My…MY… new generation animations of Lei Lei

Few minds are granted passage into other worlds, allowed to look around, feel what the walls are made of, hear the white noise that surrounds. Fewer still are those able to soak in every element, let it settle and bring their travels back home, to reconstruct them and share with all attentive ears their adventurous tales. And, then there are times on such journeys where you may find yourself naked, like Lei Lei did.


James Miller’s 40mm Snail Cinema

There are strange creatures among us.

Watching James Miller‘s lens study, aided by a Jean Michel Jarre soundtrack, I feel as though I’ve slipped into a science fiction film noir. My character sits alone in a large cinema, the kind found in the inner-workings of a government laboratory, beneath the earth. It smells of musk and decaying fabric. Curiously and with intent, I observe the foreign object in front of me, magnified almost beyond recognition, committing to memory all nuances of the creatures movements. I prepare myself for our encounter ahead. The mission leaves day after next.

via The Fox is Black


Collage Study: Three ways to see it

A couple months back, I was packaging up the collage materials sent to me by Monster Rally for the Color Sky video (below) when I realized how amazing the pile of unorganized cutouts looked. I sat staring at them for a moment, then quickly gathered up a handful, randomly placed them face down on the scanner and covered them with a sheet of recycled paper. I repeated the process three times with three different groupings, creating the collages above. I’m not sure why/how I haven’t explored this technique before, Dada artists have been using chance as a process since the 1910s. Hans Arp would tear up paper, drop the pieces onto larger sheets and glue them where ever they may have landed. What Arp didn’t have, however, was a scanner at his disposal. To my knowledge, he never repeated, documented or compared the results of his chance experiments, which is where I think things get interesting, being able to see how identical fragments can create vastly different wholes.

Yes, these are simply unorganized collages, but they mimic life as accurately as I know. We’re all given a number of elements to work with and we can make of them what we choose. Some of the same pieces emerge time and time again and similar story lines may unfold. No two are ever alike and all are fascinating.



1000 Candles to Meditate to

Like a moth to the flame, I too am unable to resist the urge to lose myself. Staring, contemplating the light of one thousand suns embedded into, yet subdued by, the surface of a nearby moon, I feel small. Each on it’s own path to extinction, indifferent to my own. Redirecting my thoughts, I feel immense as I now watch an undiscovered amoeba transmit the last of its signals into the world before fading to black.

Take a moment to watch time pass as William Mackrell’s 1000 Candles dance to our delight, competing for oxygen.

Recommended Soundtrack: Headaches + Foxes In Fiction

via Colossal


All alone with Lykke Li

I’ve never really imagined what it would be like to be alone on a deserted island before. Perhaps I have in passing while playing “what are your desert island top 5 albums,” but I’ve never put much thought to the emotional state it might put one in. Until now.

This video from Lykke Li, who I don’t really know much about, has made me seriously consider what being alone on a beach, forever, might feel like. I think there would be moments in the silence where you could transcend beyond yourself, with no other human contact even your own thoughts would become tiresome. You would likely create games for one to pass the time, shifting grains of sand from one pile to the next. Maybe followed by a solitude induced madness or by the fact that you can never win a game for one. But I think mostly it would feel like each moment simply melted into the next creating an infinite loop of blurred time. It’s worth pondering, although I can’t say it’s something I’d like to experience.


Think or Smile | Nathaniel Whitcomb © 2011