1984, and several of Carlos Castenada’s Yaqui Way of Knowledge series. I had always felt a sense of uneasiness towards institutional systems, but it was these words that really helped me to formulate a foundation of reasoning on the subjects of personal freedom, state intrusion, and power hierarchies.

In formal terms I would say that geometry is the foundation of most of my painted works. Each piece starts with a dissemination of shape and/or pattern, often leaning towards ideas of sacred geometries, occult chart systems, or simple symmetry. From there the process is one of ambiguity, working with flow, rhythm, form, until I’m looking at something that I can no longer deny has emerged. This process repeats itself many times per canvas, until (hopefully) I’ve pulled the whole of the narrative through, at which point I detail, finalise, frame, and move on.

:: Some of your illustrations step out of the frame and extend on walls, buildings, glass. Do you regard your work as symbolic mediation between you and the urban space?

Well, if by mediation, you mean therapy, then YES, ABSOLUTELY! (loud laughter). My relation to the urban space is quite romantic (and stressed) when it comes to showing work. When I see one of my pieces invading an unsuspecting public in a common setting, or in a gallery, a multitude of emotions is conjured, »I am the propagandist«, »I am naked on stage in front of the whole school«, etc. It’s exciting, but also very uncomfortable.

I also commune with the city during the process of creating work, which is a very different experience for me. I’ve spent countless hours on coffee shop, and pub patios sketching and people watching, where the flow of traffic becomes as soothing as the flow of a river. I’ve worked on transforming locations for film sets, painted signs on buildings for days on end, and whenever I find myself out there in the world just doing what I do, the process, I feel at ease.

:: How is it living in London for a visual artist?

Absolutely Insane! Absolutely Impossible! Absolutely Worth It. (plus you can have a half pint of Guinness for about £1.60 under Francis Bacon‘s portrait at the place he used to hang out!)

:: Do you feel more connected to your hometown in Poland?

When I came back to Europe in 2005 (my family left for Canada in 1981, and I had not been back since), I spent a month living in Poland. As I first walked out on to the streets of Bytom in November, I was left in a strange awe. Before me in every direction were shapes and colours that I had been painting for as long as I can remember: washed out beiges and blues, gritty grey, splintered panels, certain pitches in the roof angles… It was a moment of unexpected discovery that gently shook me to my very core. The next 3 years I basically stopped painting. I worked in sketchbooks, and did design jobs, but painting simply ceased. Once my impetus to paint returned, I found myself floundering as my relation to the process had profoundly changed. It was an experience I would liken to being in an accident, and having to go through physical therapy to regain the ability to walk. My connection to Poland is somewhat ambiguous now, but having been, certainly had its impact.

:: Is it easy to meet people in the visual arts area in the cultural turmoil from London?

Meeting people in London is a strange endeavour. I am very fortunate to have worked with Shunt under London Bridge. Each week the massive railway arch network was curated anew with artists, performers, musicians, and film makers from all over Europe and beyond. I was there for about three years and got a very interesting view of London and European culture. As with becoming involved with Shunt, almost every meeting of like- mindedness has been a most random experience. I will say there seems to be a larger statistical likelihood of coming across interesting people in a place filled with 8 million possibles!

:: In one of your illustrations from dA BEAtEN series you write: »We all find our little bit of loneliness, if we search long enough«. How would would you describe isolation in relation to your work?

Isolation is a state so very deep and filled with treasures and pitfalls. It’s the landscape of the self where you confront your personal demons, angels, shamans, and dictators in that blinding reality of your deepest and ultimately vulnerable primordial essence. It is the sublime state, the nirvana, the Hades, in which pure truth and pure being simply exist. It is the comfort zone from whence my painting work flows most freely.

:: Do you think that, paradoxically, while we are gradually connected through technology and motion, we become more isolated somehow?

I do think there is a dichotomy between the original aims and the observable outcomes of technology and travel. The original intent of technological connection has turned to an observable impact of disassociation in social situations, just as easier travel has opened a door for many to seek new lives in a wide spectrum of locations, leaving the travellers displaced from their homes and families. At the same time, I don’t see it as a snowballing effect that will one day render all people as drones plugged into machines, never to interact with one another. I think it’s like anything »new«, when first introduced, the impact is visible and intense; as time passes and the new element is fully diluted into the system, it’s overall impact equalises and integrates. I feel with technology we are slowly transitioning towards a period where the »wow« factor or that initial explosion is losing ground to an approach of practicality. Perhaps there is hope for us yet!

questions by Diana Daia

artwork | Mateusz Odrobny. 2011. Cymmerian Lamb Of Silence. Courtesy of the artist

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE April 2012 issue.

Name: James R Ford, esquire! Actually I just go by Jim Ford, or my alias Rebeletter Studios.

Location: Location, location. I live in fantasy land. A secluded small town in the Midwest, where people modestly work hard and don’t go too far.

Occupation: Whatever I’m hired for, I’m a man of many hats. Sometimes I’m a type designer, and when I am, I’m doing better than usual. Sometimes it’s graphic art or design for bands and companies… and sometimes I’m just a desperate schmuck laboring and painting houses to »make the rent.« I’m also a very proud father, all the time.

Definition of personal sphere: Not sure if I can answer that, I usually leave explanation and interpretation to the spectator. Apologies if I filibuster this. The viewer is a significant role-player in art, so I’m more interested in their reactions. And the way I was raised, talking about myself and my work seems arrogant, so I avoid that most of the time. I hope to be undefined though. I work in various modes and like to refer to it as »playing in different sandboxes.« If I could I would try most everything once, there’s something to working outside your comfort zone and attempting to excel in that. I always admired the masters who worked in different mediums and styles. I don’t finish everything, admittedly – work is sometimes abandoned or set aside. So there are always a variety of unfinished projects lying around. If something isn’t captivating enough or just isn’t working, I go onto something else that is. Of course, if its a work without a deadline. There’s a »moving forward« mentality, which I sort of carry on from some of my heroes, particularly Marcel Duchamp and also Miles Davis. There are phases, and periods of change; you can’t ever nail it down conclusively. I still have a long way to go.

The best artistic expressions for me are spontaneous and almost free form, despite the fact they may be consciously designed or preconceived. I’m somewhat impatient, to a degree; which is probably part of the reason I’ve gravitated toward the collage craft as a medium. Because it’s fast, loud, questionable and compositionally intensive. Motion and cubism are a significant study in my repetoir – the analytical and synthetic approaches, and perspective. I don’t like drawing or painting pictures of things that already exist, although I can do that just fine. The process just isn’t that exciting. So my personal sphere is one of exploration into the obscure, nonsensical creation, invention, animation…expansion and subtraction, compositions within compositions. Although it would appear that room is often left open for improvisation and expression [which is true], I often have a plan. Again, the sphere is very difficult to explain. Ask me in 30 years.

Artwork in 4 words: Conviction, Movement, Expansion, Process.

What is inspirational for you: Anything from the Rocky soundtrack, that Moby song from the 90s… [laughs] Music and sound, history, quotations, sayings, album covers, punk flyers, film, photography, design, nature, seclusion, hallucinations, dreams. Late nights alone in my house.

Currently favourite artists: Hmm… If I were reading this interview, I would be amused if the artist was uninhibited enough to just come out and say »My favorite artist is Me.« But I’m inspired by all kinds of artists, and designers too. Pop art, punk art, poster artists, illustrators. Marcel Duchamp has been my art Godfather; his work and his insights speak to me, so I channel him sometimes when I’m questioning artistic things. I’m a Gen X kid that daydreams about life in a different time, I’ve been that way as long as I can remember. Anyway, I also dig Man Ray, Escher, Rauschenburg, Warhol and Da Vinci…there are others in the heavyweight class. In the literary art world, Charles Bukowski is someone who stands out to me, although I don’t read enough. Beyond that, there are a handful of living contemporaries who I admire and follow. Conviction, vision and uncompromising honesty are things that I value, so I tend to gravitate to artists who display those qualities. I dig bold characters and rule-breakers who shoot straight from the hip. Not into small-talkers, happy-go-lucky types, or intellectuals for that matter. I have issues with society. There’s dirt on everyone but I like to think I can relate to most people, or try anyway. On the contrary, I’m sort of isolated in my own little world, like many of us.

Tools of trade: Anything in arm’s reach! Hands, eyes and brain of course. Usually a glue stick, Exacto knife or scissors, Sharpies, paper, magazines, a copy machine and a camera. Occasionally a computer will intervene, but moreso in my work than my art.

Current obsessions: 60s jazz and Motown, phallic shapes, Irish Cream in my coffee, Mad Men, photo illusion, fedoras, astrology. Richard Nixon – the character, and his nose. Reflections and shadows. Nonsensical word inventions. Tweeting my unwanted thoughts. Typography and letterforms as always, circles, squares, triangles, cocks, balls…you know, that kinda stuff.

Personal temptation: Sex, romance, impulsive decisions…not in any particular order. I’m a sucker for love, its my Achilles’ heel. But I’m faithful!

Artwork: Jim Ford. Monosphere. 11 x 15″ antique collage. Courtesy of the artist.

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE April 2012 issue.

Nicholas Roeg started his career as a cinematographer for films such as The Masque of Red Death and Fahrenheit 451 which maybe of little to no surprise at all if we are to look especially at his earlier efforts (Performance, Walkabout and Don’t look now). They all have a very well-defined, dreamlike and menacing style from the outlandish if slightly uneven Performance (in which he splits directing credits with Donald Cammell) to the quiet and meditative The Man Who Fell to Earth.

Don’t look know sticks close to this standard. An adaptation from the Daphne du Maurier short story, the film defies conventional approaches at every turn, creating, through its style a sense of the supernatural. Some called it a »psychic thriller« which is a fair statement on its own and gives a short glimpse of what the movie is made of.

There are several other films that come to mind when bringing up Don’t look now to the discussion, the earlier Rosemary’s Baby (Roman Polanski) and the later Profondo Rosso (Dario Argento), to name a few. But whereas Rosemary’s baby is farily straightforward and clear, Don’t look now uses flashbacks and flash-forwards and while Profondo Rosso has a puzzle which is in the end solved in a rational manner, this film’s »apple of discord« belongs entirely to the supernatural.

These days supernatural-themed films are more artificial. We know we are dealing with the supernatural because we are being spoon-fed. Rarely can we see a film that relies on a certain mood to tell us that. We are presented backgrounds, we are acquainted with a certain logic, a series of events, we basically are presented unusual events in a pastiche manner. In few cases does the viewer get to experience anything: it is just a story as common as the next one. Even the faces are artificial. Here they are common, we expect some characters to look the way they look, but they are authentic (the blind lady, for example or the dwarf).

Like other »critically-praised« horror films in that period, Don’t look now relies a lot on suggestion. It is not necessarily what we see, but what we imagine, that is frightening. Again, the film’s ending server as a very good example. However, overall, the film is not necessarily frightening, but puzzling. It is puzzling to the point where we question the existence of some characters of the realism of some events. And now, with the several dozens of films that walked the same path we are tend to do it even more often, because we might have not seen Don’t look now, but we have seen a couple of some other films.
Another element that contributes to the film’s effectiveness is the loose construction. Here, we do not have an over-baked film. We do not have a neat and organized story, because the very subject of matter demands it to be otherwise. These events do not come invited, they are not something one can quantify, they are not related to a recipe, this being the very reason they are challenging.

We are expecting our logic to answer at every turn, everything to be explained according to what we know at the time being. Life does not make any sense, not because it really doesn’t but because this statement in itself is a mechanism supposed to tell us that we have not yet uncovered all the map. Surrealists knew this better. Buñuel was an expert in merging the sense of what is familiar and what we lose control over. The transition was seamless and effective. Absurd things seem absurd because there is no way we can dissect them using a rigid device. But they do exist, even more often than we think. Surrealism in its own is not just a fancy term, but a fact of life and it implies delving deeper than the rudimentary cause-effect device. Art in itself is surreal. All of it. The mere fact that we are transported places, that we feel for characters or wander through their obsessions defies the rigid logic.

Supernatural films/stories have a lot in common with surrealism; in fact they are surreal with one addition: we have a glimpse of something familiar.

Returning to the film, as I said before, it is done using a deliberately loose construction. Don’t look now does not follow the rules of developing a story, but follows the story’s mood. Somehow there is a strange effect of an open-ended work and nearly every »point« can be used as a start and it would retain the same feeling. The much talked-about sex scene is an example. We don’t have something straightforward, something raw and unraveled, but we see how it begins and how it ends simultaneously and even much more. The raw, the immediate, is muted and the scene itself may very well work like a frame for the whole film.

This is not to say that the movie is a puzzle, because we have the answers, it just gives the movie the seeming of a living and transforming organism on one hand and on the other it offers a sense of timelessness as if everything happens throughout a single segment: a rhizomatic structure (Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari use the term »rhizome« and »rhizomatic« to describe theory and research that allows for multiple, non-hierarchical entry and exit points in data representation and interpretation).

However, the movie is puzzling from the very opening scene. It makes us doubt what we are seeing, makes us question which is real and which is not. There are also loose »clues«: the book “Beyond the fragile geometry of space” which we are shown in connection with the way the early scenes communicate with one another, for example. For a moment you may be tempted to think that they belong to different planes, which leads to a different causal geometry.

There are also the subtractions. We are dealing with the supernatural, but there are no other real insights except the common-expected. Whatever assumption could have been made is transposed to another ground: the Giallo (the Italian noir). We are told something about a killer, but also in a very vague manner, we see no focus on a proper investigations, this is not brought up very often, it is something that can easily slip your mind.

There are films that defy classifications. In 1984, British director Alan Parker made a film called Birdy. The film’s protagonists were two old friends and a part of the film’s action took place in Vietnam during the war. However, the film itself is not a war/anti-war film, nor does it say anything new about friendship, however it does say a lot about the relationship between one man and a canary and his obsession with birds.

Nicolas Roeg’s film revolves around grief (over the loss of the protagonist’s daughter), the supernatural (no surprises here), but does not break new grounds in either of them (I know, many reviews will juggle with the two, but what transpires is just recycled material) and to make things even more fun, the film defies its own plot: looking at it though the plot is like looking at a rigid picture on some wall. Yet there are many who see this film as powerful and hypnotic and I am aware that this has nothing to do with the accidental topics or the plot. It is related to how this plot is played in one’s mind, it is a film which is playing another film or playing itself in a strange piece of glass (again, the opening scene comes to mind).

There are not many films like this one, many share some common ground with it but take a different route. You can see this in its style from another aspect as well: that of contrasts. The approach hints to something poetic, »arthouse«-like, but Roeg is no Tarkovsky or Herzog. The visuals are pleasing, but they are not as visceral. Actually, I think the film looks just the way many other films from that period look. The structure points to surrealism, however this is no Buñuel, Chytilová (and so forth) either. What we see is fairly believable, but it is not a common film either.

In conclusion, Don’t look now is unique and may appeal to a fairly wide category of moviegoers, from those who like the old horror films, to the Giallo fans, from those who are more into arthouse and surrealism to those who have enough patience and recalled liking some of the older films, but I guess if you have read this review, you can make up your own mind on whether this trip is best taken or avoided.

by Shade

photo | Don’t Look Now. 1973. Movie still

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE April 2012 issue.

A
Released in the vanguard of technological advancements concerning cinematic production, Alphaville discloses a dystopic universe that embraces erasure in order to maintain its continuous functioning. The narrative presents the expedition of an undercover secret agent named Lemmy Caution in the world of Alphaville, in order to find its creator Professor Von Braun and destroy the Alpha 60 machine that entraps the inhabitants by prohibiting love and free thought.

Ω
This brings to mind, among several large-scale-creation-turned-against-creator works, a film that borderlines cliché-istic imagery, but in which, at a closer inspection, another machine entraps the masses. Equillibrium, however, resides in an universe controlled by a non-sentient fiend. Unlike Alphaville, this world bares no intrusions and no escapes, seeming set in time, immutable and unbreakable. Do you think these are somehow alarm signals howling above our heads in hopes of avoiding technology to overcome biology?

A
At first look, the film does seem to be critical to the advent of technology by rendering visible the possible outcomes of technological advancements: industrial development gradually creates an imbalance in the relation between Man and Machine, favouring the latter and leading to a bleak future where people are deprived of individuality. The citizens of Alphaville depicted in the film seem to be trapped in a circular universe, and the machine that they had themselves created (Alpha 60) constantly regulates their existences. Is confinement an issue in Equillibrium as well?

Ω
The city of Libria has tall, thick walls, strict policies regarding contact with the outside, a well organized law enforcement network and is overall monotonous, quiet and bleak. Although there is no actual electro-mechanical entity governing this city, an elusive reflection of Professor Von Braun does exist: Father. A watchful eye, Father knows everything, he sees all infractions, he hears all whispered emotions. This figure appears on monitors, uses (not unlike Alpha 60) technology for monitoring of the inhabitants. A tiranic figure, Father seems to be an amalgam of Von Braun and Alpha 60.

A
You mentioned the controling entity as non-sentient. How does Father fit that description? Alphaville is governed by the Alpha 60 machine, which functions as an internalized restraint for whatever they do, presents sentient behaviour.

Ω
In Equillibrium, Father is as much a slave of this dystopic order as anyone else, even if he considers himself free. The machine here is an emergent entity, in which all subcomponents collaborate in order to entrap the inhabitants of Libria: a drug, taken to erase all emotions. Every tiny capsule of this medication is a part of the biological machine that enforces conformity. All inhabitants, the Libria goverment, the law enforcement agents, all become tools of the chemical machine.

A
Indeed, in both instances, the characters seem to be result of anamorphosis, presenting themselves as real while they are in fact distorted surfaces incapable of free thought or action. As voiced by the Alpha 60 machine itself: »The inhabitants of Alphaville are not normal. They are the product of mutation.« (Alphaville, 1965). The dwellers of Alphaville appear as reflections that are unable to internalize feelings or free thought, but that are nevertheless able to mimic reality proper.

Ω
On the contrary, Libria brims with characters that are so transformed and distorted, that they become the mirrors themselves. They reflect the grey, angular, square, quiet world around them. The amount of conversation is limited to basics and only the neccessary words are spoken. Nothing is added, nothing is extra. Nothing is taken, either.

A
This sounds similar to Philip K. Dick’s 1968 novel – Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, with its symbolic society populated by clones that mimic existence and regard themselves as real.

Ω
Yes. However, if Alphaville does emulate beings that consider themselves real, the inhabitants Libria are well aware of the fact that they hollow themselves out. They patiently wait in line, out of their own free will, as they themselves consider, to get their daily doses. Mimicking existance is taken to a whole new level, a reality that is not fake, but palpable and quite bland. For instance, even the self-discovery of an Other by the main protagonist is quiet and continuous. John Preston, a law enforcement agent, doesn’t even try to see himself. His path of self discovery has to be forced on him, by an accidental loss of a drug dose. Does this apply to Alphaville as well?

A
Actually, no. One of the main characters of Alphaville is Natacha von Braun, the daughter of Professor von Braun who guides the detective Lemmy Caution through the city. She continuously attempts to discover herself, she seems to be a mask that only serves the ones around them by mirroring their desires. Natacha seems to be a symptom, not of man, but of the very system that created her – Alphaville. A significant episode to the young woman’s portrayal is the close-up scene that frames and fragments her body transforming it in the object of the gaze by means of an image. With her eyes staring at the cinematic lens, it is difficult to determine whether her discourse is a soliloquy or a monologue whose addressees are the very viewers of the film. By breaking the fourth wall, Godard exposes Natasha as both the object of the gaze and the Other that stares back from the other side of the glass.

Ω
Natasha seems to be a fractured reflection. Preston, on the other hand, is a scratchless shiny reflective object. At the beginning of the film, even when looking at himself in the mirror, there is no Other gazing back. The only one really looking back at him is the impassible face of his son, checking that he took his daily dose. Further on, though, his own essence shatters when his son reveals a complete lack of drug induced obedience, with the same calm and emotionless face. Unlike Preston, the boy is a genuine (and unique in this film) Other, set in place to negate the existance of Libria.

A
This reminds me a little bit of Lemmy Caution: cautious boy – cautious agent perhaps?

Ω
In a complete and unrelated hey-I-discovered-a-quirk manner, yes.

A
True, the boy is cautious to avoid capture, thus creating his Other facet. Instead, Lemmy’s name is used as subtle irony. Throughout the film, the viewers more or less follow Caution’s excursion through the metropolis and his attempts to make sense of what he encounters. He seems to be able to provide all the answers and solutions concerning Alphaville, but he does not disclose any psychological depth. In other words, Lemmy Caution is neither reliable nor convincing since he is unable to reveal anything else than an appealing surface.

Ω
The detective seems to be an intrusive element in Alphaville. He breaks into the monochrome patterns and leaves at the end, but does not suffer mutation of the self. Unlike Lemmy, Preston’s son is part of Libria. His existence is not discontinued from the Equillibrium universe at the end of the film, but is assumed to be mutated into Libria-the-Other, as a result of destroying the biological technocratic tyrany.

A
What brings forth this destruction of Libria?

Ω
It’s rather cliché-istic. In fact, it is expected for a member of law enforcement to break the rules and cripple the machine. After being made aware of a circular entrappment by a »sense offender« – »It’s circular. You exist to continue your existence. What’s the point?« (Equilibrium, 2002) – Preston is the Insider that simulates awareness.

A
In opposition, Lemmy Caution seems to be an Outsider. After meeting Natacha, he admits that he wants to save her from this destructive system and help her become a »real« person, like himself, even if the only way to do this is by bringing destruction to the Alphaville machine itself.

Ω
So how is it that both films still have that grim sensation of death even in the end? Equillibrium, for instance, breaks the entrappment by means of explosives and murderus violence, culminating in the fall of the governing figures. These actions release emotions for the Librians, causing rioting and bringing them back to the reason why the entire drug system has been set in place: “In the first years of the 21st century, a third World War broke out. Those of us who survived knew mankind could never survive a fourth; that our own volatile natures could simply no longer be risked. So we have created a new arm of the law: The Grammaton Cleric, whose sole task it is to seek out and eradicate the true source of man’s inhumanity to man – his ability to feel.” (Equilibrium, 2002)

A
In Alphaville, the Alpha 60 machine loses its complete power by erasing the symbolic distance that sustains its existence. What generates this process of erasure is the Alpha question: “What am I?”. Towards the end of the film, Alpha 60 provides the answer – »it is my misfortune that I am myself, Alpha 60.« (Alphaville, 1965) that makes it self-conscious and unable to perform its own purpose. The machine’s death is associated with an absence of light that ultimately generates a general state of asphyxia throughout Alphaville.

Ω
In this light, would there even be a point to break confinement, be it chemical, mechanical or even self-induced?

A
In a permanent present that duplicates itself endlessly? Yes.

Ω
So… how does one escape if one knows not that one is trapped?

films | Alphaville. 1965. Jean -Luc Godard | Equilibrium. 2002. Kurt Wimmer

photo | Alphaville. 1965. Movie still

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE March 2012 issue.

Name: Stanka Koleva

Location: Berlin, Germany

Occupation: Photographer

Definition of personal sphere: Art is the purest way  of interpreting our inner self as well as actualizing the unknown manifestations of Cosmic Life. Human nature and mutual relations  are necessary components that I utilize in my works, along with intuition, which is the most essential and uncertain element of the artistic act.

Artwork in 4 words: Silence, prayer, faith and scream

What is inspirational for you: Every living creature. I believe we all pertain to something much more than the materialistic and organic dynamic; we communicate not with words, but with senses.

Currently favourite artists: Sally Mann.

Tools of trade: Gelatin-Silver Prints.

Current obsessions: Paper letter writing.

Personal temptation: Chocolate.

Artwork: Stanka Koleva. Not Enough. Courtesy of the artist.

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE March 2012 issue.

The last dialogue took almost forever to find its way to the tips of his fingers, but even so, it seems that the pen’s dried up or the ink is of a lesser brand.

“Do you consider yourself worthy of the pen but too small and insignificant for the words?” “I do not know. You have been absent for months, dialogue became scarce, monologue became almost fake. Seems that everyone has lost their touch. Or their talent, if indeed there was talent to be found somewhere.” “That is a good question. Didn’t think you could come up with something new. Anyway, some sort of rebranding is necessary. Your authenticity is decaying. The ‘originality’ is taking a circular spin. Or perhaps you cannot exist outside the beaten path. And that would be … regretful. I think some characters got used to your presence and your disappearance would sadden them needlessly.” “So what you’re really saying is… !?”

“My dear, this is neither fashion, so you can try on various combinations, nor some hip attitude. You must be better than this. A whole lot better.” “I was wondering where the off-duty teacher in you went. I see your old habits die as hard as anyone’s. I ponder still if to congratulate you or ignore you completely. But unfortunately, I may yet have to find some use for you… as a convenient presence, as some entity to be blamed for anything and everything, as a cheap late hour chat or some other form of light entertainment or intellectual activity.”

Is that a spark of the old vanity once worn so graciously? Is that a last minute sniff of magic powder for the bold and disoriented?

text by Bahak B

artwork by Vel Thora

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE March 2012 issue.

Juraj Herz is one of the more obscure exponents of the Czech New Wave, mostly because his works do not have that political touch, or should I say there may be some political touches, but they don’t revolve around a clear message in this particular area. He is a »late romantic« so to say, more fascinated with the mood and camera movements and, while you could say the same thing about some other better-known directors from the Czech New Wave, Herz‘s works (especially Morgiana and The Cremator) are strangely engaging from a certain point on. In his films there is a sense of a traditional plot (in Morgiana, for example, there is an entirely readable plot) and they are visually exquisite, but indeed they lack that type of frenzy the rest of C.N.W. exponents have.

Although, it is still a mystery to me why The Cremator has been overlooked. Not only that it shares enough common ground with other C.N.W. films by means of approach and aesthetics, but it is also a very corrosive satire on a considerable part of all the social commodities masquerading as rules of conduct or real values.

The opening scene of The Cremator is very poetic, and you are lead to believe that you will be watching a quite meditative film, until you realize you were being »conned«.

The satire is somewhat straight and in-your-face, there is nothing too subtle about it, but this makes it even more effective. There is that familiar tone, the things you heard before, things you were told to take seriously or things that people other people have shown a great deal of respect toward. Things and people here are presented in tones that switch from grotesque to repulsive.

Speaking of familiarity, some of the characters’ names are at least a bit interesting: Lakme (the heroine of Delibes‘ opera), Dvorak (Antonin Leopold Dvorak, Czech composer) and Bettlelheim (Bruno Bettlelheim, child psychologist and writer.).

There is a strong expressionistic scent throughout the whole picture: you could very well be thinking you are watching a silent horror/comedy. Horror can be born from confusion as well and this is where the camerawork pays off. It is mostly a type of suggestive horror, because we do not see something clear, even its final scenes not being graphical, yet being powerful. The state of confusion also serves well into depicting the mental disintegration of the protagonist.

In one of his other works – Morgiana – Juraj Herz uses the same gloomy gothic tone, only this time the socio-political context is absent. Again, the story, from some point on, becomes pretty engaging, there is a hitchcockian feeling throughout the whole film and Herz, once again, proves that he is a creative visual stylist. While not presenting anything new in particular, Morgiana works well for those with a taste for gothic gloomy fairytales.

All in all, Juraj Herz is a director worth checking out by those of you who have seen and enjoyed at least half of the movies previously presented here, because it is difficult to place him into a more specific category than what I have described above. So, if you had »put up« with our other »friendly suggestions«, good chance you won’t be disappointed here either. Personally, I liked Morgiana better than The Cremator, but the latter holds a more significant importance.

By Shade

photo | The Cremator. Movie still

Full article here.

The following article was published in N-SPHERE February 2012 issue.

Name:Terence Hannum

Location: Baltimore, United States

Occupation: Art Professor

Definition of personal sphere: Ritual and Music Subcultures

Artwork in 4 words: Profane, Sacred, Abject, Sublime

What is inspirational for you: Researching rituals and rites, myths and codes, subcultures I have no experience with.  Reading a lot in the field of ritual studies.

Currently favourite artists: Isa Genzken, Sean Dack, Thomas Scheibitz, Nicholas Lobo, Richard Serra’s drawings, Brian Ulrich, Sterling Ruby.

Tools of trade: Gouache, black paper, xerox machine, laser cutter, oil paint, wooden panels, oscillators, sub woofers

Current obsessions: Good not generic Death Metal, Michel de Montaigne, burning cassette tapes, my newborn son.

Personal temptation: Sloth.

Artwork: Terence Hannum. Profane Sepulcher. Gouache on Paper. 2010. Courtesy of the artist.

Full article here.