I may be a photographer, but I’ve never been incredibly fond of art… at least not the kind that’s full of philosophical representational artsy fartsy crap that the artist may see, but I sure don’t. And because of that, I view most art as something that sometimes looks neat, but more than anything is just weird.
But I have finally found an artist whose philosophical representational artsy fartsy crap actually makes sense to me. And it wows me. And it wows me so much, I went back four times in a week to stand in front of it, staring at it, getting lost in it.
That artist is Lincoln Schatz - one of the artists featured in Sundance’s New Frontier, a gallery of new media art. Schatz’s piece is a large television screen with a camera mounted on top of it. It records continously and plays things back interspersed with what has already been recorded. It plays bits and pieces, forward and sometimes backward, sometimes in real time, sometimes in slow-mo, sometimes in more of a stop-animation.
I talked with Schatz the first day I saw the piece. He told me how it is supposed to represent your memory. My first thought was “typical art bullshit.” But when I looked into the screen after hearing his mumbo jumbo, I realized how right on he was. This television screen really felt like a memory. It was formed like a memory - an intertwining of the current reality and an overlayed image of what’s in your head, floating somewhere between the brain and eyes… except it almost feels tangible. And that’s what makes it so different than just a memory in your head, or even what a regular video recorder is capable of.
You often see yourself with a five to ten second delay, and even watching yourself with that short delay feels like watching a distant memory. But sometimes an even more distant memory appears. Like when you see yourself in relatively real time, and then next to you appears another you - not a double of the present you, but rather you from six days earlier. Supposedly the piece can carry eight years of video, so over time, these memories could actually become quite distant.
Because the frames are intertwined, you often see yourself with someone next to you, seemingly talking to you, but who isn’t really there. They may have been there five minutes before, or maybe five days before. You don’t really know. But at that moment, they’re there with you. You see people behind you in the screen, sometimes a crowd of five or ten people. But when you turn around, you could find that you’re the only person in the room. It was really neat.
Yesterday, hundreds of middle school students braved the cold and laid in the snow for over an hour while this aerial photo (not taken by me) was taken from above.
Now these are middle school students (READ: fashion before function), so even though it’s below freezing outside, many still wake up in the morning deciding it’s okay to wear mini-skirts, gym shorts, dress shoes, and other items completely inappropriate for January mountain-town living… and even more inappropriate for laying in the snow. Those who managed to suck it up left the snow with little more than a wet butt. Others however, had to be carried out, and many girls could be found crying in the main office as the nurse gave them no sympathy whatsoever and made them dance around a small heater.
The guy who does it all is aerial artist John Quigley (shown above carrying girl with inappropriate footwear). Quigley has created aerial images like this all over the world. The one yesterday is actually a response to one he created in the arctic two years ago, warning of the impact of climate change. Our response was a sun with bear prints - a carbon-neutral footprint. Above the image is an Inuktitut saying meaning something along the lines of “We hear you, and we’re going to do something about it.” Below it, “STEP IT UP,” of which I am a part of the E.
Yes, that indeed is the artist formerly known as Puff Daddy. And yes, I talked to him. When he asked where a guy could get a cup of hot chocolate, I told him where and showed him the way. I’m so nice… for a paparazzo. Please note the small bottle of alcohol in his hand (no doubt to spike his hot chocolate) as he speaks to two young children… three if you count the blond.
Anyhoo, it’s day four here in Park City, and the celebrities are swarming. My sightings number only 10 however, which is somewhat disappointing considering how many are here. However, I heard it through the grapevine that John “I’m a babe” Cusack is here, and that is now my only goal for the week - to see JQ himself. I’d take seeing his sister Joan, but you know, I wouldn’t marry her.
Even more prevalent at the Sundance Film Festival than red carpet is red tape. It sprawls out before you, a never-ending expanse of phone calls, rules, and ultimately, disappointment. But sometimes the red tape is worth untangling - like when you finally (after previous unsuccessful bouts with red tape) get to see your old man celebrity crush - Robert Redford. Some prefer Tom Selleck, Harrison Ford, or Sean Connery, but my top spot has always been reserved for Bob. In a movie career spanning over four decades, the Sundance Kid has always managed to keep me (and many others) drooling in admiration… kind of like I was during this press conference today.
Bob Redford was, is, and always will be… a babe. It’s a non-refutable fact.
Ever seen that Mucinex commercial where the cartoon family of phlegm throw a party in some poor sick person’s body? Well, that body may as well be mine… except there’s one major difference. In the commercial, the family gets blown away by the Mucinex… but in reality, the family puts up a big fight, or wages war rather, and the Mucinex is no match for their battle tactics… and neither are the Airborne troopers, the pain killers, or the orange juicers… even when equipped with a large water supply, antioxidant-rich food, vitamins, and lots of rest. Nothing will get that phlegm out of my damn body. Though the flu has long since surrendered, the phlegm has not. And I’ve now been coughing for two weeks and four days straight. Because of it, I have blown all the muscles off my ribcage, front to back… and can’t so much as lay down, pick up a bag, cough, or even laugh without feeling as though I’m getting stabbed all over my midsection. So despite being technically healthy now (aside from the cold that joined forces with the phlegm a few days ago), these battle wounds have left me feeling worse than when I had a fever, chills, and migraine.
Since I am one of the millions of people without health insurance, I never went to a doctor, but I figured they can’t do anything about the flu anyway. I finally checked into a free clinic the other day, just to make sure I didn’t have pneumonia or something more serious. And they told me just what I thought I’d hear… “You had the flu. Sit it out.” At least I didn’t have to pay anything to hear it.
So here I am, literally sitting it out, since even prescription-strength doses of pain killers don’t numb the pain the phlegm regime has inflicted upon the poor muscles of my body.
If my mom or stepdad read this, which they probably will, they will say it’s my fault. And I would probably agree. I don’t usually get sick because I usually take the proper precautions… which involve drinking my stepdad’s anti-sickness concoction - vodka and elderberries at the first sign of a sniffle or tickle. It wages war on the germs, but unfortunately, also takes some civilian casualties - your tastebuds. However, my family has side-stepped colds and various other viral infections for the past few years because of it. But not this time, because I was dumb enough to not drink it, even though I had the tickle three days before I first came down with every textbook flu symptom. I am optimistic however that I will win this war in the coming days. In the meantime though, I plan my battles. I’m bringing in reinforcement troops. It may be a little late, but I figure winning the war is at least worth a shot… of vodka and elderberries.
On my way home just now, there was an unbelievable rainbow that looked like soundwaves echoing off both sides of the sun. I realize it doesn’t really look like a rainbow here, but that’s the fault of my camera settings… and a dirty car window.
Every issue, we have a section of the paper where we run little personal ads and photos of local shelter animals in need of being adopted. The shelter takes the photos and sends them in, but as I was heading to the shelter for a story, I was asked to take a few mugs of new animals while I was there. And long story short, I’ve now made it a part of my job description. I get to hang out with hilarious cats and dogs a few times a week and help get them adopted. Ah yes, life is good.
And no worries, the canine rat isn’t up for adoption.
Did you know that all but one member of the U.S. curling team are Minnesotans? It’s true. So it’s only fitting that me and my fellow Soter friend Carolyn thought it a great idea to learn to curl this past weekend. And a great idea it was, though our asses might have disagreed.
I met up with a new friend last night and after we checked out the local fireworks, we went and made lentils. Say what? Yes, lentils. While I was planning on being in a NyQuil-induced coma when the clock struck midnight (I’ve got the flu), my friend was planning to attend a party hosted by Brazilians… and they asked her to bring lentils. In Brazil, lentils signify wealth and they eat them on the first day of the year to bring good luck. I ate them last night hoping they would make me un-sick by the time I return to work tomorrow.
But then we began to wonder, would they still work for me, even though I ate them at 9 p.m. on the last day of the year and not the first? So rather than risk it, I opened a can of lentil soup this morning in hopes of slurping in just enough luck to make my 2007 even better than my 2006.
I won’t give a play-by-play of my last day, but my year ended like a really good movie does. It’s over, but it’s not over. The end offered just enough insight of what’s to come, or rather just enough hope and just enough possibilities to know that even though you don’t know, you know it won’t be anything less than magnificent.
So now seems as good a time as any to start writing, posting photos, and living a 21st century life accessible to my far-away friends via the internet. 2006 is a hard year to beat, but I think 2007 can do it… especially if the Brazilians are right about the lentils.
