October 5, 2011 § Leave a Comment
Trish Kandik rents out a room in her Eugene, Oregon downtown bungalow to travelers coming through town. I stayed in her home last weekend while visiting my daughter who goes to the University of Oregon.
Her home is small and modest. The first thing I noticed though, when I walked in was a sense of spaciousness and calm.
It is completely lacking clutter. I found out later that Trish has a business helping people get rid of stuff and organize the environments they live in. I was really drawn to this domestic space she’s created, and each day I would marvel at how I enjoyed being there and taking pleasure in the minimalist aesthetic. It was not severe or deprived, just serene, and imbued with a spirit of intentional reduction.
My room was simple and tidy. A bed with a quilted cover, a bookcase with six books clustered in a corner, a closet holding four hangers, two towels and an extra blanket. Every object is in a place, where it seems it is supposed to be.
There was a house key, loaf of pumpkin bread and a bunch of bananas on the dining room table. It might have been the dark, rainy November day, the multi-colored leaves scattering outside in the park across the street, but I thought this is contained abundance.
To focus and pay attention to keeping things simple takes a huge amount of care and discipline. And to keep it up day after day. Not letting the proliferation of stuff happen. I’m not sure if it requires an obsessive-compulsive personality to create this kind of atmosphere. Perhaps the lessons of less can be learned and internalized.
My experience at Trish’s has me thinking about the Lunch Love Community Project – exploring how a ‘story’ or a ‘proposition’ can be conjured out of cascades of recorded material from the river of life and arranged into a five minute film that tries to imply much more than it shows. What is not there, or there between the edit points, is as important as what is there.
For me, the Lunch Love Community webisode will do well to have, upon clicking the Play button, an infused spirit like the one I found at Trish Kandik’s bungalow in Eugene. Small, contained and spacious, with a subtle power that only becomes apparent as you tune in and pay close attention.
Is this possible to create an oasis like this in our media-cluttered environments?
I am trying.
It really is like writing a poem where every word, and how it sits, and is linked to the next, is making the experience work.
I say this because it requires a fearless and confident relationship to language, design, and visual culture. To be able to pick and choose, remove more than you add, and contain the abundance.
Lessons from less, so that people can see more.
October 5, 2011 § Leave a Comment
I continue on to Citizen Film offices in the Mission district to work with my producing partner, Sophie Constantinou, on title and graphic finishes for the first batch of Lunch Love Community webisodes. Things feel urgent because we’re screening two of them for the first time that night at the Berkeley Film Foundation fundraiser being held at the David Brower Center in downtown Berkeley.
I also have to proofread my latest California Council on the Humanities grant proposal, which we would be submitting that day through Citizen Film as the sponsoring organization.
Six web movies are now completed, between three and six minutes in length. It’s taken several weeks of working with the raw documentary material to figure out the form and understand the story of each piece alone and in the larger context of the whole group. I’m excited about the next six that we are making. Maybe it’s like writing songs for an album.
I keep in mind as I work, that each short piece resembles a necklace, and there could be only a few carefully selected beads to string along on it. Each bead is a shot, a piece of interview, or dialogue, music, sound or graphic text. Since mid-August we’ve spent our time working with the pattern and rhythm of each film, and then editing and shaping each one uniquely to its story and theme.
Mike Shen, our editor, would review the materials we’d pulled, and sequence them into a narrative or proposition that the web movie could be organized around. In a slow evolution with a few crucial leaps forward in the last two months, our vision and input has worked harmoniously with Mike’s considerable editorial abilities. It’s been a very disciplined process of addition and subtraction while bringing each element into play precisely.
We’d reached a turning point recently with this project – one that I’ve watched come into focus over the last several months. It’s been evolving into a three-dimensional collaboration. And more than ever, I understand how its success depends on the quality of the trust relationships we are building and growing.
Lunch Love Community now involves several dedicated people and organizations to make it happen in as many layers as necessary, and to give it weight and endurance among the ephemera of the web. Because of the complexity, cost, risk and continuous need to create an audience or community through social media streams, I’ve brought the project to my colleagues at Citizen Film and Media Working Group, and they decided to join me in its production. Sophie, who has been shooting, is now my co-producer and webisode project co-director. Jean Donohue, filmmaker and founder of Media Working Group is the executive producer.
I leave the Citizen Film office as Sophie is burning the exhibition DVD to bring over to Berkeley later that day. The issue of scale is fascinating — that is, the jump from creating a moving image on a laptop, to experiencing it with a group for the first time on the large screen with surround sound. I’m relieved to see that Sophie has confidence that the webisodes will work well in a theatrical setting, even though we’d designed them with an eye for small computer and mobile device screens.
We meet in the Brower Center lobby– our panel moderator Mark Fishkin, executive director of the Mill Valley Film Festival, Abby Ginzberg, documentarian and the main organizer of this fundraiser for the Berkeley Film Fund, filmmaker Rick Goldsmith who had just returned from a screening of his film The Most Dangerous Man in America, about Daniel Ellsberg, and Daniel Ellsberg himself who had just returned from speaking in England. Also a Berkeley resident, he’s been busy recently speaking out about WikiLeaks.
The Most Dangerous Man in America was a 2010 Academy Award nominee, and the intense gravitas among the Berkeley social issue documentarians in attendance at the event is palpable to me. I am nervous and find myself at the periphery of the reception, an observer rather than a circulator.
Abby included me and Sophie onstage to discuss how Lunch Love Community was presenting a local Berkeley story to the world through internet media exhibition and distribution; Rick and Daniel Ellsberg were placing their film within recent global events impacted by WikiLeaks releasing documents, much like Ellsberg had done with the 1970 Pentagon Papers.
I set up the webisodes succinctly. They seemed to play nicely for this audience, and I appreciated Phil Perkins’ sound design more than ever, especially to be able to notice the audio subtleties that are missed in the YouTube translation.
Berkeley filmmakers, especially those clustered at the Zaentz Media Center are a tough group to please. They are highly accomplished and known throughout the world for long form documentaries about complicated and provocative subjects. Several of them came to the event to support the Foundation, or because the Foundation had supported them. They’re scattered among the politicians, media people and business folk who believe that giving modest grants to local film production is a worthy and important activity.
Sophie explains the reasoning behind making the webisodes and the intention to create pieces that can touch and support advocates for food reform anywhere that there is access to a computer. She connects in tone and stance to younger people there who get what we are trying to do with this experiment, and appreciate the lightness in our mode of offering the work.
I listen and watch the audience carefully. Most of the questions are directed to Daniel Ellsberg, but a few filmmakers worry aloud about what internet delivery and distribution will do to the theatrical, big screen, communal experience. I think that we try and explain that it shouldn’t be an either/or proposition, but simply that the nodes of entry to a media experience have expanded and become more layered and participatory.
I am neither particularly comfortable nor overly anxious, an interesting combination of moods. My overall sense is that we are in the process of shaping a new pathway to reach people who might never be especially interested in documentary. And we are giving the webisodes away for free to anyone who wants to use them.
After the event ends, and people stop by to say hello and wish us well with the project, I find myself trying to take a detached perspective on the evening’s dialogue about the art and form of documentary as it evolves around new media interfaces and delivery systems. It was a moment in which I was pivoting between two different realities, generations, expectations and methods of approaching the question of how to sustain a strong documentary practice now.
October 5, 2011 § Leave a Comment
Persisting and concentrating, I make non-fiction films shaped from images, sounds and voices caught from the waters of life. In order to create energy for this long and arduous process, my devotion to a subject needs to match my devotion to images and sounds moving on a screen, so the two can merge and create a stronger alternative reality.
It used to be that a track record of success might help you attract funding institutions to back a new film. You would be in a dialogue with your funders, your producers, and your technical and editorial team. When the film was completed, you would show it to close friends and supporters, distributors, and begin offering it to venues and festivals. It might be bought for broadcast, either public or cable.It would be sent in for awards consideration. If more money came through, you would design an outreach effort to get the word out about the film and its subject. Your website would be promotional and you would meet your audiences at screenings.
If you have the capacity and the resources, this model could still work.
But now, I wanted a new experience, with different results.
Lunch Love Community is evolving into an outcome rather than a completed object.It is a network of intentional relationships and dialogues among people who are passionate about the subject.
It is an experimental laboratory within fluid platforms and formats. And it is a visual conversation about what constitutes authorship of the project.
It is also touching an expanding web of collaborators and supporters who see it, and its spirit, as a way to activate and participate in an expressive field larger than any of us individually.
I am learning to see the work I do in media as liquid, a permeable substance that moves across and through networks or clusters of activity. The film will no longer be an object that is solid, and completed. It will come together momentarily in one space, only to be dispersed and re-formed in another.Yet, the context I give it, as the artist, infuses it with my human intention, and keeps it from dispersing only as disappearing fragments across the media stream.
This image reminds me of a moment one summer, standing on a bridge looking over the small but rushing Onion River in northern Minnesota.
Sparkling and hypnotic, the stream moved over and around rocks, being pulled down towards the wise expansive lake. The waters at the river’s edges would wind back to the larger stream, regardless of apparent force or laziness, adding to the growing momentum.
And that mainstream changed its position, depending on my vantage point and where I was in relationship to the water flowing.
We inhabit many image and media cultures moving together, but at different strengths, and always changing, assuming different shapes, just like the summertime water in the feisty Onion River.