Monday, January 27, 2014

Artist's Statement: Round Robin

Cutting Grass

            “Blade” is actually based on a full-length screenplay for an animated children’s movie that I wrote and copyrighted a few semesters ago.  I was hoping to set the roots—pun very much intended—for people to tell their own stories of this personified plant.  It would have been fun to compare their visions to my own.
I was eagerly looking forward to seeing where other people’s imaginations would take Blade on his epic journey of micro proportions.
            But that wasn’t the point of this assignment, was it?
            The immediate response to my origin story was drastically changed into something completely different than what I had been expecting.  The idea of course was to take a branch of a previous story, and graft it into a new vegetation of ideas and images. (Plant comparisons just gonna’ keep on coming).
            I honestly have no idea how some of these stories connect, but comparing simply point A to point B is fertile ground for a rising laugh.   This can be taken as frustrating by artists, since their original seeded message grew into something completely different than what they had expected. 

            Everything is subject to personal interpretation and opinion, and those results can change depending on a person’s background and current circumstances.  What matters, at least to an extent in the entertainment field, is that your audience is still—well—your audience.  At least you have one!  So they didn’t get the original message you were trying to portray: that’s okay, keep at it.  Art is the only media in which you actually can plant oranges and get peaches instead. And if in the end you somehow ended up with a peach tree instead of an orange tree, find a way to learn from and laugh at it! Constructive self-deprecating humor can be funny—no—just peachy

Round Robin 1--Blade

BLADE




A blade of grass named Blade decided it was time to go.
So he uprooted his rooted feet and thus, ceased to grow.
His friends all wriggled in shock, clamored and screamed:
“Blade you fool! What wild thing is this that you’ve dreamed?”
“Surely in time your nimble roots will wither and dry up.”
“And once the thirst comes, you’re time will be up.”
For Blade, following his dream was just what he intended to do.

So on he roamed, this blade-in-a-million, three hundred and two.


Round Robin 2

Blake shoved aside the tall blades of grass with eager anticipation on his face. He looked
back into the jungle-like field behind him. “Hurry up Jim!”
A wheezing figure appeared through the brush. “I’m trying Blake! It’s not easy with all
this grass! It’s like they don’t wanna move or something!”
Blake could hardly breathe for anticipation. They had finally reached their destination. The lake lay right in front of them, blue green ripples shimmered and danced across the surface.
“This is it Jim. I know it. We’re going to be famous!”
“Not to be a downer on your little ‘treasure hunt,’ but it’s getting dark. We should set
up camp and try to look in the morning. This was supposed to be a vacation for me anyway; I
wanna put my feet up.”
“Aw c’mon Jim! We’re here! We have to try and find it! We’ve got at least an hour
until the sun sets!” He was already in his swim trunks so he took off his shirt and his shoes and
waded in the opaque water. Something was eerie about this place. He felt as if being watched,
and something about the way the water rippled was just, off. It was almost as if—no, that was
impossible. Turning in the mud, he climbed back up the bank to where Jim was waiting. “On
second thought, you’re right. We should wait until morning. I need to be able to see what’s down there.”

And with that they set up camp.


Round Robin 3


Jim didn't sleep a wink that whole night. His imagination ran wild with the ideas of what could be in that mysterious pool. At the same time, fear crept into him. What was that eerie feeling he had felt as he approached the water? Blake snored loudly in the sleeping bag next to him. Whatever happened, Jim was sure that the discoveries they would make at dawn would change them forever.


Round Robin 4

"Ssssh!" She whispered frantically.
Splash!
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It had gotten was out of the water.
What had gotten out of water?
She closed her eyes.
She couldn't bring herself to find out.


Round Robin Final


Jerry huddled under the bathroom sink trying to stifle his excited giggles. Would grandpa ever be surprised! Mom said laughter was the best medicine, so this was sure to help his heart condition.
.


Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Music Mosaic: Art Time Lapse


Time Lapse
A time lapse of one of the sections. Click the link above. Enjoy!

Music Mosaic: Artist's Statement


Seeing in the Dark:
Exercises and Limitations in Creativity

            Annie Dillard’s freeform story illustrates (albeit in a very lengthy way) core principles that prove key to any explorer of personal creativity. The engines of our minds are constantly turning away, attempting to process the daily and lifelong challenges and excitements that we face.  Sometimes there is so much going on that we seem to overheat and burn out.  Picking a song with no prior visual connection and then linking it to images in our mind is a great way to expel our inner build up of mental steam.  The lack of visual images eliminates a cloud of pre-existing thoughts and emotions tied to them, freeing the space for writing or drawing our own thoughts without any clutter.  In a sense, we are forcing our brains to illustrate external originality based upon our internal excess.
            This is all very reminiscent of a famous Playskool toy kitchen set, that I am sure most of you have seen at some point of your life…assuming that you have some connections to the nineties.  Playskool released two famous plastic home play sets: one based on a father’s workshop, and the other on mother’s kitchen.  The shop set included plastic screwdrivers and a hammer, and even a perforated workbench that allowed the imagineer to hammer in oversized nails.  The kitchen set included a small sink, stickers of spices, play food, and a coffee maker and pot that could dispense water.
            When I was very little, still then an only child with few external friends outside of my family, I played with both almost equally…though I did favor the tools a bit since they resembled those of my grandfather.  Now and then I’d switch to playing with the kitchen, without ever thinking of gender roles or stereotypes: my imagination was free to wander without any previous social bounds.  As I grew older, it was “clear” that some things are for boys and some things are for girls.  To upset that balance would be indicative of the brand “gay”.  And I wasn’t gay, and I didn’t want to be called something I wasn’t.  And so kitchen time went away, clouted by preexisting images and emotions from the world.
            Upset the common view.  Ruffle the feathers of dogmatism. There’s a whole world out there just waiting to be explored in a new light, if only we let ourselves find the courage, and the clarity, to do so for ourselves, and in our own unique, creative, and personal ways.
            “Tryan’s Song” has been played by my best friend, the originator of the tune and origin of the title, on an array of apartment couches over the past eight years or so.  The song is played by him almost subconsciously, and is reflexive of both happy memories, and dangerously depressingly times: most beginning in Missouri where we met.


Music Mosaic: Tryan's Song

Tryan's Song

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

"Assassin's Greed"


Assassin’s Greed:
The Black Flag of Modern Morals

Synopsis

            Video game developer and powerhouse Ubisoft has recently dedicated their Montreal division to releasing one of the most anticipated, controversial, and highly rated video games of the past four years: Assassin’s Creed 4: Black Flag.  AC4, as is the proper abbreviation, follows multiple story lines in an Inception-like style, based on reading the memories within memories of test subjects.  The “memory” that you follow in this game, shadows the life of the privateer Edward Kenway in the colorful Caribbean during the eighteenth century.
            Kenway, having a thirst for alcohol and gold, convinces his wife to let him leave for a career in privateering in search of “a better life”.  His wife asks him why they need any more than they already have, to which Kenway replies that he wants “…clean water to drink, walls that keep the wind out, and food that don’t make me sick.”  Kenway and his wife are indeed in poorer circumstances. As the scenes with his wife develop, we see that he is more concerned with pockets full of coin than the professed support of his family.  His wife discerns his greed and leaves him just before he embarks on his journey. 
            Enraged at his loss, Kenway is driven by a mad fire to prove himself in the world, to his wife—and to a lesser extent—his wife’s disapproving father. Hell-bent on financial success, Kenway soon stoops to any level to increase the weight of his purse.  Privateering soon becomes piracy, and piracy devolves into contracted killing and spying.  Kenway couldn’t care less for the faces of the men he murders, as long as there is payment at the end of the day for his troubles.
            Eventually Kenway is betrayed by one of his contractors, and is imprisoned on a ship.  With the help of an African American slave, he escapes captivity, commandeers the ship, and begins his own fleet of pirates. Having developed a respect for his black-skinned comrades, Kenway accepts a contract to assassinate a barbarous slave trader in Havana. We soon see the knife pierce the heart of the target, and Kenway rebukes his mark as he lay dying. Kenway preaches to him of the wrongs of slavery and torture.  The victim asks Kenway why he did such a terrible thing as murder, and what did he personally have against him?  Kenway says that he was “just in it for a bit of coin mate.”  The slave trader, with his dying words, replies ironically: “So was I lad: so was I…”
            Disoriented by the event, Kenway finds himself questioning all of his morals and very way of life.  He returns to Nassau, (eighteenth century island-home of piracy), and sees the world there in a new light.  The freedoms of piracy have come at a dire cost.  The people are not subject to any specific ruler or magistrate, yet they lie sick and dying in the slums of poverty.  They are free to do as they will, but have not the will for anything grand or praise-worthy.  In their own quest for freedom from the kings of England and Spain, they have become slaves to themselves. Kenway rubs his hands into his face in bitter realization: in his attempts to better his life and find fortune, he has lost his wife: the best part of his life, and the most priceless treasure in the world.

Application
           
            How frequently is this same story played out in our own lives, and in the lives of the people we love?  As natural men, (to borrow from biblical terminology), we seek the vain and rich things of this world in attempts to better our own lives.  If we are confident in our abilities, we will generally push away anything that appears limiting or controlling.  Is not the great American Dream to get rich quick and be your own boss?  How different is society really than that of fictitious Edward Kenway? Feelings of entitlement to a better life are not innately wrong, but how do we want that betterment?
            The recent tag line for the current generation bounces from the “microwave generation” to “information generation” to “instant generation”.  Never before has information been so readily accessible to so many individuals. We now expect information to be available in minimal time, at minimal exertion of our own effort.  It has made many of us greedy, selfish, and expectant of almost instantaneously fortuitous searches.
            How many husbands have sought for instant satisfaction, and fallen victim to the shackles of pornography? How many lives have been destroyed in the search for stress relief, and become enslaved to the bottle?  How people, in defiance of high medical costs and a mistrust of doctors, refuse professional care, and let themselves or their loved ones lay sick or even dying?  Are we really that much different than Nassau of old?
            Yes, we are.  The difference is that we have not stooped to that level…yet.
            No longer are our ventures played out on pirate ships with black flags and canons.  The real black flags are in our own homes, on our own computers, in our favorite pubs, and in our living rooms.  The man addicted to pornography needs to remember that the most satisfying things is the love between him and his wife.  Lasting relief comes not from a bottle, but from dealing with our problems head on, and sometimes, it is necessary to humble ourselves to the knowledge and expertise of others, no matter how destructive we may think it is to our own image. 

            So here’s to hoping that we take our piracy and return to privateering: hoping that we take our privateering and return to our families: and hoping that when we have docked at the port of our homes, we realize that therein lies the potential of love through honesty and hard work and, as Kenway discovered, the greatest—and unfortunately rarest—treasure of all.