Sunday, February 27, 2011
garry fabian miller
And of the beginning we may talk of a circle, the continuous line before head and tail. A one cell starting point, where rubbing together might ignite spark to flame. All things came back to one single point of immense power, contained in a waiting room of wordlessness, before exploding again in all directions, the long out breath of centuries. I watch oil in bubbling water form single golden lakes with perfect and pristine parameters. Pop and perforate, the layers joined and the artifice is aligned and accepted. Repetition and cleanliness, control and constraint versus chaos and unpredictable combination. Within illusions of stability dust particles swirl slowly and behind the fabric, pierced, lies light and space and beyond..... Where at the centre of the earth there is a whirling mass of molten metal creating an invisible shield. Pole shifts and pendulums, creaking at the top of the fall, the mountains and ridges speak of time passed and massive movements. I want to play with iron fillings and magnets, to carry a square of the sky held to my hip so I am always reminded of that sacred space. Mercury rising, indigo and violet in silent reflection streams and night time lightening, there is always the sun above the clouds. In the tube of a wave is it quiet and crashing and in the eye of the storm soothing and static like a rothko rectangle? Sucked and shot through a replete ruffle, a loophole, a compass cutting through midnight stars, a spray,shower or scattering bursting through an elliptical membrane. A play of chance and encounter in the absence of the artist hand. I want to listen to light and watch words with curtains drawn back to reveal timeless truth. A scientist sitting in the dark, placing objects on a page, watching as forms come in and out of focus to reveal light landscapes. Control and abandon and the meeting of opposites like solid and liquid lapping, stasis and motion. Shards penetrating, optical illusions probing, absorbed and still. A diagram scratched onto the surface to illustrate a sublime and settled loneliness, around and within a basic, balanced and perfect composition.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
I remember the telegraph station buried in the sand.
the walls tried to contain the sky and I captured their efforts.
the edges of the vast and immeasureable and the heavenly highways that led there.
she scribbles on photographs and postcards, singling those parts that remind her of what is beautiful.
acrylic paint on photographs, eucla 2009, inspired by Rachel Whiteread's 'drawings'
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
garry fabian miller
elembiuos. harvest i 2005-2006
cantios. song time i 2005-2006
the birds have started to sing at night time.
eclipse and polar shift.
the circle is nature, he said, and the square is thought.
like planets and moons, cells and space, extraterrestrial regalia and secret cults
he experiments in the dark with light and dye, glass and liquid, no camera.
a place to disappear into he said and spoke of the company of light.
and things coming into being, like breathing, in the absence of struggle.
time and "the accumulation of days... the engagement with everyday... and the making sense of all days"
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
rebecca horn body extension
Black follicles and feathers bursting from human skin? Now pimpled, stressed and gleaming with sweat. The scrunching and cracking of feet, highly strung muscles and ballet shoes ground in golden, stage grit. Breath as it sounds from inside, above all else.
This afternoon I saw Darren Aronofsky's new film 'Black Swan'. I rarely consider walking out of a film but the involuntary thought did occur to me at one point. Despite or perhaps because of the film's psychological and visual intensity the film's excellence and that of it's performers is undeniable.
I am reminded of how the greatness or power of a film for me can be judged by the state of my mind and body on leaving the cinema. That film space that continues into the streets and influences how I see the people in them. That out of body high, the potential depth of disturbance and how long it lasts. Not always but sometimes the inspiration to do differently, better. A wiser, observant and sensitive onlooker. A powerful medium.
I was curious to find out who is responsible for the visual language and intensity of this film and in general the different creative roles that exist within the industry. I found this explanation of production design from the London Film School website to be informative:
"What is Production Design? It is the creation of mood and atmosphere through the expressive use of objects forms and colour, in the service of a script.
A Production Designer interprets the written word for the screen, inventing a visual world through objects, interiors, and architecture. He or she adapts and dresses locations or builds settings on a sound stage. Design dramatises and enhances the narrative visually."
It is my understanding then that the production designer, in this instance Therese DePrez, is the principle figure in the artistic feel, atmosphere and visual language of a film but that there would be a close collaboration with the cinematographer, the art director and other members of the art department team. The cinematographer then is responsible for how the artistic vision of production design is technically translated into film.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I was attracted to metal, especially in the end by the malleability of aluminium and worked on a series of small samples concentrating on ideas around intersection and penetration.
this sample reminds me of Lissitsky's red wedge, how basic shapes(circles and triangles) and the way they are placed in relation to each other have visual power and meaning.
Looking at the intersection of metal and perspex; straight lines and circles, opacity and transparency or the transition of a material from a flat, unworked surface into a worked curve.