{"title":"What All Comes Clear on Such a Morning. You","authors":"Durs Grünbein, R. Waldrop","doi":"10.2307/25304889","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/25304889","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42508,"journal":{"name":"CHICAGO REVIEW","volume":"48 1","pages":"111"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2002-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/25304889","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"69014912","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"On a Serpent Painted on the Aft of a Ship","authors":"Hipponax, Alexandra Papaditsas, Kent Johnson","doi":"10.2307/25305010","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/25305010","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42508,"journal":{"name":"CHICAGO REVIEW","volume":"48 1","pages":"98"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2002-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/25305010","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"69015993","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Throughout Stan Brakhage's career, the quality most often ascribed to his work has been "visionary". Certainly many of the statements the filmmaker has made over the years concerning his motives and methods have evoked such an understanding. Indeed, he has encouraged the development of a critical vocabulary concerning his work that centered around the presentation of a "way of seeing." However, Brakhage has also insisted, from the very beginning of his film career, upon the relationship of his film work to the world around him. The films themselves testify to the range of his attention. In his work Brakhage has depicted the daily, seasonal, and enduring processes of nature and of human nature. He has scrutinized flora and fauna, pondered geology and cosmology. He has meditated upon the society within which he and his family and all other Americans live. Through the imagery he has extracted from his surroundings, he has contemplated its assumptions, its belief systems, its practices--its institutions and its s tructures. He has confronted its taboos. His films on sexuality and death have been landmark explorations of the territory, and have inspired controversy as much for the daring of their subject matter as for their treatment of it. Despite Brakhage's occasional claim that he may be the "most documentary of filmmakers," he has been consistently critical of documentary film techniques. Troubled by what he considers to be the unquestioning identification of film or television imagery with the complex reality existing in front of any camera, he has consistently foregrounded this skepticism by reminding his friends and colleagues as well as his students and audiences of the built-in perspectival7 conventions that a camera lens imposes, and by drawing their attention to what he believes are the "19th-century dramatic structures" lurking behind the presentation of television news and many documentary films. From the late 1950s to the mid-1970s, while Brakhage was coming into his own as a filmmaker, the documentary film was undergoing a transformation in style and practice as well as an accompanying surge of popularity. Changes in documentary technique, style, and theory would come to serve throughout these years as a ground for Brakhage's changing style. The positing of an ideal documentary form, in which the subject of the film could be captured directly, without any interpretative fashioning of the filmmaker--as held against the acknowledgment of the likelihood, the desirability, and ultimately, even the inevitability of the filmmaker's shaping sensibility--provided documentary filmmakers with a central dilemma, complex and highly significant for both their theories and their practices in the 1960s and throughout the 1970s. As a consequence of the range of theoretical views of documentary that were being put forth, which included the sense that documentary film had a specific and intimate relationship with the life around it, the documentary becam
在Stan Brakhage的整个职业生涯中，他的作品最常被赋予的品质是“有远见”。当然，这位电影制作人多年来所做的关于他的动机和方法的许多声明都引起了这样的理解。事实上，他鼓励发展一种关于他的作品的批判性词汇，以呈现一种“看的方式”为中心。然而，从他的电影生涯开始，布拉哈格也坚持他的电影作品与他周围世界的关系。这些电影本身就证明了他的关注范围。在他的作品中，布拉哈格描绘了自然和人性的日常、季节性和持久的过程。他仔细研究过动植物，思考过地质学和宇宙学。他思考过他和他的家庭以及所有其他美国人所生活的社会。通过他从周围环境中提取的意象，他思考了它的假设、它的信仰体系、它的实践——它的制度和结构。他已经直面了它的禁忌。他关于性和死亡的电影是对这一领域的里程碑式探索，并因其大胆的主题和处理方式而引发争议。尽管布拉哈格偶尔声称他可能是“最纪实的电影人”，但他一直对纪录片技术持批评态度。他认为电影或电视图像与任何镜头前存在的复杂现实毫无疑问是一致的，这让他感到困扰，他一直通过提醒他的朋友、同事、学生和观众摄影机镜头所施加的固有视角惯例，来强调这种怀疑。通过将他们的注意力吸引到他认为潜伏在电视新闻和许多纪录片呈现背后的“19世纪戏剧结构”上。从20世纪50年代末到70年代中期，当布拉克哈格成为一名真正的电影人时，纪录片正在经历风格和实践的转变，以及随之而来的人气激增。这些年来，纪录片技术、风格和理论的变化为布拉哈格不断变化的风格奠定了基础。设想一种理想的纪录片形式，在这种形式中，电影的主题可以被直接捕捉，而无需电影人的任何解释性塑造——这与承认电影人塑造感性的可能性、可取性，乃至最终的必然性相抵触——为纪录片电影人提供了一个核心困境，这个困境对他们在20世纪60年代和整个70年代的理论和实践都是复杂而重要的。由于一系列关于纪录片的理论观点被提出，其中包括纪录片与周围生活有一种特殊而亲密的关系，纪录片在20世纪60年代末和70年代初成为一种特别有活力和重要的形式。这种活力吸引了许多电影人对其实践的复杂性。斯坦·布拉哈格(Stan Brakhage)就是这些电影人之一，他的同事和朋友中包括了理查德·利科克(Richard Leacock)和罗伯特·加德纳(Robert Gardner)等纪录片形式的大师。在《狗星人》(Dog Star Man, 1961-1964)完成后，一直到20世纪60年代末，布拉哈格电影制作实践的变化越来越明显。尽管从《狗星人》到《歌曲》(1964-1966)，从《歌曲》到《童年时代的场景》(1967-70)，布拉克哈格很快就完成了创作，但从1965年起，布拉克哈格的通信描述了他在寻找新的创作方法时近乎持续的不满和偶尔的绝望。Brakhage第一次努力改变他的风格，结果是他的表现越来越简单。在这段时间里，他在电影中的工作方法出现了一种紧张关系，他认为摄影的首要任务是捕捉镜头前的东西，而他自己作为一个艺术家需要塑造电影体验。．..
{"title":"The \"Document\" Correspondence of Stan Brakhage","authors":"M. Nesthus","doi":"10.2307/25304811","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/25304811","url":null,"abstract":"Throughout Stan Brakhage's career, the quality most often ascribed to his work has been \"visionary\". Certainly many of the statements the filmmaker has made over the years concerning his motives and methods have evoked such an understanding. Indeed, he has encouraged the development of a critical vocabulary concerning his work that centered around the presentation of a \"way of seeing.\" However, Brakhage has also insisted, from the very beginning of his film career, upon the relationship of his film work to the world around him. The films themselves testify to the range of his attention. In his work Brakhage has depicted the daily, seasonal, and enduring processes of nature and of human nature. He has scrutinized flora and fauna, pondered geology and cosmology. He has meditated upon the society within which he and his family and all other Americans live. Through the imagery he has extracted from his surroundings, he has contemplated its assumptions, its belief systems, its practices--its institutions and its s tructures. He has confronted its taboos. His films on sexuality and death have been landmark explorations of the territory, and have inspired controversy as much for the daring of their subject matter as for their treatment of it. Despite Brakhage's occasional claim that he may be the \"most documentary of filmmakers,\" he has been consistently critical of documentary film techniques. Troubled by what he considers to be the unquestioning identification of film or television imagery with the complex reality existing in front of any camera, he has consistently foregrounded this skepticism by reminding his friends and colleagues as well as his students and audiences of the built-in perspectival7 conventions that a camera lens imposes, and by drawing their attention to what he believes are the \"19th-century dramatic structures\" lurking behind the presentation of television news and many documentary films. From the late 1950s to the mid-1970s, while Brakhage was coming into his own as a filmmaker, the documentary film was undergoing a transformation in style and practice as well as an accompanying surge of popularity. Changes in documentary technique, style, and theory would come to serve throughout these years as a ground for Brakhage's changing style. The positing of an ideal documentary form, in which the subject of the film could be captured directly, without any interpretative fashioning of the filmmaker--as held against the acknowledgment of the likelihood, the desirability, and ultimately, even the inevitability of the filmmaker's shaping sensibility--provided documentary filmmakers with a central dilemma, complex and highly significant for both their theories and their practices in the 1960s and throughout the 1970s. As a consequence of the range of theoretical views of documentary that were being put forth, which included the sense that documentary film had a specific and intimate relationship with the life around it, the documentary becam","PeriodicalId":42508,"journal":{"name":"CHICAGO REVIEW","volume":"47 1","pages":"133"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2001-12-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/25304811","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"69013290","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
MICHAEL McCLURE: Stan is a realm buster, and I use "realm" as the word is used in Biology and in Zen. Stan uses his energy and it's almost like moving his shoulders powerfully to break the walls between realms. Some of these realms are the concept of painting, the idea of poetry, the meaning of music, what portrait is, what personal physiology is; other realms that Stan opens up are human and other biology, also the nervous system, ideation--how things are conceived; and then there's the separation between hearing and seeing, sound and silence, and music and sound, which are all explored and more or less brought into one shape in his work. When enough realms are opened, the walls between them torn down or ignored away, then consciousness and concrete experience become one sizeless event in the sizeless event of the Taoist uncarved block which is either the universe or the body, as you see it. Stan likes to say that he was frustrated in his early desire to be a poet and that his hundreds of hours of film are closer to music than to poetry. I can appreciate that, especially in terms of Messiaen or Vivaldi. I also hear his delight in Madrigals, as much as other music. But Stan derives some of the organicity of his huge body of work from the style and thoughts of some liberated poets of today. I'm thinking of the works of Robert Duncan, as they branch like rivers and streams, one from another, lighting the dark of the night or lighting the dark of the body and mind. There's also the sizeless willingness of Charles Olson's spirit in Stan's films--Olson's willingness to let things break, to let things fall down and go boom, and to trust that they will all land on all fours. Further, there's the sheer trusting experimentality of Gertrude Stein in Stan's work and there's Stan's love of the wry, aesthetic wit and intellective delicacy of Louis Zukofsky. I first met Stan in 1954, at which point he has described himself as being "the houseboy of Robert Duncan and Jess Collins," meaning by that that he helped them fix meals, do dishes, and slept in the flat below their place. I had just begun to know Robert Duncan and less Collins through Robert's first poetry workshop at San Francisco State, which included myself and Helen Adam, a balladeer of the strange and haunted, who was in her girlhood in Scotland called the Fairy Poet. On what was perhaps my first visit to Robert and Jess's San Francisco fiat in 1954, Stan came upstairs to visit. My impression was that Stan was inhabiting the floor below Robert and Jess, which was the housing, as I understood it, for the Centaur Press of Kermit Sheets and James Broughton. Stan is the same age as I am, within a few months, and also as I am, Kansas born. When I saw his huge head with dark, tousled hair and intense eyes that were simultaneously focused and staring, I recognized a kindred spirit. I saw Stan visiting Duncan's lectures at the workshop he was teaching on a number of occasions. Stan was absorbing the energet
{"title":"Realm Buster: Stan Brakhage","authors":"M. Mcclure, Stephen Anker","doi":"10.2307/25304814","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/25304814","url":null,"abstract":"MICHAEL McCLURE: Stan is a realm buster, and I use \"realm\" as the word is used in Biology and in Zen. Stan uses his energy and it's almost like moving his shoulders powerfully to break the walls between realms. Some of these realms are the concept of painting, the idea of poetry, the meaning of music, what portrait is, what personal physiology is; other realms that Stan opens up are human and other biology, also the nervous system, ideation--how things are conceived; and then there's the separation between hearing and seeing, sound and silence, and music and sound, which are all explored and more or less brought into one shape in his work. When enough realms are opened, the walls between them torn down or ignored away, then consciousness and concrete experience become one sizeless event in the sizeless event of the Taoist uncarved block which is either the universe or the body, as you see it. Stan likes to say that he was frustrated in his early desire to be a poet and that his hundreds of hours of film are closer to music than to poetry. I can appreciate that, especially in terms of Messiaen or Vivaldi. I also hear his delight in Madrigals, as much as other music. But Stan derives some of the organicity of his huge body of work from the style and thoughts of some liberated poets of today. I'm thinking of the works of Robert Duncan, as they branch like rivers and streams, one from another, lighting the dark of the night or lighting the dark of the body and mind. There's also the sizeless willingness of Charles Olson's spirit in Stan's films--Olson's willingness to let things break, to let things fall down and go boom, and to trust that they will all land on all fours. Further, there's the sheer trusting experimentality of Gertrude Stein in Stan's work and there's Stan's love of the wry, aesthetic wit and intellective delicacy of Louis Zukofsky. I first met Stan in 1954, at which point he has described himself as being \"the houseboy of Robert Duncan and Jess Collins,\" meaning by that that he helped them fix meals, do dishes, and slept in the flat below their place. I had just begun to know Robert Duncan and less Collins through Robert's first poetry workshop at San Francisco State, which included myself and Helen Adam, a balladeer of the strange and haunted, who was in her girlhood in Scotland called the Fairy Poet. On what was perhaps my first visit to Robert and Jess's San Francisco fiat in 1954, Stan came upstairs to visit. My impression was that Stan was inhabiting the floor below Robert and Jess, which was the housing, as I understood it, for the Centaur Press of Kermit Sheets and James Broughton. Stan is the same age as I am, within a few months, and also as I am, Kansas born. When I saw his huge head with dark, tousled hair and intense eyes that were simultaneously focused and staring, I recognized a kindred spirit. I saw Stan visiting Duncan's lectures at the workshop he was teaching on a number of occasions. Stan was absorbing the energet","PeriodicalId":42508,"journal":{"name":"CHICAGO REVIEW","volume":"47 1","pages":"171"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2001-12-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/25304814","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"69013369","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Although American avant-gardist Stan Brakhage has achieved a level of expression comparable with more known contemplative filmmakers such as Ozu or Antonioni, he has remained a marginal figure. Great ness sometimes takes longer than artistic fashion will allow. By the time that Brakhage, who has been making films since 1952, began to make his most deeply felt and profoundly elegant visual work, he had virtu ally lost his audience. During the last fourteen years, interspersed among a variety of ventures into sound filmmaking, Brakhage has produced a body of silent work of fragile beauty that directly address our need for an intimate, tender, and prayerful cinema. This work, which we bring together on four nights during July, leaves behind the director's previous concerns with myth and family and centers on an upstream area of poetic exploration closest to the pinpoint of mind where light, spirit, and body come upon one an other. Cinema so rarely touches upon this "original place" that the viewer's only difficulty might be in trying to "read" these films?to conceptualize them into a literary film language?and therefore miss the joy of their direct and passionate play upon our metabolism. Seeing them is the key; the door of their revelation is the door through which we remember dreams.
{"title":"Stan Brakhage: Four Silent Nights","authors":"Nathaniel Dorsky","doi":"10.2307/25304817","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/25304817","url":null,"abstract":"Although American avant-gardist Stan Brakhage has achieved a level of expression comparable with more known contemplative filmmakers such as Ozu or Antonioni, he has remained a marginal figure. Great ness sometimes takes longer than artistic fashion will allow. By the time that Brakhage, who has been making films since 1952, began to make his most deeply felt and profoundly elegant visual work, he had virtu ally lost his audience. During the last fourteen years, interspersed among a variety of ventures into sound filmmaking, Brakhage has produced a body of silent work of fragile beauty that directly address our need for an intimate, tender, and prayerful cinema. This work, which we bring together on four nights during July, leaves behind the director's previous concerns with myth and family and centers on an upstream area of poetic exploration closest to the pinpoint of mind where light, spirit, and body come upon one an other. Cinema so rarely touches upon this \"original place\" that the viewer's only difficulty might be in trying to \"read\" these films?to conceptualize them into a literary film language?and therefore miss the joy of their direct and passionate play upon our metabolism. Seeing them is the key; the door of their revelation is the door through which we remember dreams.","PeriodicalId":42508,"journal":{"name":"CHICAGO REVIEW","volume":"47 1","pages":"192"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2001-12-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/25304817","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"69013387","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
1. Stan Brakhage is among the most inclusive of filmmakers. The almost omnivorous impulse behind his choices of subjects and styles makes it difficult to characterize his work in particularizing terms. Included in his films are the sun and the moon, television images, mountains, children on a merry-go-round, open-heart surgery, domesticated animals, a movie theater, tiny blood vessels, portraits of friends, abstract replications of "closed-eye vision," still photos of family members, Alaskan glaciers, Freud's house in Vienna, the filmmaker himself taking a leak, a Paris cemetery, Colorado's governor, childbirths, urban skylines, footage taken by his children, frames of solid color, found footage from an instructional film, and the filmmaker Paul Sharits making love with his wife. While many of Brakhage's films contain no representational images, others are photographed in a manner most would call reasonably "realistic." Underlying all of his films is an impulse to include the richness and variety of a fully live d life, from mundane experiences of dailiness, to images drawn from dreams, to attempts to produce abstractions unlike anything he's seen or imagined before. At close to 400 films, his oeuvre can seem confusing, and it may be that only Brakhage himself has seen every one of them. I find it useful to divide his output into two categories: the "main line" and "applied Brakhage." The "main line" represents most of his greatest work; it consists of films that evidence a quest which, while difficult to pin down, has an "isolating" and "abstracting" tendency that at least superficially seems to contradict the inclusiveness their variety of subjects would suggest. Key "main line" films include Anticipation of the Night (1958); The Art of Vision (1965); The Horseman, the Woman, and the Moth (1968); The Process (1972); The Riddle of Lumen (1972); Aquarien (1974); The Text of Light (1974); the photographed numerical series of the late 1970s and 1980s such as Romans, Arabics, and Egyptians; most of the parts of "..."(1998); many of the recent handpainted films; and the two photographed series of the last decade, Visions in Meditation (1989-90) and the "Vancouver Island films " (1991-2000). In each of these very different films one gets the sense that Brakhage has pushed his vision to a new level of isolating intensity. The images they contain are severed from previously predictable ways of knowing; in each film he reinvents his vision by explicitly undercutting any expectations (about subject-matter, composition, rhythm, and so on) created by his previous work. The "applied" films, in which he uses some aspects of his already-established style to render an individual subject, include Window Water Baby Moving (1959); "portrait" films such as Song 24 (1967), Hymn to Her (1974), Clancy (1974), and Gadflies (1976); the stunning nature film Creation (1979); and the 1971 "Pittsburgh documents" (eyes, Deus Ex, and The Act of Seeing with one's own eyes). Mo
1. Stan Brakhage是最具包容性的电影人之一。在他对主题和风格的选择背后，几乎是杂食性的冲动，这使得很难用特定的术语来描述他的作品。他的电影包括太阳和月亮、电视图像、山脉、旋转木马上的孩子、开胸手术、家养动物、电影院、微小的血管、朋友的肖像、“闭眼视觉”的抽象复制、家庭成员的静态照片，阿拉斯加的冰川，弗洛伊德在维也纳的房子，电影制作人自己在撒尿，巴黎的墓地，科罗拉多州的州长，分娩，城市的天线，他的孩子们拍摄的镜头，纯色的框架，从教学电影中找到的镜头，电影制作人保罗·沙里茨和他的妻子做爱。虽然布拉哈格的许多电影都没有代表性的图像，但其他电影的拍摄方式被大多数人称为合理的“现实主义”。他所有的电影背后都隐藏着一种冲动，那就是包括丰富多样的完整生活，从日常的平凡经历，到从梦中提取的图像，再到试图产生与他以前见过或想象过的任何东西不同的抽象。在近400部电影中，他的全部作品似乎令人困惑，可能只有布拉哈格自己看过每一部。我发现将他的产出分为两类很有用:“主线”和“应用制动”。“主线”代表了他最伟大的作品;它由一些电影组成，这些电影证明了一种探索，尽管难以确定，但有一种“孤立”和“抽象”的倾向，至少从表面上看，这种倾向似乎与它们的各种主题所暗示的包容性相矛盾。关键的“主线”电影包括《夜之期待》(1958);《视觉艺术》(1965);《骑士、女人和飞蛾》(1968);过程(1972);《流明之谜》(The Riddle of Lumen, 1972);Aquarien (1974);《光的文本》(1974);20世纪70年代末和80年代拍摄的数字系列，如罗马人、阿拉伯人和埃及人;“……”(1998)的大部分部分;最近的许多手绘电影;以及过去十年的两个摄影系列，冥想中的视觉(1989-90)和“温哥华岛电影”(1991-2000)。在每一部截然不同的电影中，人们都能感觉到布拉哈格将他的视野推向了一个新的高度，即孤立的强度。它们所包含的图像与以前可预测的认知方式相分离;在每一部电影中，他都通过明确地削弱他之前作品所创造的任何期望(关于主题，构图，节奏等)来重塑他的视野。在“应用”电影中，他使用他已经建立的风格的某些方面来渲染一个单独的主题，包括窗户水婴儿移动(1959);“肖像”电影，如《Song 24》(1967)、《Hymn to Her》(1974)、《Clancy》(1974)和《牛虻》(1976);令人惊叹的自然电影《创造》(1979);1971年的“匹兹堡文件”(eyes, Deus Ex, and the Act of Seeing with one eye)。这些电影中的大多数本身就是精彩的电影，与“主线”电影相比，人们可以在这里找到更多对特定主题表达的特殊态度。在《亲眼看见的行为》中，在尸体解剖过程中看到的可怕的尸体意象和布拉克哈格试图用这些人体碎片创作一首光诗之间存在着一种紧张关系，但这种方法对于观众来说已经很熟悉了，因为在《被记忆的天狼星》(1959)中，一只狗在树林里腐烂的画面更加极端地呈现了死亡的景象。在《看见的行为》中有一个强有力的时刻，在尸检过程中，一张脸从头骨上取下，在《天狼星》中狗头骨的简短图像中找到了类似的东西。但《天狼星》中的这些画面却具有真实的幽灵的特质:因为它们打断了摄像机疯狂俯冲的弧线，它们被体验为冲击观众整个感官的感知事件。相比之下，《看见的行为》中的尸体解剖就像是叙事故事的小片段。．..
{"title":"Brakhage's Contradictions","authors":"Fred Camper","doi":"10.2307/25304808","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/25304808","url":null,"abstract":"1. Stan Brakhage is among the most inclusive of filmmakers. The almost omnivorous impulse behind his choices of subjects and styles makes it difficult to characterize his work in particularizing terms. Included in his films are the sun and the moon, television images, mountains, children on a merry-go-round, open-heart surgery, domesticated animals, a movie theater, tiny blood vessels, portraits of friends, abstract replications of \"closed-eye vision,\" still photos of family members, Alaskan glaciers, Freud's house in Vienna, the filmmaker himself taking a leak, a Paris cemetery, Colorado's governor, childbirths, urban skylines, footage taken by his children, frames of solid color, found footage from an instructional film, and the filmmaker Paul Sharits making love with his wife. While many of Brakhage's films contain no representational images, others are photographed in a manner most would call reasonably \"realistic.\" Underlying all of his films is an impulse to include the richness and variety of a fully live d life, from mundane experiences of dailiness, to images drawn from dreams, to attempts to produce abstractions unlike anything he's seen or imagined before. At close to 400 films, his oeuvre can seem confusing, and it may be that only Brakhage himself has seen every one of them. I find it useful to divide his output into two categories: the \"main line\" and \"applied Brakhage.\" The \"main line\" represents most of his greatest work; it consists of films that evidence a quest which, while difficult to pin down, has an \"isolating\" and \"abstracting\" tendency that at least superficially seems to contradict the inclusiveness their variety of subjects would suggest. Key \"main line\" films include Anticipation of the Night (1958); The Art of Vision (1965); The Horseman, the Woman, and the Moth (1968); The Process (1972); The Riddle of Lumen (1972); Aquarien (1974); The Text of Light (1974); the photographed numerical series of the late 1970s and 1980s such as Romans, Arabics, and Egyptians; most of the parts of \"...\"(1998); many of the recent handpainted films; and the two photographed series of the last decade, Visions in Meditation (1989-90) and the \"Vancouver Island films \" (1991-2000). In each of these very different films one gets the sense that Brakhage has pushed his vision to a new level of isolating intensity. The images they contain are severed from previously predictable ways of knowing; in each film he reinvents his vision by explicitly undercutting any expectations (about subject-matter, composition, rhythm, and so on) created by his previous work. The \"applied\" films, in which he uses some aspects of his already-established style to render an individual subject, include Window Water Baby Moving (1959); \"portrait\" films such as Song 24 (1967), Hymn to Her (1974), Clancy (1974), and Gadflies (1976); the stunning nature film Creation (1979); and the 1971 \"Pittsburgh documents\" (eyes, Deus Ex, and The Act of Seeing with one's own eyes). Mo","PeriodicalId":42508,"journal":{"name":"CHICAGO REVIEW","volume":"47 1","pages":"69"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2001-12-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/25304808","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"69013239","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Cinematography is still so young that a ten-year-old boy who went to the first movie of them all, Louis and Auguste Lumiere's film of unrelated, everyday scenes, would now be only eighty, and might conceivably have seen all the movies ever made. It is not, then, either coincidence or design that the first film found subjects that the most seeing of eyes--Stan Brakhage's--are still inspecting. Lumiere's three subjects were "Feeding the Baby" (Brakhage's Song 11), "The Card Party" (Song 19), and "The Arrival of the Train at the Station" (Song 13). An earlier Lumiere, in fact the very first to be made, shows his employees leaving the factory, a milling of people kin to Brakhage's Song 12, the movements of people at an airport. By 1896, a matter of weeks after the December premiere of these films that merely watched the world, the public could see a gardener placidly watering his flowerbed. A neighbor comes to kibitz, and naturally stands on the hose, which goes dry. The gardener peers into the nozzle. The neighb or steps off the hose. Spurt. Dance of indignation. Brakhage deliberately went back to the first Lumiere, and is still not satisfied that he has exhausted, or ever will exhaust, the potential implicit in that arrangement of world and camera. When Brakhage comes to photograph the train, he is in another train, moving in the opposite direction. He is aware that the other train is doing what the shutter of his camera is doing, and what the gate of the projector will do afterwards: it is slicing up the strong landscape beyond into intermittent bits. He is also aware that he is photographing his own reflection, the only still thing in a film so busy of movement that the audience feels the same dismay as Lumiere's when it shifted nervously as the train it watched kept chugging toward them. Brakhage is photographing a scene most of us choose not to experience; there is something disturbing in the movement of trains witnessed in a moving (or still) train. Once we are past childhood, we prefer to stare at our stable shoes until we can see a less dizzying movement. We are content to call the first non-dramatic films "studies". From Muybridge's first analysis of motion onto six, twelve, and even twenty-four plates to the action clips of Donisthorpe and Skladanowsky, the camera was, as Cocteau noticed, a cow's eye. The newsreel and the scientific film have been allowed to look with a cow's eye (or eagle's, or lynx's) but the film has otherwise spent its sixty-eight years watching the gardener's face when his hose went dry. Once Brakhage had made Anticipation of the Night(1958) he had discovered that the camera had developed strenuously but one of the modes latent in the simple fact that it was an eye that could share its sight with any other eye. Brakhage's eye had learned, is still learning, to see in what may prove to be as many modes as physiology and spirit allow--which sounds fatuous until we realize that every eye is pattern-bound in what it sees
电影技术还很年轻，一个十岁的男孩去看了第一部电影，路易和奥古斯特·卢米埃尔夫妇拍摄的不相关的日常场景的电影，现在可能只有八十岁，可以想象，他已经看过所有的电影了。因此，第一部电影找到了斯坦·布拉哈格(Stan Brakhage)那双最敏锐的眼睛仍在审视的主题，这既不是巧合，也不是设计。卢米埃尔的三个主题是“喂婴儿”(布拉哈格的第11首)，“卡片派对”(第19首)和“火车到站”(第13首)。卢米埃尔早期的作品，实际上是最早制作的作品，展示了他的员工离开工厂，一群与布拉哈格的《第12首歌》相似的人，以及机场里人们的活动。到1896年，也就是这些电影12月首映几周后，公众可以看到一个园丁平静地浇灌他的花坛。一个邻居来到kibitz，自然站在水管上，水管变干了。园丁往喷嘴里看。邻居走下水管。冲刺。愤怒之舞。Brakhage故意回到了第一个Lumiere，他仍然不满意他已经耗尽了，或者永远不会耗尽，那种世界和相机安排中隐含的潜力。当布拉哈格来拍摄火车时，他正坐在另一列火车上，朝着相反的方向行驶。他意识到另一列火车正在做他的相机快门正在做的事情，以及之后投影仪的门将做的事情:它正在将远处强烈的风景切割成断断续续的小块。他也意识到，他正在拍摄自己的倒影，这是这部电影中唯一静止的东西，它是如此忙碌的运动，以至于当观众看到火车不停地向他们驶来时，他们紧张地移动着，就像卢米埃尔一样感到沮丧。Brakhage正在拍摄一个我们大多数人选择不去经历的场景;在一列行驶的(或静止的)火车上看到火车的运动是令人不安的。一旦我们过了童年，我们更喜欢盯着我们的稳定的鞋子，直到我们能看到一个不那么令人眼花缭乱的运动。我们满足于称第一批非戏剧电影为“研究”。从迈布里奇第一次对6、12、甚至24张底片的运动分析，到唐尼索普和斯克拉达诺夫斯基的动作片段，正如考克多注意到的那样，摄影机就像一只牛的眼睛。新闻片和科学电影被允许用牛的眼睛(或鹰的眼睛，或猞猁的眼睛)看，但电影在68年的时间里一直在观察园丁在水管干了时的脸。在布拉克哈格制作完《夜的期待》(1958)之后，他发现相机经过了艰苦的发展，但其中一种模式隐藏在一个简单的事实中，那就是它是一只可以与任何其他眼睛共享视线的眼睛。布拉克哈格的眼睛已经学会了，现在还在学习，在生理和精神允许的范围内尽可能多地观察——这听起来很愚蠢，直到我们意识到每只眼睛在它所看到的东西上都是有模式限制的，超过这个严重限制的是不熟练的，愚蠢的运动，迟钝的，真正意义上的失明。艺术总是教会我们去看;在世界历史上，第一次有一代人长大后意识到，他们可以在昏暗的光线中看到伦勃朗的身影，在秋天的树木中看到杰克逊·波洛克的身影，或者相反。眼睛的智慧是需要学习的。一年半以前，在完成了他的第一部杰作《狗星人》(Dog Star Man)之后，在大约四十部电影都以这样或那样的方式脱颖而出，并且都向外展示了看到《期待》开始的可能性之后，布拉哈格转向了一系列他称之为8毫米的歌曲，只有几分钟长的简短研究。《圣歌》以停顿开始。《狗星人》变成了《视觉艺术》。布拉哈格转向了短片，转向了猫洗澡的沉思行为。随着本世纪的艺术变得怪异，布拉哈格开始向内移动，进入沉默，进入小手势，进入最基本的安静(一只加拉帕戈斯群岛的乌龟在水里高处行走，一只油毡上的虫子，孩子们)。．..
{"title":"Brakhage's Songs (1966)","authors":"G. Davenport","doi":"10.2307/25304812","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/25304812","url":null,"abstract":"Cinematography is still so young that a ten-year-old boy who went to the first movie of them all, Louis and Auguste Lumiere's film of unrelated, everyday scenes, would now be only eighty, and might conceivably have seen all the movies ever made. It is not, then, either coincidence or design that the first film found subjects that the most seeing of eyes--Stan Brakhage's--are still inspecting. Lumiere's three subjects were \"Feeding the Baby\" (Brakhage's Song 11), \"The Card Party\" (Song 19), and \"The Arrival of the Train at the Station\" (Song 13). An earlier Lumiere, in fact the very first to be made, shows his employees leaving the factory, a milling of people kin to Brakhage's Song 12, the movements of people at an airport. By 1896, a matter of weeks after the December premiere of these films that merely watched the world, the public could see a gardener placidly watering his flowerbed. A neighbor comes to kibitz, and naturally stands on the hose, which goes dry. The gardener peers into the nozzle. The neighb or steps off the hose. Spurt. Dance of indignation. Brakhage deliberately went back to the first Lumiere, and is still not satisfied that he has exhausted, or ever will exhaust, the potential implicit in that arrangement of world and camera. When Brakhage comes to photograph the train, he is in another train, moving in the opposite direction. He is aware that the other train is doing what the shutter of his camera is doing, and what the gate of the projector will do afterwards: it is slicing up the strong landscape beyond into intermittent bits. He is also aware that he is photographing his own reflection, the only still thing in a film so busy of movement that the audience feels the same dismay as Lumiere's when it shifted nervously as the train it watched kept chugging toward them. Brakhage is photographing a scene most of us choose not to experience; there is something disturbing in the movement of trains witnessed in a moving (or still) train. Once we are past childhood, we prefer to stare at our stable shoes until we can see a less dizzying movement. We are content to call the first non-dramatic films \"studies\". From Muybridge's first analysis of motion onto six, twelve, and even twenty-four plates to the action clips of Donisthorpe and Skladanowsky, the camera was, as Cocteau noticed, a cow's eye. The newsreel and the scientific film have been allowed to look with a cow's eye (or eagle's, or lynx's) but the film has otherwise spent its sixty-eight years watching the gardener's face when his hose went dry. Once Brakhage had made Anticipation of the Night(1958) he had discovered that the camera had developed strenuously but one of the modes latent in the simple fact that it was an eye that could share its sight with any other eye. Brakhage's eye had learned, is still learning, to see in what may prove to be as many modes as physiology and spirit allow--which sounds fatuous until we realize that every eye is pattern-bound in what it sees ","PeriodicalId":42508,"journal":{"name":"CHICAGO REVIEW","volume":"47 1","pages":"157"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2001-12-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/25304812","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"69013297","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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