Musings On Art Of The Movement Kind

I like to consider myself fairly open-minded about most things 'artsy'. I like films which might be a bit freaky or 'out there', or make other people wonder what the hell was the point in it.... For instance, when I was at uni I went through a brief spell of watching the weirdest and slightly disturbing films the library had to offer. For no other reason than to say I'd seen them, I s'pose. As a result, I have seen three more Todd Solondsz movies than anyone should see (that'd be three then), Greg Araki's Mysterious Skin (in which poor Joseph Gordon 500 Days of Summer Levitt turns tricks for gross old men with skin conditions and gets nonced within an inch of his life) and of course, the film student staple, Darren Aronofsky's Requiem for A Dream.

Now, any normal ('sane') person would watch any of these films and wonder what the hell was the matter with me. Maybe I'm a bit disturbed, I dunno. But even I, with my warped sense of humour and bizarre choice in movies, could not fathom the reasoning behind what I have witnessed in the last 4 days. Yes, we've been hearing all about it for weeks, but it's finally over and done with.... the annual [performance] love-fest known as [graduation production].

I've defended my love of artists other people don't seem to get, like Tracey Emin and her manky bed. But even I couldn't see the point in half of the performances we witnessed over the last week. We'd been given a false sense of security when we arrived for our tour of the building to take the kit, as the course lecturers introduced themselves and told us how excited they were for us to be there. Over the course of the next few days, it appeared the 'artists' didn't share any of this excitement. In fact, some of them were downright arseholes.

OK, I might be being unfair. But still, the way some of them spoke to us like we were silly kids with camera getting in the way really ripped my knittin'. My crew turned up for our first performance on Thursday afternoon for the performer to tell us she had no idea we were coming. Considering there had been 2 crews there the night before, AND she had performed when last year when members of our course had also been present. With cameras. Recording. She also complained that us standing at the back, with two cameras, out of the way, would ruin the 'intimacy' of the performance. Which included stripping off, donning a gorilla mask and then rubbing herself in glitter and fairy lights. They only needed one operator per camera, and me and Harry drew the short straw. It was totally pointless anyway, the lighting was so low we could barely see a thing, and some guy's head kept getting in the way of whatever shot I could make out. Afterwards, whilst de-rigging, we were pretty much ignored, so we packed up and got the hell out of there.

The same happened with another two performances on Friday- something involving a bridle, in which we were told to "get the equipment bags out of the way", and another which included a guy talking about family, rolling on the floor and then cutting himself. This was especially traumatising for me; again they only needed two camera ops and so I was asked if I wanted to sit in on the performance. Every voice in my head told me to run for the hills... it's difficult though, when someone's right in your face, to tell them that you'd rather put broken glass in your eyeballs. I was also heavy feart that if I told them this, they'd ask me to do it. They love that shit. Mostly I sat frozen to the spot, terrified of being asked to participate in any way. Afterwards, I kind of just wanted a hug. And maybe a space blanket, and a cup of tea.

The final day was voluntary, and I figured since I'd taken a week off work I may as well get the most out of it. I immediately regretted it when I found out we had to film a 2-and-a-half-hour symposium... Honest to God, these people could talk the arse-end off a donkey. They kept throwing in needlessly long words like 'esoteric', and trying to explain the meanings of eco-feminism ya-de-ya-de-yaaawwwnnn.... By the end of it, everyone in the room was a giant talking cigarette to me and the red mist was beginning to descend. I've honestly never packed up so quickly in my entire life. I only wish Ray had been there; it'd totally have made up for my running 13 minutes over time when we were getting assessed. Maybe next time we're up for assessment, I'll starve myself of nicotine for a couple of hours beforehand... I'll be packed up so fast you won't see me for dust. Still, a couple of free glasses of sparkly wine and blackcurrant juice went down nicely after having to watch videos of hairy naked women jumping around, screeching "START YOUR OWN MOVEMENT!".... they already did this in the 1970s, luvvies. It was called the Second Wave of Feminism.

So yeah.... advantages, hmmm..... Well, I'm almost fairly confident that I can handle myself behind a camera (as long as I have someone else to change the tape). Despite them clearly not wanting us there, I did feel all professional carrying equipment about and standing there with the camera setting up in a 'real' venue. I just wish the subject matter had been a little more fitting... Sorry, but I just don't see what's art about stuffing sand up your chuff, cutting yourself and smearing audience's hands in mud (all I could think was "I DON'T WANT TO GET AIDS!!!"). Obviously I'm too stupid to understand the subtle nuances behind rubbing your naked self in glitter, or pouring wine over yourself, or wrapping wire around your head. Like everything else, art and performances are personal to their creators. I know I'd be ragin' if anyone told me something I'd done was rubbish. But honestly, there's being 'out there' and then there's being 'trying so hard to be out there that really, you've lost all point'.

At the end of the day, we were there because we were told to be, to record performances for them to edit and really, to do them a favour. We didn't go there to be treated like stupid schoolkids by a bunch of effete arseholes who are too busy fawning over each other to notice anyone else. There was nothing shocking or provocative about these performances, in my opinion... however personal, there's no need to be so up yourself about it that you feel like you can talk down to everyone else, because they don't 'get' it. I'm soooo relieved this is a chore afforded to first years only... next year I plan on staying well away. Unless someone offers to buy me a Scrummy Yummy pizza and keep me liquered up with free fizzy wine, that is. Or I could get these myself, stay in, and watch Palindromes instead.

I Was Never Going To Write A Retraction Pt II

I had to take this off my 'official' blog, but here is still private so I'm hoping it should be OK?!


Sooooo, it seems I have been somewhat misled over the purpose of this whole 'blogging' thing. Having never had one before, I wasn't sure of the apparent rules and regulations involved, and I was certainly not aware that I would be judged on 'professionalism' on something which I write whilst sitting in my pyjamas with a cup of tea and a DVD flickering in the background. Call me a rank amateur, but when it's 1:30 am, I can't sleep and I've had a long, exhausting day of lugging cameras around, the last thing I'm thinking about is being professional. Especially when I've no make-up on.

I knew we were to use our blogs to reflect on all things filmy, on what we'd covered in class of a particular week, on what we felt we'd learned and the experiences we'd had whilst out, y'know, putting what we'd been taught into practice. I thought when we were given our first 'real' filming assignment, the 'performance class' annual 'graduation' festival, we'd get the chance to interact with the performers beforehand, or at the very least I thought they'd know we were coming. There seemed to have been a lack of communication somewhere between our class and theirs, and the whole experience left me feeling a little cold. Good practice? Yes. An enjoyable experience? Aw, hell no.

ANYWAY, after the whole ordeal was over, I came home, had a wee think about what I'd witnessed, gathered my thoughts about what I really felt about it and wrote all this down in blog-form, as did everyone else in the class, as we do whenever we have a shoot or some other collective class experience. I may not have been entirely eloquent about it, but hey, I was honest at least. Unfortunately, I didn't realise the sensitive disposition of those who'd perhaps stumble upon it. I also didn't realise that I couldn't express my true feelings about being treated like the 'workie scum', an annoyance, a 5-foot-8 obstacle on the road to artistic nirvana, with a speedbump in the form of a 570 camera.

I took a week's holiday from my job to work on the shoot, and I'm not just blowing smoke when I say I think everyone in our class worked really hard despite a total lack of preparation, and no sense of where we had to be and when. We kept ourselves out of the way as much as possible, and didn't say a word when we were shuffled about by performers who really didn't want us to be there. The fact that we were doing it as a class assignment was irrelevant, especially on the Saturday afternoon symposium, which I'd opted to do on a voluntary basis.

Still, I'm digressing here. I've said my piece about the performances and the ins and outs of our interactions with the performers. What really sticks though, and brings me back to my original point, is that my reflection on the event was criticised too. I'm sorry, but if someone is disrespectful towards me, I'm not going to go out of my way to write them up a glowing review. I was originally told that mine and Amelie's blogs about the shoot were good examples of the general consensus of the experience, and for this to be retracted because someone complained about my using the word 'arseholes' is an absolute joke. It makes a mockery of the point of writing this in the first place.

When you're a performer, or artist, in any sense of the word, you're opening yourself up to criticism as well as praise. Not everyone is going to fawn over your work, especially when to all but the most learned Performance Practitioners it's pretty much incomprehensible. If you can't take criticism, especially if you're of a less-than-agreeable disposition, you're in the wrong profession. I'm not going to pander to someone because they've had a hissy fit over my own personal opinion. Not everyone is going to like what you do, whether it be film, music, television, art, theatre, anything. Different opinions are part of what make us human (well, that and opposable thumbs).

What else really irritates me is that we post our opinions, someone else voices theirs, and then all of a sudden our original opinion is wrong. I'm not going to change what I think, never mind retract it. Yes, I understand that many of the performances are autobiographical; it's just that with this type of performance art the meaning is totally unclear. I can't say in my life I've ever felt the need to express my life story by whipping all of my clothes off and rubbing glitter on myself. That's what people do at house parties maybe, but it's not how I'd sum up my life's work.
If someone didn't like a piece I'd written, or a film or television idea I had, I'd use the criticism as a positive thing, and utilise it to make my next idea even better. I wouldn't cry because someone referred to my behaviour as being that of an 'arsehole': I'd be even less bothered if that opinion was posted on a website, which serves the primary purpose of being a vehicle to express my thoughts and experiences, and what I think about them. It's like being 15 and whining because someone doesn't like your pictures on Facebook.

At the end of the day, we're all creative people at the [establishment], whether it's in performance or being behind the scenes. There'd be no performance without an audience, so don't alienate the people who can help you on the way up, or cry because someone doesn't like you. I'm not going to retract or change my opinion, because I believe in it, the same way that the performers believe in the validity of their work. And if I'm going to be criticised on posting it online, what's next? Am I going to be reduced to writing things in my journal or on the backs of bus tickets, never to be read by anyone? Like I said before, I didn't realise my personal thoughts and feelings were judged on the strength of their professionalism. At least even when I'm sitting in the middle of the night with slipper socks and a chipped mug of tea, I still keep my clothes on.

Word Spew

So, in class the last few weeks we've been looking at representation in movies & TV and we've even had a wee visit from the equality & diversity officer lady. It got me thinking about how things can be taken utterly out of context,and be totally misunderstood, and how we may think certain things are acceptable but really, they're not.

Like for example, the questionaire thing we had to fill out; it had a list of words like 'homosexual' or 'queer', 'chairman' or 'lady doctor', 'half caste' or 'mixed race', etc etc, and whether we thought they were (yes) respectable, (no) unacceptable or (it depends) it depends. There are no wrong answers, said officer gender-non-specific. She claimed political correctness was a dirty phrase, and that it too was often misunderstood. She liked my pink hair. So far, so groovy.

Until it came to revealing our answers.
"YOU MUST NEVER CALL SOMEONE HALF-CASTE" "Yeah, but what if someone describes themselves as that then?" "THEN YOU MUST ENCOURAGE THEM TO SAY MIXED RACE" "...well, that seems a lil patronising, but OK, you're sitting right next to me and I don't wanna be stabbed by that viciously sharp looking pen you're holding...."

Surely people don't want to be told what to call themselves? It's like the furore over whether people quote their nationality as being Scottish or British. Or even European. People don't want to be told they have to be 'British', or not that I've found anyway. I could be wrong. I have found however, that words change meaning, and people embrace them, like in the mid-20th century. The common opinion was that homosexuals were repressed and miserable because of their clandestine lifestyle. However, the soon-to-be-called-gay community took on 'gay' to describe themselves because really, they weren't very miserable at all. They used the word in phrases like 'gay abandon', to describe their carefree, unattached lifestyle. Plus, 'homosexual' is a lil bit clinical, innit? And so, like words do, the word 'queer' became part of the gay vernacular. You can do courses in Queer Studies, and 'queer culture' is generally an accepted term. Yet apparently YOU SHOULD NEVER SAY IT AROUND GAY PEOPLE.

OK. But you said we shouldn't shy away from, uhm, saying 'blackboard'. Or 'brainstorm'.

At least she had the decency to admit she was being self-contradictory. But still, the whole thing caused me to have a serious thought-shower whilst I jotted down some ideas on a board with which to write things on when I was already having a rubbish calorifically challenged day. Baa baa, fluffy sheep. And hillbillies like to be called sons of the soil..........

This is the offedning article I was trying to speak out against...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2010/may/02/conservatives-philippa-stroud-gay-cure

...what I don't understand is, this woman is saying all this disgusting hate-mongering and it's only just coming to light now, yet Gordon Brown calls an old bigot a 'bigot' and takes pelters for it? Fuck. Sake. On a lighter note, here's ten things you never knew about Philipa Stroud; taken from her official website:

1. Philippa loves living in Sutton with her husband and their 3 teenage children. Her favourite place is Nonsuch Park, although Morrisons' fresh bread counter is a close second!

2. She was brought up in Surrey although she spent 4 years of her childhood living in France. As a result she speaks French fluently.

3. Philippa went to Birmingham University where she studied French and was introduced to jazz music which has become a great love of hers.

4. After university she went to Hong Kong for 18 months where she worked with a team to help
get Triad gang members off drugs and away from a life of crime.

5. She returned to this country to marry her husband and spent the next few years starting homes for people from seriously disadvantaged backgrounds.

6. What brought her into politics was seeing the damage being done to people by a government that didn't understand what British people wanted or needed.

7. She is the Director of the Centre for Social Justice - a think tank set up to find solutions to Britain's most serious social challenges.

8. Philippa and her team of volunteers ensure every home in the constituency gets information on her campaign delivered to them - all year round, and not just at election time.

9. One of Philippa's top priorities is to see real investment in St Helier. Residents have so often said that they want a strong, secure and effective NHS at the heart of the community.

10. As an unelected Parliamentary candidate Philippa receives no public money for her role, nor is she paid by the Conservative Party. She works for a living and pays her own way

.......Conservative fansluts might as well have printed this article off, rolled it up and beat people about the head with it, exclaiming "SEE?!?! TORIES ARE FUN TOO! SHE LIKES BREAD AND JAZZ!!". At least then I'd admire their cahonies.

More Literary Confusion...

...although this time it's down to poor translation, more than anything else. Whatever; it made me LOL to myself like a mental on the bus this morning. It reminded me of when I went on holiday with my folks, and my brother got these knock-off Power Rangers with the heads that flipped between their faces and their Power Ranger helmets. Only being knock-offs, the pink ranger was a dude, the blue ranger was a girl, and I'm fairly certain the red one was a likeness of Charlize Theron in Monster.

CENSOR THIS!!!

I didn't want to have to resort to this, but since our blogs have caused some kind of administrative riot all of a sudden, I've decided to make an Academy-free one. Which really, I think, is completely fucking ridiculous.
First of all, Murray has to make a new blog because his aren't 'reflective' enough, and because he's writing about things other than film, then Amelie's is hijacked by some CPP joker who thinks that because he copies and pastes points that she made in one of her entries, makes for a valid rebuttal. And then, after me writing last night about how sickened I was by being judged on my personal opinion about my experiences. So far, so 1984, but the plot thickens: today we got an e-mail from the upper echelons of our course, warning us in advance of our year-group meeting tomorrow:

"Can I ask that none of you reply to any blogs about the Into The New project and that none of you post anything else online. Tomorrow’s yeargroup meeting will be to discuss this issue."

Dun-dun-DUUUUNNNNN!

WHAT THE FUCK?? What happened to the progressive, free-thinking academy where we were encouraged to get totally involved in self-expression?!

As well as this, I also read a link posted by the gay rights group Stonewall, about Conservative MP Philipa Stroud and her crazy voodoo ideas about brainwashing homosexuals and drug addicts into being fully fledged members of society again. Eh?! So you think spinning a magic coin is going to 'fix' something which is part of a person's genetic make-up? People don't choose to be gay, bisexual, transgender or straight; it's the way we intrinsically are.

So you'd think then, that my saying something in support of Stonewall and against Frankenstroud would be appreciated, right? Well, no. I made the mistake of thinking that she looked like a bit of a man, and so referred to her as a 'he-she'. I logged back in later, quite the thing, only to find my comment had been deleted because 'someone' had ran crying to the administrator with this:

"@ Stonewall - comments like Ada's, where Mrs Stroud is refered to as 'a grinning he-she is evidence of why you need to better support trans people. Get it sorted, your meant to be our representitve."

...did I say anything against transgender people? No. I was merely trying to show my support. I should have realised though, that even groups like Stonewall lobbying for gay rights cause as much segregation and alienation as those protesting against them. To be quite honest, I'm not really sure what to say and where I can say it anymore! I'm gonna have to start keeping a journal under lock and key, hidden in a safe, and written in a politically correct code that no one but me will be able to decipher. Well, me and maybe Robert and Jess.


DISCLAIMER!! (just in case of misunderstanding of what I mean, it seems to happen alot lately...) I am not posting this picture because I am in support of Nazis, Nazism, Adolf Hitler, or anything associated with the Third Reich. It is merely inkeeping with the tone and plus them crazy Germans weren't too crazy about free speech either)