7 April 2010 Brooklyn is Watching : with Monet Destiny

7. Brooklyn is Watching: with Monet Destiny from Mab MacMoragh on Vimeo.
7 April 2010

Virtual Artwork filmed in Second Life® at Brooklyn is Watching

Featuring ménage à trois by Selavy Oh

Artworks shown by: Banrion Constantine, Betty Tureaud, Oberon Onmura, Selavy Oh, Sowa Mai

Avatar appearances by Allegory Ordinary (bot), Identity Absent (bot), Imaginary Difference (bot), Mab MacMoragh, Monet Destiny, Oberon Onmura, Solo Mornington

Brooklyn is Watching's Jay Newt (Jay Van Buren in Real Life) took part in a podpourri on the theme of 2.0 Digital Love at Galapagos Art Space in Brooklyn.

Galapagos Art Space

See previous post

Jay only had a few minutes to present the Second Life® SIM to the Real Life audience steering through the eyeball avatar of Monet Destiny. Afterwards Monet was left with the poetry-bots of Selavy Oh, reciting lines from Charles Baudelaire's volume of French poetry, Les Fleurs du mal. Their recitations were intermingled with an interventionist text-bot by Sowa Mai and Banrion Constantine, from which green lines of prepared chat appeared to come from and to be about locally identified avatars. All this text dialog was interspersed with the improvised natterings of Mab MacMoragh, Oberon Onmura, and Solo Mornington. If Mab had been using the new Second Life® Viewer 2 with its shared media capabilities, the machinima would have shown the chat text generated from these three sources scrolling in real time on the walls inside the white box.

Brooklyn is Watching

Visit Brooklyn is Watching in Second Life®: (SLurl)

(crossposted)

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves*

Penumbra Carter's mysterious cosmos spins technology and wonder into a tender dialectic with The Unkempt Hair of the Dead.

Arthole Season 3 (link) (slurl)

From the notecard for The Unkempt Hair of the Dead:

I have entitled my piece "The Unkempt Hair of the Dead" from a line in a Walt Whitman poem. He writes that the grass in cemeteries is the unkempt hair of the dead. I don't think he was being morbid, but just celebrating the fact that eventually we are swallowed back up by the earth and defacto the universe. The cycle of small matter to large matter, and back to small matter.

I have always been fascinated by people in the past who have tried to study and look at the universe and imagine how it all works. So I have paid homage to a few devices from the past created to explore and understand such things.

William Pearson's Orrery (link)

Johannes Kepler's Solar System (link)

Johannes Hevelius's Telescope (link)

I have placed grass underneath my version of our universe and made a device that is the initial maker of stuff of the universe. Whales to me represent one of the few remaining ancient mysteries we have on earth, they seem to be more of a creature of the universe than the earth.

Penumbra Carter is a talented artist and filmmaker in both Second Life® and Real Life℗. Her machinimas can be viewed on Youtube (link).

*Walt Whitman, from "A child said, What is the grass?"

Field Trip: The Last Clean Shirt

Artist Alfred Leslie's film The Last Clean Shirt with subtitles by poet Frank O'Hara (who lifted some of them from Alfred Leslie) was first shown at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 1964.

From Tate Modern (who screened the film this past Wednesday, 24 June 2009):

In a letter to his friend and collaborator, the poet Frank O'Hara, Leslie writes: 'We will shoot for two SEPERATE LEVELS on the film. One is the VISUAL, the other the HEARD & the spectator will be in TWO places or more SIMULTANEOUSLY. NOT AS MEMORY BUT AT THE SAME MOMENT. PARALLELISM! MULTIPLE POINTS OF VIEW!'

It is a blueprint for The Last Clean Shirt in which a man and a woman take a car ride through the streets of downtown Manhattan. A clock on the dashboard foregrounds the fact that the film is a single shot. The woman speaks in double-talk Finnish, interpreted by the beautiful and brilliant story told via O'Hara's subtitles that run throughout. (more)

From NYS Writers Institute:

The Last Clean Shirt is a rarely-screened film that has become even more intriguing and thought-provoking with the passage of time. A young black man and white woman get in a car at Astor Place, tape an alarm clock to the dashboard, and start driving around as the woman yaks in an unknown language. This action is repeated three times, each segment featuring a different subtitled stream-of-consciousness narration by poet Frank O’Hara. Predating the rise of structural filmmakers like Michael Snow and Hollis Frampton by several years, Leslie’s film anticipates later avant-garde interest in the limits of cinematic form. 

Snubbed by critics and booed by audiences . . . at the 1964 New York Film Festival, The Last Clean Shirt was considered audacious and excessive in its day. During a run at the New Yorker, one crowd hounded the owner of the theater so badly that he was chased out of the building and hid in a dumpster. (more)

From Jacket 23:

The Last Clean Shirt was even more avant-garde or visionary than critics were able to see at the time: it is not merely a film but a new form of work of art, a new literary object, in the wake of the simultaneous poem (Blaise Cendrars). One might then wonder how the film goes beyond simultaneity in the mapping of a new artistic space created between images and words . . .

The film betrays the concerns of the painter: lines, planes and dimensions are carefully organized on the screen and enter a field of tension. The spectator can see vertical lines: the characters, the street, the buildings, the windshield frame and the hands of the clock. Horizontal lines also come into play: the subtitles, the upper part of the seats and of the windshield and a series of small horizontal lines can be seen on different parts of the screen.
     

Circularity also finds its place with the clock, the wheel and various buttons on the dashboard of the car. There seems to be no depth, no relief whatsoever on the screen. It is as though Alfred Leslie went back to the early years of cinema to show us that what we take for granted i.e. verisimilitude, lifelikeness, 3-D relief are but a construct, an illusion. (more)

Alfred Leslie (link)

Frank O'Hara (link)

on form

. . . I soon realized that the assurance of his early formal patterns provided the warrant for following him when his patterns became more complicated and finally ceased to be patterns at all. In the twentieth century, this was a not uncommon progression among revolutionary spirits in all the arts. Picasso had conspicuously mastered every aspect of draughtsmanship and painting that had ever been applied to the recognizable before he moved on into the less recognizable, and the best reason for trying to follow what he was up to was that he had proved he could actually do what he was no longer doing. Stravinsky composed melodies you could hum and whistle . . . before he moved on to composing what could only be listened to, and the best reason for listening hard was your memory of the authority he had displayed when the listening was easy. In poetry, Eliot went on proving that he was a master of tight forms even as he became famous for works that apparently had no form at all, and that was the best reason for supposing that those works still depended on a highly-schooled formal sense. So there was nothing new about Merrill's progression from poems with apprehensible boundaries to poems whose lack of boundaries was part of their subject. It was in the tradition of Modernism. But it depended on an assurance that made paying attention compulsory.

-- Clive James (on James Merrill) "The Necessary Minimum" Poetry July/August 2009

(crossposted)