How to Create A Ghost

I found this scrap recently cleaning out an old junk box. It's from circa 2007. As a reaction to the infinite possibilities and seemingly jaded sensibility modern computer generated effects have produced, I became interested in the real-time conjuring and illusions that were used to create special effects in the early history of film.  Filmmakers were producing "movie magic" along with new techniques in editing to trick the audience eye, showing them things they had not seen nor experienced before.

The concept was pretty basic. I wanted to build a tall, narrow glass box, that sat atop a small, low-powered fan. A small amount of powder, such as flour, would be added, and then covered with a lid. As the fan blew, a light, nearly transparent powder would fill the container. When a projector was aimed at it, the images would be displayed in the particles, like a ghost or hologram. I'm sure this technique has been done before, perhaps using smoke in a Film Noir film, but I can't think of any examples. Even though the Star Wars scene of Princess Leia projected by R2D2 was done using an optical printer, the effect would look the same.

Alas, in accordance with this blog, I never did it. I bought the supplies, the glass panels, the fan...I never built it. I really just wanted to see what it looked like in my kitchen.

Vitruvian Man...first exercise manual?

It's interesting how perceptions of art are filtered through each one's subjective, historical experiences, and perspectives. This is especially troublesome when the artist leaves little or no information behind to explain or otherwise aid our understanding of the work, e.g. cave paintings or Damien Hirst.

I thought about this the other day when reading about da Vinci's "Vitruvian Man" drawing. Paraphrased from Encyclopaedia Britannica via Wikipedia , "Leonardo (can I call you Leonardo?) envisaged the great picture chart of the human body he had produced through his anatomical drawings and Vitruvian Man as a cosmografia del minor mondo (cosmography of the microcosm). He believed the workings of the human body to be an analogy for the workings of the universe."

Okay that sounds all well and good if you're an academic with letters after your name, but what struck me as I looked at it, considering it closely as if for the first time was, "are you sure he's not just explaining how to do a "jumping-jack?"

Video Sculpture

I attended the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art's Summer opening a couple nights ago. One exhibit that stood out was "Video Works, 1996- 2008" by the artist Peter Sarkisian, He was setup in the largest of the museum's galleries, necessary as each piece required as many as four or five video projectors. His art straddles both mediums of video and sculpture, as video is projected onto solid objects. To better understand this concept, a couple highlights included a simple tin bucket and another, a rectangular base, that video was projected onto creating the illusion that there was actual liquid in the bucket and a soft, fluffy pillow on the floor. Most impressive was a hung piece that was embossed, meaning the blank-white plastic "canvas" was molded three-dimensionally, with video projected onto it, illuminating a complicated "engine" or gears and various moving parts.

I enjoyed the exhibit, but couldn't help feeling envious and kicking myself for, once again, being a lazy artist and not following through. A few years ago when I was regularly making short films with varied levels of success, I moved into freelance videography, and coincidently, SMoCA was my first and only paying client. I worked on a couple internal promotional projects as well as two projects involving visiting international artists. Both were shown in the museum and one was even reported to have shown at the renowned Venice Bienale. Anyway, that got me thinking, "hey, why don't I make my OWN video art?" I immediately had a couple ideas off the top of my head. One I was reminded of the other night was a concept I had to shoot video of a person...okay to be specific, a woman...and to be more specific, a nude woman, if only to establish a foundation or integrity of a "classical nude figure" within the framework of a contemporary medium. I wanted to shoot the model from all sides and project the video onto a column with four projectors. Depending upon how it looked, I may decide to project onto a blank manikin for added realism. I still would like to do it someday, if only to see what it looked like. Another idea I had was to build a glass box, like a tall aquarium, with a fan at the bottom. I would add a few cups of a fine powder into the box, and the fan would swirl the powder around, or perhaps have a small smoke machine pump artificial "smoke" into the box. Then I would project video with the swirling particle mass acting as a screen, creating the illusion of a rough hologram. It seemed like a throwback to the early days of film, when filmmakers created magical tricks or illusions in real-time. 

The Quarter Million Dollar Art Panel: Redux

Apparently, since I last posted, it rained; an event so rare where I live in the desert, that it often comes as a surprise. When the drops begin to fall consistently enough to be noticed, haste is made to raise car windows and shelter the things we don't want to get wet. Even though the panel appeared protected from the elements by an awning, it obviously was not. When I came upon the aftermath, I initially laughed at the ridiculous mess, but then was perplexed as I thought I had used outdoor stucco patch to secure the pieces. Eventually, I realized I had merely slathered on indoor drywall putty.

My daughter, with good intentions (see pic 2), tried to fix it, but I told her not to bother. I got what I wanted out of it, and it was time to let it go.

So let this be a lesson/reminder to all of you non-lazy artists out there who expose their work to Mother-nature, and take the proper steps to protect it. This reminded me of an incident from a few years back. It seems art isn't 100% safe indoors either:

http://articles.latimes.com/2006/aug/03/entertainment/et-pompidou3

The $250,000 "Found Art" Panel

In 2006, I got "in the game" as they say...the real estate game, that is. I became an unfortunate landlord; my intended investment dream developed into a dark and miserable nightmare. In a short time, I had accumulated an enormous amount of home remodeling detritus, such as outlet covers, doorknobs, keys, etc. Each time a tenent vanished in the night, I had to change locks and repaint. A pack-rat by nature, I saved things to reuse later. I got the idea for a panel of outlet covers, attached by wall spackle, to a board I also found at the residence. I was going to title it "I Need A New Outlet." The concept grew into a series of "found art" pieces named with a play on words. I was hesitant it sounded too corny, but got an okay from a muse at the time. I created a couple pieces, the above the only surviving one.

The piece sat crumbling in my backyard a few years. I left it when I moved, but went back for it at the last minute. I noticed an ad in the NY Times magazine every week for a series of cheesy, sculptures some apparently prominent sculptor created with a "play on words" theme. They were horrible and expensive...the kind of thing a rich elderly tourist might purchase in an airport giftshop. However, it made me more proud of my idea. I've always been interested and amused by "found art," the foundation coming from free materials, pre-made by someone else and cast-off as trash, until an artist comes along and assembles them into an idea. Although, it seems the "found art" movement at some point fell victim to itself, becoming less interesting the more people engaged in it. The unique pop faded, leaving the rest to be mere imitators assembling a simple "joke" or trying to attach themselves to an art bandwagon requiring little work or ambition.

The half a million dollar in the post title refers to the money I lost when I walked away from the properly with only the panel to show for it. If I was Damien Hurst, that would be a bargain for materials, and a good investment. But I am not. I am the Lazy Artist.

Morbid Curiosity

I knew I had these photos somewhere, but didn't realize how hard I would have to comb through ancient hard-drives to find them. It's hard to believe they are nearly 8 years old. There was an accompanying head-shot (I won't include here) that strangely doesn't look much different than I do now. I coincidentally discovered a rough sketch describing a similar idea.

As I have spent an inordinate amount of time in hotel rooms over the last ten years, I occasionally ponder the lives of others who have stayed in the same room as I have. It can be difficult since I typically stay in upper-mid-range hotels catering to business travelers. There is a sense of anonymity as my fellow travelers and I tend not to interact much aside from the occasional hotel bar, or awkward elevator silences. Otherwise, it's the same nondescript room, thankfully cleaned of any traces of the occupant before me. However, there's an unspoken dark-side us travelers don't try to think about: clandestine dalliances, suicides, and other scenes of breakdowns of the moral character.

So, I came upon the idea of a series of staged "hotel suicide" photos. Though I only snapped a couple many years ago and forgot about it, I had imagined a sort of Cindy Sherman-esque look. For those unaware, she's an American photographer known for her conceptually staged pictures which she is often the subject. She did a series where she posed as actresses from real Noir and B-movies. These are quick, raw, conceptual pics and not composed as well as I'd like. I'd probably make them B&W as well, if I was to continue.

Window Sketch

I came across this rough little sketch that I must have done on an airplane as it was scrawled on the corner of an in-flight magazine crossword page. It's probably at least five years old, so it's a wonder I still have it. It was probably inspired by my first trip to Europe, as I purchased a cheap set of drawing pencils and sketch pad from the Tate Modern museum in London. I then made a few sketches from various hotel windows of the rooftops and cityscapes of Paris and Amsterdam. I remember even doing a couple on the way home from memory, the images still fresh and imprinted in my mind. I got the idea much later to do a painting or series of paintings from the perch of a window, but brilliantly, I thought, including the elements of the window as well. I never got beyond the sketching stage, but eventually came across similar ideas in a couple early 20th Century French paintings. In fact, there was one from a famous artist I wished I could recall, that was an almost identical recreation of my sketch. Perhaps it was just to say, "Hey, look at me. I'm in a fancy new tall building, looking down upon the masses." I'm sure it sounded more elegant in French.

After writing this, I suddenly realized I have actually consciously continued to work on this same theme to the present day. As I may have previously mentioned, over the last ten years I have traveled extensively throughout the US and Canada on a weekly basis, often finding myself in high-rise hotels. Also, I may have mentioned my penchant for exploring the alleyways and nooks and crannies of urban life. I have amassed an extraordinary amount of photos and videos showing voyeuristic views from windows above onto the City/town below, and in some cases, from below, with planes and such passing overhead. I have always intended to assemble some kind of photo/video collage of this, but I think after awhile and without a particular goal, it began to seem overwhelming...or perhaps I'm just, once again, lazy.