Signing Off ...for now.

This is my second to last post on this blog. It is several days late. This week has thrown several challenges my way, and I am not necessarily proud of how I have handled them. My programming and management co-member, Tristan, helped me out quite a bit in communicating with all students to make sure they submitted their found footage projects on time. I felt that I checked up on the other committees quite frequently, but gave them enough freedom to work to their fullest potential. If I have learned anything, it is to know the right balance between tightening up the reigns and letting them go completely. I think I may have let my grandmother's passing effect my performance in that I kind of let them operate too independently because I was focused on spending time with my family, helping us all heal. But these things happen. I need to learn to compartmentalize if I am going to be a successful producer. Ideally, I would have checked over Knox's ingredient list more thoroughly so that we had ingredients like cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, etc.and that he made sure all categories were taken care of, with small surpluses (because we ran out of drinks almost immediately). When I talked to Maura, it seemed as though the decorations/art committee had everything taken care of and were all on the same page. However, when I spoke to Kyndall, she seemed to be left in the dark about her duties and what her partner was allowing her to do. This was disappointing to hear, but I asked probably too late in the game anyways. I ended up having to delegate decorations, and catering the moment I arrived. I wish we had more time, but I enjoyed the thrill of this kind of flash cinema. It was definitely a learning experience. Here is exactly what I would have done differently and will keep in mind for future projects:

Set up a meeting, early on, with all committees to make sure they have cohesive plans for catering, AV, locations, etc.
Make sure locations has established a back-up location in case of adverse weather
Make sure AV has enough time to render the sequence-- this is solved by having all of the footage ON TIME and in order before the day of the program
Double check with the catering committee to make sure all food bases are covered and that they actually know how to work a charcoal grill
Set an earlier arrival time for set up.
Forget the programs.
Do a mini q&a moderated by the MC


I basically would have just liked everyone-- including myself-- to have arrived earlier so that people didn't show up while we were still running around with our heads cut off.
It just wasn't organized. I tried to delegate the best I could considering my circumstances, but I may have not been the right person in charge of orchestrating this event. Well, no, that's not correct. I'm the only person I trust to do this kind of thing. And I'm honestly surprised at how not-angry I got during the whole process. I will just do better next time. I am not at all upset with how it turned out. It was actually really fun and I am glad we had this experience. I definitely want to do something like this again. Creating film festivals is something I could definitely see myself doing whenever I decide to grow up and start being a responsible adult.

Microcinema

When I think about "microcinema", I don't think about people dressed in formal evening attire sitting on velvet love seats, biting the ends of long, plastic cigarette filters saying things like "indubitably" or "enigma." Instead I recall a very fond memory of my early high school experience. My freshman and sophomore year, I had a best friend named British Aab. She was the first quintessential hipster I had ever encountered. Falling under her mentorship, I found myself hanging out downtown late at night, listening to local musicians scream above the drone of washing machines in the Soapbox Lounge, drinking fancy coffee drinks, reading "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" and pretending like I understood whatever Milan Kundera was talking about at the time. A few key lines regarding sexual odors still linger in my mind. One of the influential individuals Bri introduced me to was Fred Champion, former owner of CD Alley. Every Thursday night he hosted a regular movie night in which he would invite all of the other long-haired, thick-framed, downtown intellectuals over to his apartment above what used to be Mugsy's Pub. It smelled of stale marijuana and patchouli. His viewing room was separate from his living quarters, which made it feel a lot more formal, yet still exclusive-- there was an array of old couches, movie theater seats, park benches, etc. This was the first place I ever saw someone carve a bowl out of an apple. It was quite impressive. I would lie to my parents every Thursday night so I could see the b or c-list movies with Bri at Fred's place, trying to pass off as too mature for our own good. I remember the only rule was that no one could enter or talk after the film began-- we all had a universal understanding of respect for the ridiculous artform we were about to witness. I hope to recreate this feeling or experience on Thursday.

Bropac

I adore my group. I seriously could not have asked for a better group dynamic. Even when we started rehearsal and shooting a few minutes late, we still managed to end up ahead of schedule. Natalie and Kyndall worked together to fix the issue with the XLR cable,-- apparently there was some humming in the audio--Tristan communicated his 'vision' very effectively, James churned out some great footage, and I ordered the pizza. Rehearsal with the boys on Friday went smoothly, as did the final shoot on Saturday. I felt everyone pulled their own weight, making my job incredibly easy. I am satisfied with how our project turned out. I only wish we had more time because I feel my group could have created something huge. Ideally we would have filmed this in a locker room, but everyone was very flexible about the location. Virtue from necessity, I suppose-- which, ultimately, is the best work method in this field of study when you are a very poor college student. I thoroughly enjoyed working with and hanging out with my group. I scheduled a long lunch break on Saturday to give us a chance to cool down, recharge, and get to know each other better-- you know, team bonding. I got a chance to preview our next-to-final cut and I was very impressed with Natalie, James, and Tristan's audio work. They created a very relevant and believable soundscape. I am excited to show the class what we were able to come up with. My group is also encouraging Tristan to continue the script, which would be a hilarious summer side project for us if we made this into a short film, or even feature film. Absolutely ridiculous. I definitely look forward to working with these guys in the future.  We all meshed really well.

Kai is a mad man

Well Kai is one of my favorite people. He is a maniac. Let me babysit him sometime.

Our group met today at school. We watched the scene from the Graduate so that Tristan and James could come up with overheads and storyboards. Kyndall, Natalie, and I worked out a budget for props and costuming. We have a budget set for catering as well since we are using two outside actors ("outside" meaning they are not in our group, but there are within the film studies program: Viet and Paul Sitler), I figured free food would be a good incentive. We developed a rehearsal and filming schedule for the weekend. Whitfield still hasn't responded about the facilities use request-- luckily we secured a back-up location in case we weren't able to use the locker rooms in the Student Recreation Center. We are also in the process of tweaking our script so that it makes more sense for the characters to be in our new location, while still managing to fit the theme. I feel confident that our project will go as smoothly as possible. Tomorrow we are meeting at the location to set up the lights, the camera, go over the script with the crew and rehearse the blocking choreography. That's what this project is, it's a dance. A well-crafted dance of lights, crew, and camera. I am excited to get started on this. especially since we will be rehearsing before shooting with a night of respite in between. Aside from the other two projects we have, I am pretty sure this one is going to be smooth sailing. I have everyone's forms signed, we have a shared google doc of the schedule, shooting schedule, catering suggestions, props and costume list, and script. This truly is a group effort, which is why I don't feel as stressed as I normally would-- I am working with people who are equally willing and capable of pulling their own weight. This is reassuring. I am most excited to see Tristan in action. I've worked with him before as my director, but I couldn't help but over-step my position's boundaries to get things done. This time I am practicing some self control. Plus, Tristan is one of the most level-headed people I know and I trust his decision-making skills fully. This should be fun. I MUST LET THIS BE FUN.

Yesterday's Blog A little Late

I apologize for posting this so late. Last night I felt a little overwhelmed, so I drank half a bottle of wine and watched Pretty Little Liars for several...hours...it is just so terrible, so addictive. It was a nice distraction but didn't make me feel better about the three projects I have due next week.

My group met up during class yesterday and we all immediately jumped to work. Natalie and Tristan came over to my place to discuss the script and secure the location. Unfortunately, our homeboy Vice Chancellor Whitfield hasn't responded to email about using the locker room as our film set. None of us seem to be worried or stressed about this project at all, which is nice. I am extremely grateful that all of our schedules are relatively open this weekend. This is great news for someone who is creating a film schedule. We are all working together, yet separately in our own positions. I am not entirely concerned about having enough time to complete all of these projects, but it is simply just a natural response for me to be stressed, constantly thinking about something at all times. Last night I texted Tristan around two in the morning with a comment about the script. It seemed stagnant and we would need a motivation for the camera to move, as it did in The Graduate. My brain might explode. I need more wine. Or to go for a run. I just need to learn how to breathe deeply.

Dave Grohlling my eyes over here

I have listened to every single fucking Foo Fighters' song trying to get inspired to do this project. I am not at all satisfied with what I just exported. It was most definitely a learning experience. I should have done more planning, more pre-production, even some storyboards. To create the perfect one-minute portrait of someone requires just as much research and effort as writing a lengthy biography. I wish I had more time to get to know James, but unfortunately I will be finding the nearest bridge and promptly jumping off of it after I post this blog. I'm sure he is a great boy. Full of promise and aspirations. I can only hope that he is not disturbed by the arhythmic monstrosity I have created in his image. Dearest James, I do hope you see that I was trying to find similarities in your movements but then realized I hadn't blinked in nearly 7 hours so I may have digressed...a little...eventually I started trying to tell a fictional story about how you might be haunted by that statue of a boy with that still, dead look in his eyes. And then I made you sort of walk into the game...like....the guitar was your gun...I'm going to be the only person who can draw those similarities. Everyone else will most definitely mention how repetitive it is. But here's the thing, Planet Earth. People are repetitive. We follow the same boring old routine every day so that this repugnant society can function-- feasting on the lives of middle and lower class heroes. What the hell am I saying. Go to bed, Corinne. Anyways, I discovered that this assignment required more preparation than I anticipated. I will vow, from this day forward, to never proceed into a project (at least one that has a deadline that somehow catches up to you like Michael Meyers in all of those Halloween movies. I mean those girls are running at a full sprint and he is casually strolling. How long are his strides?!) without having some kind of visualization in mind beforehand. Thank you. Goodnight and good luck.

Bring the Beet in

Editing to music/rhythm is something I seem to do instinctively, however this assignment presents a new challenge in that I must create a rhythm to which I must edit the footage I have collected on my own. While we are given a pattern, I think feel that the rhythm will come from the content of the footage itself. I am excited to work with James, although he claims he is rather boring. There is something peculiar, something extraordinary about every person and I am determined to crack him! I have a way of being so abrasively open with people that they have no choice but to reciprocate some amount of weirdness. I look forward to getting to know James. He seems like a cool dude who just doesn't understand how unique his mundane routine is yet. I'm sure it wont be that difficult to find the rhythm. My main concern is not to make it too repetitive or try to rely too much on music. So I am currently pondering the process: should I edit the footage first, then find music that fits well? Should I go off of his music suggestions to get a rhythm in my head before editing? Should I include any "nondiegetic" music at all even if it is a song that he believes perfectly defines him? Should I simply make music out of the assigned frame pattern and video I shoot? This is what I will be deliberating until we film tomorrow during class time. My other main concern is that he will be filming me in my element: on a couch, watching Netflix, painting, and drinking inexpensive wines I like to pretend I know something about-- the wine being the biggest concern. I don't want to get too comfortable on the couch, too invested in an episode of whatever show I am shamelessly binge-watching, too buzzed off of a few glasses of wine (I'm assuming he'll need some retakes and...well...I don't want to waste anything). I am not, however, concerned at all about the portrait it may paint of me. I am what I am, not a helpless drunk, but a confused, twenty-two year old who is in love with her boyfriend's apartment because it is currently not occupied by him or anyone. I take solace in being alone, independent, and I hope that is what ultimately translates through his footage. I suppose that is something I will have to communicate to him, though. Yikes.

Titles and Loglines

Film 3: Image-less Film

        Bright 

        -- The symphony of warmth and light embark on a journey from the shore into the mysterious, ominous depths of the ocean. Turning over to face the sun through the kaleidoscope of ultra-violet rays as they reflect on the surface above, light radiates and consumes the soul in an ethereal chorus of under-water sirens. 

Film 4: Under-the-Camera Animation

        Mr. Samsa's Big Day Off

        -- (Inspired by the seminal novella of Franz Kafka) A lonely man contemplates the dreary, urban landscape from his windowsill as he suddenly transforms into a repulsive insect and must now adjust to his new life as a faceless, nameless invertebrate. 

My weekend with Mr. Samsa

Working with Paul and Viet was a refreshing experience. They are both creative, calm, and can put up with my obnoxiously meticulous attention to detail while making sure I am focused on the tasks at hand. I am truly proud of the animation we created. It is easy to get excited about a project when all of the members are on the same page about the concept, are equally enthusiastic about said concept, and have similar, yet unique creative visions that compliment each other well. This weekend went by so smoothly when we finally got to work. I can attribute this to our ability to communicate effectively both before and during the animation process. If it weren't for developing a coherent plan during preproduction, we may have been a little flustered by all of the work we had ahead of us. However, we developed more detailed storyboards, plans for transitions, and efficient work spaces for all of us to contribute equally and effectively to each scene. I feel so fortunate to have worked with these two men, especially on a project that is (aside from the story-inspiration and the 8mm projector sound) entirely our own, right down to the faintest noises of our soundscape. I am still taken aback by our work flow-- the animation and sound took less than a day to complete and I don't feel as though any of the quality or creativity was compromised. Due to some limitations with our equipment, we did have to change somethings: we didn't end up using gauche paints on glass, nor did we under-light the sand or charcoal. However, I do applaud our ability to think outside the box-- it just may have been a little too far out to accomplish in such a short time frame, but it is not something I wouldn't like to try in the future. This process was tedious, but fun. I am insanely gratified by the end result. This is definitely a kind of filmmaking I can see myself getting into as a hobby, or even a profession-- even if it is kind of old-school, I appreciate the intimacy and immediacy of this kind of creation. It allowed for so much more of ourselves-- our energy and personalities-- to be embedded within the animation, reflecting our cohesiveness in the final product. I am so excited to show this to the class. And to anyone, really. I haven't stopped talking about it all weekend!

The Trifecta

Two heads are better than one; three is a party. I am extremely excited to dive into this project after my group met to set up our materials. We have decided to try all of the art forms of this assignment and layer them. We discussed how to effectively create our own manual video transitions as well. I believe each of us will be playing to our strengths so that this animation-- although it is a pseudo-literary adaptation-- will be representative of us as a team and how we function as a unit, as well as how our individual personalities and skills. When Paul, Viet, and I sat on Viet's couch, The Mind of a Chef playing in the background, we became completely immersed in the creation. The excitement was palpable. I almost began feeling frustrated because we weren't working on it already. Usually, when someone is trying to talk to me and a TV is on in the background, the light emitted by the moving images dances in my peripheral vision, and my mind will wander away from the repetitive, self-indulgent words of the person directly in front of me-- like a moth drawn to a flame in order to escape the mundane bleakness of its own dark life. Rather, I was fully engrossed and I felt that was the general consensus among my fellow group members. While we are all excited to see how our animation will come to life, I will try to keep us from getting too attached to the end result-- too preoccupied with how perfect the image is and how well it illustrates the writings of Kafka (mostly because this isn't intended to be a direct interpretation of The Metamorphosis of Mr. Samsa, just what I remember imagining as I read it several years ago). We can not stray from the mystery and growth that is found in the process of creating an animation-- creating anything, really. I also must be wary of letting this excitement overwhelm us and persuade us to bite off way more than we can chew, as that can be incredibly stressful the closer we move toward the project deadline. I have decided to assume the position of moderator so that we will not become disheartened by all of the possibilities of animation, in order to work more cohesively and efficiently while still creating something to be proud of.

I wanted so badly to manipulate the sand with my hands but felt like Rock Biter with my large fingers clumsily moving too many grains at a time. Sand is elegant, yet even the small nail of my pinky finger can not perform such a minute task, thereby distracting from the grace of the art form. Gauche paint and vegetable oil, what a wonderful combination. Tiny bubbles trapped in time, smeared to create the illusion of motion across the glass, frozen, still, but not lacking in potential. Yesterday was enlightening in that I realized I have all of the resources to make an animation film, it is just a matter of setting aside time to actually create. I have been so transfixed by perfecting still images on canvas; I have forgotten the most important part of creation-- the process! Animation is merely documenting the process of motion: the fleeting moments in a batt of an eyelash, the quiver of a lip, the slow bend of a finger at the knuckle as it taps anxiously on one's knee-- these instances and voluntary movements we all take for granted, we all perform without noticing. Animation allows us to methodically and strategically create film while thwarting our own tendency to ignore the details. In this way, studying the microcosms of action also enhances our ability and desire to create sound from that motion-- the displacement of the airwaves we will no longer overlook. 

Making sense of the world

I am typing this on my phone from thousands upon thousands of feet in the air. My thumbs struggle to tap the correct letters as we are experiencing a bit of turbulence. The girl beside me clutches the ends of the arm rest. I am going over fatal flight statistics in my head-- I don't know any, I am currently just makin up random numbers to calm my own nerves. Is that an indication of multiple personality disorder?

The red light of the wing flashes, briefly exposing enough light to render us all seated upright in a dark void. Only a handful of seconds pass between each flash, a long shutter speed allowing just enough light to pass through the lens to capture the wing, the fog, the wing, more fog. Then lightning in the distance. How far in the distance, I can not tell. I can not grasp any concept of space or time at this altitude, on this magnificent piece of aircraft.

Animation on Glass is yet another entirely tactile approach to filmmaking. It is intimate, driven by passion, forging a deep connection with the image as its conception, birth, life, and death is guided by the artist's own hands. Both the physical proximity of the artist to the medium and the extensive amount of time and effort spent in order to achieve the smooth motion of each individual image into the next-- How deeply personal these images must be to the artist, how deeply personal they must continue to become. As the animation filmmaker illustrates the minute detail of fragmented motion, they grow to understand the intricacies of life, of the kinetic relationship each living and nonliving subject has with one another, the potential of motion and the suspension of time within every crystallization of a muscle contraction-- we begin to understand and appreciate underlying, ongoing processes, perceiving them to be much more important than before.

I am excited, yet completely intimidated by the immediacy of this filmmaking technique. Working with sand, paint, and charcoal on Glass will be challenging, but I am excited to see the images created from the gradual chipping-away of the original.

Self-evaluation of Bright

We began editing our project with the idea of creating the image of looking up at the sun through the ocean. The sound should convey entering the water, the water filling up the ears as you become fully submerged, then the sound of bubbles and underwater creaks as you turn upwards to open your eyes and face the sun. Maura's voice was very ethereal and reminded me of a mermaid, which gave me the idea of giving "Bright" some nautical undertones, as the beach is one of the brightest, most over exposed places I have ever been.

I wish we had more time and had developed a plan in pre-production, however I enjoyed the free flowing, "anything goes" project model we developed instead. Maura and I collaborated very well on the concept, she is easy to get along with and I trust her opinions. I also wish I was better versed on how to manipulate sounds in Premiere Pro, as Pro Tools wasn't working on our computer and I honestly just didn't feel like messing with it.

The most challenging aspect of this project was just not being able to work with Maura at the same time because we didn't have headphone splitters. We overcame this by taking turns editing and adding sounds to the mix, discussing what we would like to hear, what we enjoyed about our edits, what we wish there was, etc.

I discovered that working with a partner is only fun if you are both on the same page. Luckily, Maura is one of the most easy-going people I have ever met. She has such a positive attitude that I never felt disappointed with our sound, I never felt desperate or hopeless like I do when I am editing most projects.

I hate my job but love my dad

P.T.'s

It's close to 9 o'clock in the evening: the voices behind me dwindle and carry out the door. I sit at the bar facing the grill: the heat radiates to warm the front of my body, the sound of the grill fan drones on. There is a simmer: the last burger patty sits in the hot plate. A loud hiss: water has been spilled over the grates of the grill. The thin, metal spatula taps the gristle-covered metal of the grill. Left to right. Someone walks in front of me: it's Zach, the friendly giant. His stride is expansive as he walks the length of the room in only a few short steps. Kyle, the lost puppy, follows behind him: his feet hardly lift the ground. His Sanuks are wearing away quickly at the sole. The general walla-walla from the tables behind me has moved to the front register. People mindlessly bid each other a great day, weekend, life, as they are already half way out the door. This place sounds insincere.

The Mornings at the Tabor House

The traffic of parents rushing to drop off their children at the Catholic school behind my house: I can hear the confusion in the distance-- no, it is not a four way stop. The door to my parents' bedroom opens. My dad shuffles down the hall. I can tell he just woke up: his gait is uneven and flat-footed. The skin of his heels is rough against the wood floors. He is tired but must go to work. He has been working so hard for so long. My dog Indy waits at the end of the hallway: her tail happily beating against the metal baby-gate, which reverberates in an almost comical way. The AC isn't on, but my ceiling fan slowly creaks at each revolution. My dad has turned on the sink somewhere in the house-- the water moves eerily through the pipes in the walls. My mother must have slept at my grandmother's house last night: I can't hear her singing the wrong words to any song ever as she comes inside from the screened-in porch. Indy's toenails click loudly against the stone tile of the foyer: she followed my dad half-way to the kitchen, paused, turned back to return to her position at the end of the bedroom hallway where she will wait for me to greet her. She wants her treat. She is bored and lonely after the death of my dog Tink: her tail wags a little more irradically.

Luna Lunar

Luna Cafe:

A low hum from the refrigerator is barely audible above the chatter of men discussing the potential of the college nationals. Thankfully the high drone of the coffee grinder interrupts their conversation. The barista speaks to a regular-- she has a baby. The baby has just turned two, but is very verbal. He and his mother play Rockem' Sockem' Robots-- the light clamour of the plastic men colliding with each other, the rigid bottom of the boxing ring scraping against the rough wooden table. Electronic music plays softly-- I can recognize the vocalist from Animal Collective, it must be Panda Bear featured on Daft Punk's "Doin' it Right"-- this song sends me back 5 years in time to when my friend, Emily, and I would lay upside-down on her couch listening to Animal Collective records instead of doing biology. We'd express our romantic dreams of boys and one day escaping the trivialities of the Lyceum program at New Hanover High.

The toddler to my left gently taps the plastic coins of a Connect Four game-- they rattle against the others inside the narrow, vertical slots. His mother nears the door and calls his name, "William. Say goodbye to everyone." I can hear his feet reluctantly part from the Connect Four game-- his gait is still slightly unsteady. The bottoms of his shoes must be fabric, the way they scrape against the concrete floor-- softly, just barely lifting off the ground.

A gaggle of hipster girls have entered the cafe-- I can tell because their deep voices discuss gardening and their trendy Instagram feeds. St. Vincent now plays over the speakers, winding its way through the conversations of two middle-aged women and the milk steamer. There is a clear sense of space within the soundscape here. The sound moves slowly, allowing it time to be absorbed into the old wooden tables and leather furniture before reaching my ears. There is something much more personal and intimate to this coffee shop than other large chains--an unspoken understanding of low volume, intellectual dialogues between close friends as opposed to yelling over the constant high-pitched scream of the milk steamer, grinders, blenders, and underlying drone of all the electronic appliances that create the caffeinated beverages too hot to taste how metallic and thoughtless the entire process was,


Beach at Night

I can hear the friction of the sand as my head sinks deeper into the dunes. For a moment I forget to breath as I strain to hear anything but the waves crashing on the shore. Then, above the constant roar of the surf, a single cricket chirps-- it is behind me, sheltered from the wind by the dunes. It sings slowly, indicating the chill of the breeze. A chorus of crickets can be heard in the distance, but only between the intervals of the cricket nearby, I assume he stands watch at the periphery of the bird sanctuary. A brave soul. The breeze is coming off the land-- I can tell because it passes through the tall grass of the dunes behind me before passing over my face to reach the warm of the ocean, moving my hair over my ears to muffle the sound momentarily. His chest rises and falls with the breeze as though this steady air comes from his own lungs. His sighs are extended, burdened, pensive. I am torturing him. Or maybe he is just preoccupied. I want to hear his heart beat above all, but I remain paralyzed by the sound of the water swiftly moving over the sand, with an occasional heavy-handed slap, compacting the grains into a harder surface. The water recoils, retreating back over shells, stones, bits of debris, every impact a whisper as though it whispers "I'll be back soon, don't go anywhere." I can hear the steady, deep, ominous drum of the waves stirring from the belly of the ocean, then a lingering silence as they curve just before crashing, again, onto their own selves, then greeting the sand once more. An ongoing, joyous reunion of sand and water. The wind rustles the thin fabric of my pants, reminiscent of a steady breeze moving a flag-- the sound of the fabric tightening as the wind forces the fibers of the cloth to stretch, suddenly, to its limits. The land has cooled much quicker than the ocean, causing the air pressure to force the wind toward the water only to be warmed by the surface of the sea, rising again into the atmosphere, cooled by the upper regions of the troposphere, weighing it back down to carry the sand across my eyelashes. I can hear the intricacies of these natural processes, the movement of the planet's organs displacing the air molecules only slightly, to create a symphony of friction, impact, momentum, propulsion.

The Voice of the Planet

I want the walls of my home to be thicker. Shouldn't a home be a refuge from the outside world and all its unsolicited noise, noise, noise?! A few weeks ago, I was babysitting a little boy named Townes during the day. When it came time for his nap, I closed the blinds, turned off the lights, and yet there was still something so distracting, something so intrusive that I didn't think he would ever get to sleep. Cars from a relatively busy neighborhood street-- ceaseless. Luckily, he has a white-noise machine-- the oddest invention, I never had one as a child, I never needed one I suppose. I find them to be more distracting-- it just adds to the mix of already unnecessary sound until they all seem to blend together as one loud, distorted groan. As if the world is suffering from appendicitis, clutching its side, begging for morphine-- for the synthetic relief of a noise-maker.

My house is sandwiched between Eastwood Road and Mayfaire Town Center (formerly a horse grazing pasture). A highway and an open-air shopping mall. I wake up to cars speeding down my street to drop children off at school with enough time to swing by Starbucks before work. This sound is kind of like when I walk into Time Warner Cable, or some other electronic store, and I am immediately uncomfortable, almost in pain, because of the ever-present, high-pitched chorus of ringing from every television, cable box, speaker, all competing for our attention-- attempting to distract us while their bosses rob us blind.

This is what our lives have been reduced to: waiting impatiently to be entertained, and barely recognizing our own name being called over a loud speaker. Selective listening-- that implies that we have some kind of choice in the matter. Even if being aware of every intricate detail of a soundscape was easy and required little thought, would we choose to listen? I would. I would much rather have to think hard about not listening that to exert an inordinate amount of energy in order to recognize the sound of my own dog's bark. While I think it is a voluntary response to ignore the monotone drone of everyday, man-made sound, I do believe exercising our listening abilities is a process imperative to our development as the animals we are.

If you can hardly detect the small inflections of your lover's voice, the cadences that distinguish them from a sea of other suitors-- allowing their voice to identify their place in time and space, their mood, their own self-- if you struggle to determine the distinct differences between their voice and another's, how can you say you really know them?

Films 1 & 2

This assignment tested my ability to remain balanced, in that I didn't. Not even a bit. The instability is what keeps me going. I had an incredibly busy weekend with work, hosting a baby shower, having family in town, and celebrating my mother's birthday all on top of homework. I believe this chaos is translated directly into my interpretations of the elements. I discovered that under pressure I am much more keen on trying new things. I relinquish pragmatic control over the medium to the unpredictability of chemical reactions. I found that if I sprayed footage with bleach, forming a base of destruction upon which I can create, an image forms easily from the random patterns of eroding emulsion than from meticulously scraping each frame. I guess I don't become as attached, so I am less likely to feel defeated in my hand is to slip, or something reacts incorrectly. This method was much more conducive to my creative flow as I was able to conjure up a memory from the patterns, much like one would recognize familiar objects in the monochromatic images of ink blots. Once I find these memories, forgotten feelings, desires, longings, etc.-- I can further manipulate the medium to emulate these sensations more accurately (to me, at least). I suppose I discovered that I am a visceral artist-- I am not attached to the end product, as it is a result of the feelings and thoughts provoked by the process of creation (creation through destruction?).

Magazine Transfers

These processes are teaching me patience. I decided yesterday that I would convert all of my frustration into excitement to see the finished product. I am not seeking perfection, what would be the fun in that? What exactly would dictate perfection in this process? As I sit in the anticipation phase of the magazine transfer, eagerly awaiting to see the projection of our experiments, I realize now that art is never about the end result. Well, I mean, it kind of is. But that's not what I take pleasure in. No matter if it is throwing pottery, painting, editing, writing, or rubbing wet magazine strips off of masking tape, it is the tactility of this kind of creation that makes the end result, whatever it is, so much more gratifying. In a way, this deep level of involvement-- my eyes dry because I haven't remembered to blink in at least 20 minutes, my hands covered in paper fibers, my thoughts racing over which article will produce the best patterns on screen-- is kinesthetic in that I am fully aware of my body movements as they relate to the film-making process; the leader becomes an extension of my fingers that gently wipe away paper residue from its surface. Like cleaning the hair of your small child in a large kitchen sink-- they look up at your with such wonderment in their eyes, and you smile at the thought of how beautiful both of your lives will be because you have each other. No one else.

Man am I hormonal lately. But art is my child. And I am a child of art. The suspense is killing me-- I am most interested to see how the words turned out, they seemed to transfer onto the tape very well. I long to feel that rush of adrenaline right before the reel passes in front of the open shutter.

Film Create/Film Destroy

Frustrated. How is it that a 22 year old woman-- someone who once believed herself to be an artist-- can not seem to master the manipulation of film stock? I guess I'm not cutting myself enough slack. Yesterday was literally the first time I have ever touched film; we still haven't spliced ours to the class reel so I'm not even sure how it will turn out. I suppose if I were to set my ego aside, I would say that yesterday's class presented me with an entirely new perspective on animation film-making. While it may have looked like a simple arts-and-crafts "I made the duck blue because I have never seen a blue duck before" class segment, I felt more like a scientist. Every scratch of the emulsion was to be minuscule, meticulous but not necessarily precise; drops of bleach eroded the emulsion, maybe a bit too much if I wasn't careful-- then again, I don't know what I am trying to create in this destruction, so why not let the chemicals act on their own? They know what they are doing better than I do. Maybe I was frustrated not with my performance but instead my reaction to the immense possibilities of film create/film destroy-- I was creatively paralyzed at the sight of so many instruments, bottles of ink, by so many familiar objects, yet in this context they seemed completely foreign to me. Film, film stock, that is, is intimidating, especially when you are unable to see the footage projected during the editing process. 

I suppose I discovered that I am easily frightened by all of the artistic opportunities this assignment presented. However, I am still holding on to that sense of gratification of having worked on 6 segments of 24 teeny weeny frames for 3 hours and finally seeing what the six seconds of all my frustration, confusion, and film illiteracy will look like when spliced and projected for the entire class to see. Now that I think about it, that scene in Billy Madison could be applied directly to this assignment. HA!

Reflections of the Afternoon Baby Moving

In his book A Moving Picture Giving and Taking Book, Brakhage outlines the deep intricacies of the film production and exhibition processes. While I found myself becoming lost in the tangle of his descriptions of sprockets and claws, I couldn't help but appreciate Brakhage's attention to minute detail when explaining each aspect of experimental film-making. The vastness of all the subtleties involved in the production and exhibition of a reel of film is comparable to an action as simple as standing up, and walking around the room: we are never, and probably will never be, fully aware of how many tiny muscles must contract and in how precise of an order than when we attempt to write out a comprehensive instruction manual on how to perform such a basic task. Moving picture projectors call to mind the voluntary organ systems of the human body, while the sensitivity of film stock operates on an exactness similar to the DNA replication process: the levels of intensity of the light to which the fledgling stock is exposed are the thin dividing lines between an individual with normal blood cells, and one with sickle cell anemia. I am both intimidated and humbled by the amount of information presented by Brakhage, it reminds me to not take advantage of the modern film-making technologies so readily available to me. The great ferocity with which one must approach film-making, as well as the extensive level of involvement the film-maker must have with the medium, strengthens the bond between the film-maker and their art. This bond-- the cement between layers of spliced film stock, the meticulous scraping of emulsion-- this knowledge of the interplay of light and shadow is impressed upon the film stock itself until it becomes an extension of the film-maker's body and soul. The multiple processes of decision making outlined by Brakhage-- whether to use Tungsten or Daylight film stock, the particular type of leader to manipulate, shutter speed, exposure, etc.-- are what draw the (experimental) film-maker away from the business of film. As Deren argues in her article Amateur Versus Professional, it is the lack of resources, of a budget, of strict studio regulations, that allow the film-maker artistic freedom to reflect upon an array of concepts without the limitation of a capitalistic cinema. By simply making film for the love of film and not to appease a deadline, the film-maker can immerse themselves into their art entirely. The film-maker is thus liberated from the policies of a profit-driven operation, and left to their own devices, left to create beauty from necessity in order to communicate, on a much more immediate and intimate level, with their audience through both the production and exhibition of their film.

Auto-Bio

How do you do, fellow kids?
My full name, and alter ego, is Corinne Elizabeth Tabor-- three sequential names that flow smoothly together to create a regal cadence when spoken aloud; I find it more befitting to go by Cori instead. I was born into an incredibly musical family, with an incredibly large extended Irish-Catholic family, resulting in incredibly loud, yet inviting family gatherings full of biting sarcasm and late-night drunken singing. My passion for film begins with my family, my desire to capture these passing moments where my grandmother's living room is so boisterous, so full of love that it probably violates the city's noise ordinances. As a musician, I have always struggled to emulate through song-- through my own words and melodies-- the beauty I see in these basic human interactions and affections. Film, however, allows me the ability to articulate such sentiments in a way that permits viewers to inhabit the mind of the camera, to interpret the image closer to how I intended, and potentially communicate information in an emotionally resonant way.

While I have lived in Wilmington for the majority of my life, I transferred to UNCW from UNC-Chapel Hill, where I was on-track to double major in Journalism (with a focus in multi-media) and Islamic Studies, with a minor in the Arabic Language. After a series of quite unfortunate events, I decided to take a leave of absence to regain some kind of balance in my life, which brought me back home. Presently, I work at a popular burger-joint called P.T.'s Olde Fashioned Grille-- I have convinced myself that I am already dead, and am just serving out my purgatory before I can reach paradise-- in addition to babysitting/dog-sitting/house-sitting around town. It is my intention to graduate by December of 2017, as I will have exceeded the maximum credits at that point, with a double major in Film Studies and International Studies with a focus in the Middle East (and/or environmental science). My ultimate dream is to write for sketch-comedy segments at NBC or to direct politically charged documentary films, however I would settle for any low-level position as long as it gets me on a set.