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24.24.24. is a view of a day in concurrent time. All of the day’s twenty-four hours are presented at once. In the minutia of time, banal events unfold and are made extraordinary through the camera’s gaze. People go to work and to school, time is stretched and skewed, the act of taking a walk or watering a lawn develops a magical quality. Light gains character, shadow reshapes objects, and time becomes palpable. Take a look.
“A Horse With Wheels” explores what might be the oldest piece of art we know. The object The Swimming Reindeer was made during the last Ice Age, around 13,000 years ago, and was carved from a mammoth’s tusk. Researchers call it a “useless tool” – a tool just for the mind. Wilhelm sets out on the trail of this extraordinary sculpture, from where it was discovered in a cave in France to North-Norway, where large herds of reindeer still roam today. In an essayistic manner he tries to get closer to our ancestors who carved this work of art. The Swimming Reindeer was made in a period of global warming at the end of the Ice Age, prompting the question: was this existential human crisis a catalyst for the emergence of art?
This experimental film (documentary, photo-video-sound collage from Internet research, interview, animation and sound design) is an anti-war project focusing on the recent and current events in Ukraine. Visual, text, sound, and animation associations and impressions, are centred around the perception of war through the eyes of two separate people a middle-aged woman and a nine-year-old school girl – two of the many victims of this war conflict. Photographed, interviewed and filmed in August 2015 in Ukraine. Surfing the web using keywords often results in confusing and most unexpected results. Usually, the searcher expects to get results associated with their search-term. Yet the function of the search is myriad and from time to time, it spits out false or unexpected associations, horrifying the user, and resulting in a form of “linguistic absurd”. In this way when searching for the word “happiness” the search engine spit out images of war and conflict, pain and suffering, rape and brutality. Our experience in Internet with the word “happiness” (from the Slavic “Shchastye”) in Russian language has brought me to the geographical location of the city Shchastye (Engl. Happiness) in the Lugansk region of Ukraine. This quiet area was unnoticed until it became the epicenter of the recent war situation on the East of Ukraine, consequently breaking all the stereotypes associated with the word “happiness” – anyone born in that city must be happy by default. The everyday internet users who have never visited the area in question can only rely on the horrific evidence from the war scene. The information we receive from mass media, it assorted in our mind according to our personal cultural priorities and identities that is if one assumes a side in the conflict. The question is whose propaganda is most successful, as it collects “likes” and views on the internet, causing anger and aggression. Using art as our medium we want to break all the reasons for war, which is often given under the pretext of a “necessary evil” on a path to peace. The objective of the project is to illustrate the catastrophic consequences of war for every individual human being. After all, because of our geopolitical locations, the human right to be happy may be shattered by war at any moment, resulting in an instantaneous loss of everything.
Animal Cinema is a film composed of fragments of videos of animals operating cameras. All cameras were stolen by animals who acted autonomously. These video materials, downloaded from YouTube between 2012 and 2017, have been reorganized in Animal Cinema as a constant unfolding of non-human modes of being.
This film is a metaphor for who we are... for where we come from? A secret held in the abyss.To read the message - through fear and prejudice, from imitation to communion, from meditation to movement. Dance to the horizon - from points of no return. The irony of our metamorphosis - in order to grow, the seed must die.
Arr. for a Scene is a documentary of two Foley artists while they are producing sounds for one of the most famous film scene in the film history. This performance is documented on 35 mm film. The film examines the way sounds are constructed for the use of cinema and what happens when the structures of a film are dismantled into parts.
Mined, extracted, and woven, asbestos was the magic mineral. Towns became cities under its patronage, Persian kings entertained guests with its fireproof nature, and centuries of industry raked in the profits of its global application. We now live in the remains of this toxic dream, a dream that with the invention of electron microscopes revealed our material history as a disaster in waiting. Yet the asbestos industry has far from left us with extraction from the soil transforming to extraction from our walls. We are now faced with two options: to remove this material from our homes and start anew, or to build upon its residue. Removal is a dangerous and costly operation. So often we choose to live amongst it instead, choking out our walls with plastic tarping: the failed promises of modernism literally entombed all around us. Shot in the mining township of Asbestos,Quebec, home to the world’s largest asbestos mine that only stopped extraction in 2012, the film is a meditation on the entanglement of the fragility of bodies, the nonlinearity of progress, and the persistence of matter.
Based on the rapture mythology of the Heaven's Gate cult and made from a collage of science fiction and dance clips, Beyond Human is a music video about the desire to step out of one's skin.
Everything irradiates a pastel-pink haze like a neverending sunset screensaver. People from all corners of the world are stranded here, taking up on the deal western society cla ims to offer: the possibility to escape from it. We perform rituals of hedonism, awareness and spirituality which interact with the wireless capital flow that promises paradise within our grasp. Yet something is off: We’re neither relaxed nor carefree, but pathologically unable to care.