Dusk Machines

Aaron Ximm’s work, Serendipity Machine 12.13.03 (morris,) is unlike anything around. The only similarity it draws between his other works is the flowing, layered feel to it. There is a background that fades in and out between noises slowly and almost unnoticeably, a middle section with sounds that move and change more frequently, and an upper register with flittering, higher pitched noises that change rapidly and are used mainly to keep the listener’s ear interested and distracted while the background and middle sections change.

However, unlike Ximm’s other pieces that draw from a specific sound set and are made to convey the specific emotions of a specific place, his Dusk Machines, as he calls them, are void of his interaction beyond their initial programming. He supplies the material and the mood for the machine and then the system takes over and creates the sound scape. This method makes it more noticeable when the sounds switch, making the transitions a little rough around the edges. Also, the upper layer voices are sometimes a little more out of place than usual and don’t seem to fit as well into the piece as a whole.

One of the truly interesting aspects of Aaron Ximm’s work is that there is never any true silence. At times there is sound that some would consider silence, but there is never a lack of sound. Once that background noise begins, though it changes in content and volume, it never disappears.

Dukka, by Aaron Ximm

Aaron Ximm’s work creates a world. In his piece, Dukka, Ximm uses sounds from Thien Mu Monastery which is the oldest surviving Buddhist Monastery in Vietnam. Through sound he paints the picture of a monastery, with all of its calm surroundings, chanting, praying, and believing. There is a slow moving layer in the background that does not change as fast as the other layers with slow fades and relatively low volume. Then, above that, there’s the middle layer which holds all of the recurring sounds such as all of the bells and the high screech. The middle is more of the rhythmic layer. Finally, on top of all of that, is the fast moving layer that changes rapidly and keeps the listener on their toes. It is more of the experimental layer where Ximm plays with sounds of different kinds to pique the aural interest of the listener. The other layers provide the background noise that only becomes apparent when the highest layer drops out. The sections of his piece are not defined in the way typical music is; it cannot be categorized in the same way music can be categorized because it is so unconventional.

What Aaron Ximm creates can best be described as a soundscape. It is an all encompassing aural description of the world around him. It is an idea that swallows you if you let it. However, it goes even further than that and demands that the listener to become involved. One must give oneself up and allow the sounds to take them on a journey through his travels. Only once you have gotten beyond the fact that it is just sound that you’re listening, beyond actively criticizing and looking for flaws, can you really become the other half of the piece that Dukka needs: the listener.

While some people take pictures to remember and to express the emotions of the adventure, Aaron Ximm uses the sounds he collects. He doesn’t just record the sounds and play them back though, he makes them his own. He takes what he sees as the most important parts of each soundscape and uses effects to emphasize them to help the listener understand what is he trying to convey. He captures not only the sounds around him, but through digital manipulation is also is able to convey the emotion that he felt while experiencing the location.

To Touch Deep Walls

            The Milwaukee Art Museum is the perfect home for art as it is an art piece itself. Rising up on the shores of Lake Michigan with its flowing architecture it is easy to forget that it is also a vessel for art, holding them squarely within its walls. Like a beautifully adorned thermos, the real substance of the museum lies within yet another set of walls in the exhibit hall for Act/React. Upon entering through the doorway into the exhibit one must first travel along a winding hallway used to block the view of the exhibit from nonpaying patrons, unintentionally building the anticipation for the exhibit. It is a quiet hall, bristling with energy, full of patrons observing and, in a way, interacting with the maker of each piece. Closed off from the rest of the museum, one gets the feeling of stepping into another world. Knowing that the only people who can see you are other viewers waiting to interact with the pieces allows one to break out of their shell and dive headfirst into the works.

            A typical work of art found in a museum has signs around asking the patrons not to touch the work or some form of barrier preventing one from even getting close enough to see how artist created the piece. In the works offered up in the Act/React exhibit viewers are encouraged to get involved with piece and make it their own by the very security guards normally yelling at you for standing too close to the painting. When computers first became common in the 1980’s some saw them as works of art on their own, but until now they had not been truly realized for their artistic potential; the use of projectors and sensors in the exhibit help close the gap even further between the artist and the viewer.

The methods of interaction cover a broad range of motion. Each piece requires the viewer to take a few moments to either observe how to interact or figure it out for themselves, thus immediately involving them in the artistic act whether they realize it or not. This interactivity asks the viewers to step outside of the usual comfort zone given to museumgoers and actually perform in front of others. The majority of the works use the combination of a projector and a shadow sensor mounted above the interaction area to capture movement and translate it into the work. Scott Snibbe’s Deep Walls uses the same technology, the projector and sensor combo, but instead rotates it to project on a wall, allowing the sensor to capture not just the overhead shadow of a person, but the entire silhouette. He puts the recorded silhouette’s movements into one of 16 squares in a grid on the wall. Many patrons, upon first arriving at the work, spend their time just looking at the unique silhouettes captured in the squares. Their timidity to interact and have their shadow recorded is reminiscent of mythology, where it was considered a malicious act to capture another’s shadow. When someone finally makes the leap and steps in front of the projector, the group suddenly erupts with excitement to see one of their own in the work of art. Once someone takes that first step, the doors fly open to all of the possibilities of the piece and the imagination of the viewers comes to life. Deep Walls is more of a tool for the patrons to create their own piece, either as an individual or as a group. You are encouraged to test the bounds of the technology, figure out how it works, and make it your own.

“… touch, the most intimate form of communication is the interactive mechanism, yielding auditory rather than visual wonders”

                                           -George Fifield, guest currator

Janet Cardiff’s piece, To Touch, requires a more physical interaction to elicit a response by the work. A very simple looking installation greets patrons upon first entering the room that houses the piece. Speakers dot the walls at ear level and all point towards a worn table in the center of the room glowing from the light of the spotlight overhead. Instead of just walking in front of a projector, one must physically get involved with the piece to elicit any sort of response. How to interact with the work is not immediately obvious as the only information to go on is the title. However, once figured out, the room comes alive with the sounds of voices, various musical crescendos and random sound effects. The table is equipped with electronic photo cells that trigger when a hand runs over them. The slightly confusing nature of the piece encourages viewers to work together to figure out just how it works and what the message might be. Since more than one photo cell can be triggered and running at a time it is common to hear more than one voice or sound effect at a time, creating a somewhat dominating soundscape. This piece takes storytelling to an entirely new level, creating a more realistic retelling of the story: broken up, non-linear, and overwhelming. George Fifield said it best when he wrote how the piece “[blurs] the distinctions between sculpture, installations, and sound art.”

Upon leaving the exhibit the viewer is thrown back into the light and reminded that they are indeed in a museum. The return to the museum atmosphere, where the job of the security guard, once again, is to keep patrons from touching the works, is jolting to say the least. One tends to miss the intimacy of the exhibition space where everyone was experiencing the pieces and working together to get the most out of them. The interactivity of the works in the Act/React exhibit means they will be forgotten long after the many paintings and sculptures in the museum because, as George Fifield puts it, “People who interact with the art have a hand in creating part of their experience, for each person has the opportunity to choose his or her own path through the work.”

Handmade, Through and Through

            The most interesting aspect of the some of the films we have been studying so far this year is their lack of narrative or direction. That is not to say that they lack intent and thought, just that they do not hold the viewers hand through their pieces. The two works that demonstrate this best are Baghdad in No Particular Order by Paul Chan and My Life as a Bee by Robert Schaller. Both pieces command your attention not through a compelling story or complex characters but through what is purposefully left out. The narrative: the voice over telling us that everything will be all right, that there is a beginning, middle, and end. While these movies would be scoffed at in Hollywood for their lack of plot, they are put on a pedestal in film courses. Why is that?

            Paul Chan’s work, Baghdad in No Particular Order, is the epitome of non-linear films. Not only is the film itself completely non-linear, with no plot or obvious beginning and end in sight, but the accompanying website (notably titled Baghdad in No Particular Order, Part II) also offers a relatively non-linear approach to the stories of people in the film. This technique offers the viewer a chance to experience the footage itself without being forced to try to understand some plot thrown together by a film studio. The footage must speak for itself and tell a story, as all good art does whether intentionally or not. The camerawork also lends to the feeling of a very raw piece that is intended to spur curiosity and tell a story; an obvious lack of tripod use makes to footage look like any old home video shot by mom and pop.

            In My Life as a Bee by Peter Schaller, we are shown a much different approach to non-linear story telling. In this case, the film is handmade, from the handmade emulsion to the use of a pinhole camera in lieu of a modern mechanical camera. By stepping back in time in a technological sense, Schaller gives the work a sense of effort; knowing the techniques used, it is hard not to respect him for the amount of work he had to put in to produce such a piece. However, though old-fashioned, the technique offers a much more accurate depiction of what a bee would probably see as it was flying around searching for pollen. 

Journal

The journal I will be following is http://www.film-philosophy.com/