All of your films are short films. You have a clear predilection for short films and I think that in Disquiet you can see that you perfectly condense the time and the texture of the image. Why this penchant for short films?
I think what draws me to this is firstly, an interest in distillation. You mentioned the condensing of time, and I think I’m also attracted to the condensing of concepts, narratives and process. Distilling all of these things requires a lot of rationalization at editing time, which can be interesting. You become a funnel. It also opens up possibilities with regards to how you use visual language if you have a short amount of time to convey an idea or philosophy. There are a number of filmic ‘devices’ that are distinct to my films, that have come about purely because of this distillation approach that I mentioned.
But in the end, it’s the film itself that decides whether it’s finished or not. It’s not that I have anything against producing ‘long form’ works – it’s just that each film gives you a sense that you’ve said all you need to say. Whether that’s after two minutes or ten. It also becomes a question of how much more information do I need to giveaway in my films before it begins to erode the purpose of the works existence? Ambiguity, to a certain degree, justifies the right of the work to exist.
This is a non-narrative film, but we can dig a little into its images and discover a kind of history. Not a story with a beginning and an end, but one that is based on sensations. The trees and the desert are elements that accompany the man who walks slowly in a gray landscape. Did any specific experience prompt you to make this short film?
So, I work very instinctually. I don’t produce storyboards for my films – I find that too restrictive. Other than my interest in certain themes, I’m very open to how a work can evolve during the process of creation. In fact, I actually try to suspend any expectations I have for a work at the time of filming. I’m not sure how other filmmakers work, but for me, the only thing I’m focused on at the time of shooting, is the collecting of images – strong images, whether they appear to tie in to the theme of the film or not. It’s important to me, that each frame I shoot, if frozen, is strong enough to exist on it’s own as a still image. This is part of my philosophy. I guess you could say that I approach my filmmaking as a stills photographer.
With regards to what prompted me to make the film Disquiet, there was no significant reason other than I’ve always been attracted to barren, desolate landscapes, and wanted to produce a film in this environment. But you mentioned that Disquiet is a film based on sensations, and I think you’re right. Curators have noted this in the past. And I think this comes from the emphasis on ‘image making’ during the creation process. But I do remember at the time of completing the film, I felt that it lacked cohesion. Without checking, I think Disquiet has more shots in it than any other film of mine. This is possibly why at the time I felt it was very fractured. Which of course, I disagree with now. I actually withheld the film for quite a while and was very reluctant to submit it to film festivals. Gaining perspective on your own work can be very difficult at times.
All your movies have a lot in common. Your style always stands out, with the dark and blurred shapes. The common threads between Disquiet, Departure, My Song Is Sung or In This Valley of Respite, My Last Breath… is obvious. Could you tell us about the similarities between your works and what you think about them?
I have an interest in certain themes, and I execute these ideas with a similar methodology each time, so it’s inevitable that there would be similarities. Lets just say that if you’re in a dark room, instinctually, you would reach out with your hands to find something – a light switch, a wall…that’s all I feel I’m doing with these films. I think that’s the same for most artists – that with every work you produce, there’s a feeling that you are moving towards something. What? You don’t always know. But there’s some form of momentum. This momentum is very important. But it’s very likely that one day I’ll wake up and not want to make another film again. In which case, the question then becomes: ‘Will my films eventually disappear? Do they resonate enough with people for them to endure?’ This is not a question for me to answer.
What can you tell us about the house? It is not the first time that you have dealt with this image in your work.
In my earlier video works – including Disquiet, I presented images of ‘structures’ in silhouette. I didn’t want them to be viewed specifically as a ‘house’ or a ‘home’. They were in my films to represent something larger; humanity, nationhood, society, religion, collective beliefs… The figures in my films of course, were drawn to these structures – just as humans we’re drawn to other people, a collective way of thinking, or a community. We are social creatures. The desire to belong to something is very strong. But how do you reconcile this social instinct if you reject what is being offered by society or humanity? So these ‘structures’ were investigated, but ultimately rejected by the anonymous figures. The sense of belonging, or conversely, the feeling of being an ‘outsider’ – of not belonging, and what that means, was a central theme to these works. In my later films, these structures were presented intentionally as a ‘house’- as a place of ‘habitation’. But in essence, regardless of whether they’re presented as ‘structures’ or ‘houses’ in my films, they both emit a form of magnetism, in that the figures and/or viewer are drawn to them. This forward momentum – the endless journey or search for a sense of belonging, a sense of place, a sense of ‘self’, is a constant in most of my films. Although my works are often regarded as landscape films, and utilize landscapes quite extensively, most of them have more to do with an examination of identity rather than geographical place.
Sound is perhaps the most important element of the film. It’s disconnection and low frequency stand out a lot. How/why did you decide on this type of sound?
I grew up making music on a four-track recorder in my bedroom. Cassette four track, to be specific. A constant reality of this was audio hiss and distortion. Not to mention sound leakage on each track from other peoples footsteps on the floorboards above, the creak of a cupboard door, or when someone in the house had a shower. I also produced handmade zines on photocopiers so smudges and imperfections were an inevitable outcome. So I was quite immersed in what would now be called ‘low fi’ art except, we didn’t necessarily call it that back then. It’s just that these were the only avenues that were available or affordable at the time. But the way I see it, all of these so called ‘flaws’ – the audio hiss, the sound leakage, the smudges, were actually quite integral to the character of the work. I’m guessing this has shaped my preferences for music and art today – including the soundtracks I produce for my films. In fact, the soundtracks I produce almost mirror my process for shooting images, in that they’re intentionally degraded. Particularly in my earlier films; Man Alone, Departure and Our Voices Are Mute, audio distortion (intentional and unintentional) in the soundtracks perfectly mirror the visual distortion present in these films.
In terms of sourcing the sounds, I used to go out and record cars on the street, my friends smoking cigarettes, the neighbours dog barking. I dug a hole once, and dropped the microphone into it, and recorded the sound of it being buried. I’d stick a microphone under the sink if I was washing the dishes, or if I could hear the sound of a circular saw being used on a nearby construction site then I’d try to capture that too. The soundtrack was then built up in layers using these recordings, with effects added towards the end. Sometimes I bounced sounds off a digital recorder onto a cassette recorder and then back again – just to build up multiple layers of hiss and distortion. Even today, I still have a similar approach to the soundtrack production.
Next I’d like to talk about the texture of your images. The grainy shape of each shot makes the atmosphere dark and evocative. What do you think about when you reflect on this?
On a visual/conceptual level, I’m constructing, then examining an inner world or mental state that somehow traps us and defines us – it’s also a response to the deprivation of knowledge; deprivation of answers to questions we have about life, self-identity, existence and lastly, a response to self-delusion. Do we view anything in this world through a clear lens? I doubt it. I place a self-made filter over the lens of my camera, which then distorts its view. In essence, each of us do this to ourselves everyday – consciously or subconsciously. I think that the images in my films are very aligned to a human perspective on the world.
One last question. In Disquiet the montage seems to respond to a need of the work itself, like a breath or a heartbeat. How is this achieved in post-production? What is your post-production process to achieve this?
Essentially, I use what is perceived as a weakness in the DV format – it’s large pixels, as a strength. This isn’t created in post-production at all. It’s in-camera. It’s at the filming stage. The look comes from the lens filters that I make – either before hand or at the time of filming that deliberately degrade, distort and diffuse the image, which gives it the sensation of throbbing, or as you mentioned, the look of breathing or a heartbeat. I like the contradiction that even in the most still of scenes in my films, motion is present. There’s instability to the image you are viewing. A fragility. Each scene gives the impression that it could erode or break up at any moment. Using this method requires a high shooting ratio, as the results can be very random – which is to be expected because I’m working at a very molecular level of the digital video format.
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