© John Max and Michel Lamothe

A year ago, during the Festival International du Film sur l’Art, I attended a screening of John Max, A portrait (by Michel Lamothe), which prompted me to write this post. This extraordinary incursion in the world of John Max will be presented again this Sunday February 20, 2011 at the Rendez-vous du Cinema Québecois. Be sure to be there for a sensitive look at an important figure in canadian photography.

© John Max, via Stephen Bulger Gallery, Untitled 1972

© John Max, via Stephen Bulger Gallery, Untitled 1972

© Shirin Neshat in collaboration with Shoja Azari. Film still of "Women Without Men" 2009

When I first moved to Montreal, more than 10 years now, one of my first exhibits I remember going to was Shirin Neshat‘s retrospective exhibition at the Contemporary Art Museum in Montreal. It was Wednesday free night at the museum and it was packed but Neshat’s work was just so incredibly striking that sitting on the floor watching Rapture, I was momentarily lost, alone and captivated in her work. That exhibit, the memory of how I felt watching her work has stayed with me all this time and Neshat remains a very favorite artist of mine.

© Shirin Neshat, Rapture, 1999, video still - Barbara Gladstone Gallery

A couple of months ago Neshat’s first feature film Women Without Men, based on Shahrnush Parsipur’s novel, was screened at the Montreal Museum of Fine Art. She was even there for an introduction to her film and a Q&A after the movie. After viewing the film, on my way home, I sat down and wrote some notes about the film and I’m happy I did (because now I can share this little bit with you!). Neshat introduced her film as a magical surreal genre and told the audience (I’m quoting her as close as I remembered that night) “Imagine your grandmother telling you stories, where things don’t make sense but because it’s your grandmother you believe her. Imagine me as your grandmother.”

The film was beautiful. The imagery, the story, the characters, the light, the entirety  of the movie was incredibly compelling and moving. Scenes are still lodged in my head, like Zarin planting paper flowers or Faezeh digging Munis from her grave and unveiling her face and the forest where the women find refuge. How I had felt some 10 years ago at my first introduction to Neshat’s work, in awe and visually enlightened, happened again while sitting in a small theatre.

Here is the official trailer of the movie. If this plays near you don’t pass up the opportunity to see it.

Representing a place may certainly be more than simply showing physical space. How does one goes about representing a specific area of the world has been the challenge of countless artists, including photographers and in the case that interests me today, film makers.

Searching for the wrong-eyed jesus sets out to create a portrait of the American South, one colored by religion, music, history, stories, folk tales and characters of various sorts. Director Andrew Douglas presents a documentary film about “the soul of the south”, a provocative journey through small towns and rural southern villages, following musician and songwriter Jim White in a musical (and very photographic) return to the roots of a place that has influenced a whole cultural mythology.

In the midst of this somewhat bizarre and destabilising journey, one can be sure to encounter music and images, both so convincing that one may just end up buying the soundtrack and start to think more serioulsly about the task of the artist in representing places of this kind. Searching for the wrong-eyed jesus is a very aestheticizing essay on the south and while being incredibely convincing and seducing, one can wonder if it relies more on myths than on the real… How does one go about to do such a thing ? When does one’s subjectivity become an obstacle of fair representation? Photography has certainly faced this problem once or twice, don’t you think ?

Searching for the wrong-eyed jesus certainly succeeded in multiplying and layering how we can read the south, making it complex and incomplete at the same time. But in its very incompleteness, I think, the film allows the viewer to understand the intrinsic subjective nature of reprensenting places and the inevitable inadequacy of any medium when it comes to really, really, translating a place into its reprensentation.

© John Max

I am just coming back from the screening of John Max, a portrait, a film by Michel Lamothe, presented this afternoon (Sunday) at the Festival International des Films sur l’Art, in Montreal. I am moved by this incredible story about an artist that I have only heard about through my studies and through some enigmatic anecdotes here and there.

Although John Max is an important (and somehow mysterious) figure in the history of Canadian photography, one does not encounter his work very often. Principally known for his Open Passport, his work has not been shown a lot since and he has been accumulating not only thousands of rolls of film (of which who knows how many are still undeveloped), but an incredible amount of books, magazines, and various other objects, that he conceives as a library for the community of artists and friends.  Behind these utopian endeavors lies a man that is overwhelmed with the material world, a man living between spirituality and chaos, a man of a great inspiration that has left him engulfed in the impracticable task of organizing the ever growing body of work.

One can see his work at the Fonds Documentaires Vox. Coming out of this deeply moving screening, my only wish is to share this work, see it moving around, being seen; a wish that I am sure John Max himself would be wishing as well. The film won’t be presented again in the festival, but be sure to check it out if ever it’s showing in another context.

© John Max

Michael Flomen creates photograms. With photographic paper and film, he creates his pieces at night, letting nature decide the outcome.

“I make photograms of things we do not see, but know are there.” - Michael Flomen

©Michael Flomen

Click here to see the trailer.

Blood and Incense (Darah dan dupa) ©Carl Valiquet

I’ve been wanting to talk about Carl Valiquet’s work for a while now and i think now is the most suitable time. Carl is a photographer and filmmaker who shares his home between Montreal and Bali, Indonesia. I met Carl while i was still in school, some years ago now. He gave me work, he taught me how to put emotion into my black and white printing and now is a good friend.

I’m talking about Carl now because his film Blood and Incense (Darah dan dupa) will be showing tomorrow, Thursday October 16th, at the Festival du Nouveau Monde in Montreal. I had the oppertunity to see the film with Carl sitting beside me on his computer at his studio, but i can’t wait to see it tomorrow because it’s gonna be on the big screen.  

“In Bali, during certain ceremonies, blood must be spilt to pacify the bhutas, the evil spirits that live underground. A cockfighting arena is built next to the temple. The judge strikes a gong; the fighting starts. The beginning of the ceremonies is marked by the incantations of the priest. The cock’s dance of death is accompanied by the rhythmic music of the gamelan. The noisy excited chattering of the men gathered round the ring sounds like the chorus heard at the Kechak trance dance. The aroma of incense mixes with the smell of blood.”

Blood and Incense (Darah dan dupa) has been traveling quite a bit these past couple of months. It’s really a wonderful film and beautifully put together. Still photography mixes in with movement and the flow from cock fighting to religion is so brilliantly thought out. The cock’s fighting looks like a dance, and the men in a trance look like they are getting ready for war. The juxtaposition of the cock’s dying, blood flowing, the offerings and the religious ceremonies is visually stumlating and thought provoking.

Blood and Incense (Darah dan dupa) ©Carl Valiquet

Blood and Incense (Darah dan dupa) ©Carl Valiquet

Film by Harry Moses Who the #$&% is Jackson Pollock?

I was just visiting Amy Stein’s blog and read her post Further Evidence of an Impending Apocalypse, about Martin Schoeller’s portraits of Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt. And with her short story, she got me thinking about Harry Moses’ documentary film called Who the #$&% is Jackson Pollock?

The film, realeased in 2006, is about a 73 year old woman, former semi-truck driver from Texas. Her name is Teri Horton. She buys a painting for $5 in a thirft store for her friend. The painting is too big to fit in the friends trailer so she tries to sell it at her garage sale. A local art teacher informs her that is looks like a Jackson Pollock and tells her she might want to check it out. From there, the war begins.

Horton might be holding onto a million dollar painting but because the painting was bought in a thrift store for $5 and because the painting is not signed, she sets out to find the proof.

Here is an great review from IMDB by vegasite:

There’s this old joke about a small town exhibit of Norman Rockwell paintings where a snobbish big city critic is trashing the art at every turn.

“We know why you don’t like this art”. says a local.
“And why is that?” asks the critic.
“Because we don’t need you to tell us if it’s any good!”

And thus, this film begs the question, “Is collecting modern art about art or collecting autographs?”

This HBO documentary details the adventures of Teri Horton (Tugboat Annie of the Trailer Park and professional dumpster diver); a small town gal finding herself in possession of what might very well be an original Jackson Pollock potentially worth millions and sets out to prove its authenticity. Herein lies the rub of modern art; “If you don’t know who did it, is it any good”? We watch as the painting is wagged from pompous art critics to curious aficionados, business persons and forensic specialists each with their own take and assessment of authenticity. Little of which has anything to do with the actual art on the canvas.

Here is a fascinating look at the facade of modern art and the stuffed shirts who make cowardly proclamations regarding authenticity while avoiding the content of the painting itself.

Interesting stuff whether you like modern art or not; and while Ms. Horton’s rural irascibility wears mighty thin by the end of the film, there’s enough fun and insight to give anyone an art lesson.

Hope you get a chance to watch this one. i’ve just gotten the urge to watch it again. Teri Horton is an awesome woman, fiesty and fiery. And i love imagining a Jakson Pollock painting over a small kitchen table, in a trailer, at a trailer park, somewhere in Texas.