JIM FORD

   

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.

DON’T LOOK NOW

   

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.

DIALOGUES IN THE BASEMENT: ALPHAVILLE & EQUILIBRIUM

   

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.