Delicate whispers from Manekinekod feat. Petra Hermanova.
Mirror Karate from Germany with Janine for this duet.
A love song from Maria Slovakova. I do spoken word and pictures.
For you Katrina with some quality videos too. One’s head and all the wracking voices living inside.3 hearts
Benoit Paille is a canadian photographer.
I am above all else constantly experimenting with my immediate environment, both social and natural. To put it more accurately, my work focuses on questioning the limits imposed by humanity.
How can one push away these self imposed limits and constraints. Or, as in my most recent series, how to redefine the landscape with the help of a manmade light presence. While playing with the boundaries between conventions, I try to find a personal definition of established photographic genres.
At the heart of this research, light is predominant in the process of sublimation of the commonplace, of the forgotten and neglected subject. I work and explore light as I would a sculptural media, as a matrix of what we can see and interpret. I feel that showing banality could make it extraordinary, and thus I take great care to create repetitions, through a rigorous and obsessive series-oriented approach, motivated by a quest for pure aesthetics.4 hearts
You can lose your way groping among the shadows of the past. It’s frightening how many people and things there are in a man’s past that have stopped moving. The living people we’ve lost in the crypts of time sleep so soundly side by side with the dead that the same darkness envelops them all.3 hearts
Godard‘s Adieu au langage at the movie theater.
Lights go out. Ten minutes later, some spectators sense that the common idea of story doesn’t belong to this movie.
Someone begins to grumble.
The 3D vision combined with deliberately imperfect focal planes and “wrong” camera movements cause headaches and dizziness. Grumbles become moans.
Shortly after, when an actress farts, an indignant lady leaves the theater. Then, a shitting dog claims another victim.
End of the movie. Lights go on, and a man insults the medium between him and the director, that is to say the screen.
It’s been a physical experience as well as mental endurance training. Impossible not to reflect on the role of spectator, sitting on a comfortable and burgeois chair: the spark is the discomfort, the anger that author induces.
The movie, barely unwatchable, takes its meaning because is directed by the great maestro, and at the same time escapes (or deceptively do) from the cultural market that phagocytizes everything. In this sense, this is a great work.
I like to imagine Godard himself hiding in dark theaters during the screening, filming the worst reactions and insults of the spectators. Waiting for the sequel.3 hearts