This is wonderful, Curt, as is the whole series. I always mean to say this when new one appears but because you're such a reliable producer of these over time I usually get distracted, safe in the knowledge a new one will come. It's curious that something which relies so heavily on sampling should be so utterly stamped with an individual artisitc personality. It also seems qualitively different to work that , at first site, might be regarded as kin, in that it is entirely lacking in cynicism, nor on the other hand does it come up and nuzzle us with its little wet nose to ingratiate itself. Finally it's work afraid neither of complexity, learning, nor of the most ravishing beauty ( and of your recent ones http://playdamage.org/76.html , in particular, broke my heart) michael
That image of the girls in #76 is from the beginning of Sans Soleil: "The first image he told me about was of three children on a road in Iceland, in 1965. He said that for him it was the image of happiness and also that he had tried several times to link it to other images, but it never worked. He wrote me: one day I'll have to put it all alone at the beginning of a film with a long piece of black leader; if they don't see happiness in the picture, at least they'll see the black."
Ah-ha. It must've been buried deep in my subconscious - I've watched Sans Soleil a couple of times but not for a while. Three interesting things arise for me. (1) The visceral response -of deep joy- that Marker, you and I have to that, in many (but clearly not the most important!) ways ordinary, image (2) The fact that when you use the image it becomes clearly part of something that is in a substantial sense "yours" (3) The fact that you *did* link the image with other images, in a most affecting way ( and one that does not simply reside in the power of the individual image but emerges from the juxtaposition of all the elements. That is, image in my subconscious or no, this was a related but different kind of joy)… michael
This is wonderful, Curt, as is the whole series.
I always mean to say this when new one appears but because you're such a reliable
producer of these over time I usually get distracted, safe in the knowledge a new one will come.
It's curious that something which relies so heavily on sampling should be so utterly stamped with
an individual artisitc personality.
It also seems qualitively different to work that , at first site, might be regarded as kin, in that it is entirely lacking in cynicism, nor on the other hand does it come up and nuzzle us with its little wet nose to ingratiate itself.
Finally it's work afraid neither of complexity, learning, nor of the most ravishing beauty ( and of your recent ones
http://playdamage.org/76.html , in particular, broke my heart)
michael
Thanks Michael,
That is very encouraging.
That image of the girls in #76 is from the beginning of Sans Soleil:
"The first image he told me about was of three children on a road in Iceland, in 1965. He said that for him it was the image of happiness and also that he had tried several times to link it to other images, but it never worked. He wrote me: one day I'll have to put it all alone at the beginning of a film with a long piece of black leader; if they don't see happiness in the picture, at least they'll see the black."
Curt
Ah-ha. It must've been buried deep in my subconscious - I've watched Sans Soleil a couple of times but not for a while.
Three interesting things arise for me.
(1) The visceral response -of deep joy- that Marker, you and I have to that, in many (but clearly not the most important!) ways ordinary, image
(2) The fact that when you use the image it becomes clearly part of something that is in a substantial sense "yours"
(3) The fact that you *did* link the image with other images, in a most affecting way ( and one that does not simply reside in the power of the individual image but emerges from the juxtaposition of all the elements. That is, image in my subconscious or no, this was a related but different kind of joy)…
michael
oh oh oh for more new art that *touches* me…