Archive for the ‘art’ Category

8-bit Luminosity

Wednesday, August 31st, 2011

About a year and a half ago I lit a dance piece that explored the relationship between humanity and technology. It had a large video component including live interactive video. In considering the light I wanted to create a world bridging the space between the human and the technological. The lighting rig was small and consisted of a mixture of incandescent lights and fluorescents. All the lights were in a color range of 4500-5600K. Daylight.

The use of fluorescents was obvious once I made it but my reasoning behind their use in that piece was a little different than “I want cold and mechanical.” If you look at the color spectrum of an incandescent light it is a gentle wave with peaks in the amber range and valleys in the cyan, but soft and gentle slopes define the nature of the light emitted from those sources. Fluorescent light is something else entirely. Like other discharge sources the wave form of the light spectrum is comprised of sharp 90 degree peaks and valleys as well as violent spikes in certain sections of the visible spectrum.

It was this digital quality that I was interested in. And while the fluorescent is an explicit example of digital light, behind the scenes it is all digital. With the exception of the most primitive lighting systems every light used in live performance is controlled by a computer. We see intensity values in the human friendly 0-100% range but this is just for ease of readout displays. The computer sends 0-255 hex values across a digital network to dimmers which convert those values into percentages of a 10v sine wave that gets chopped at various points depending upon the value received. map(0, 255, 0, 10); map(0, 10, 0, 100);

But light, especially incandescent light, is intensely analog. Anyone who has tried to do a zero count blackout and been frustrated when a zero count really takes about 0.5 seconds to reach complete darkness knows this. The problem is made worse dealing with larger lamps like a 5K where a blackout can take upwards of ten seconds.

Working in this digital medium for a while now I have seen points of interest come and go. I will find myself obsessed with color for months or years on end and then spend long periods of time only working with monochromatic palettes. I will explore texture or angle or the very quality of light itself in similar fad like ways. Yet two currents of aesthetic inquiry remain constant in my work. One is an interest in natural and organic forms and movements. The other, and deeply related to the first, is an inquiry into random chance and chaotic events.

Light provides ample opportunity to explore both of these ideas. Most digital lighting control is sufficiently sophisticated to get decent random effects tried out and there is as much or more technology available to explore ideas of organic forms.

At the same time there are distinct limitations. The scale of many of the ideas I want to try are cost prohibitive in the lighting realm, certainly on my own meager budget. While I can try out a handful of ideas on various shows, most shows I design do not lend themselves to the kinds of explorations that I am truly interested in. Thus it becomes a game of waiting for that one show to test that one idea.

Enter the world of computer graphics. It only takes a couple minutes to copy the code for John Conway’s Game of Life. From there, myriad parameters can be explored and manipulated for interesting results. Even the largest lighting rig does not contain the complexity to look at emergent forms and patterns in chaos at any scale of interest. Yet just a few lines of code can do all that and more.

The world we live in is technologic and interconnected. For art to truly capture the spirit of the world it must engage directly with that reality. Embracing and exploring our increasingly digital lives is both obvious and obscure. It is easy to put a cell phone on stage, or build a sculpture out of used computer parts, or paint with pixels. But doing that in such a way that furthers our understanding of our own humanity is the difficult task.

With the addition of a single color and a slight blur effect the Game of Life evolves from blinky computer simulation, to lifelike organic drama. It is turning a microscope on bits and capturing their millisecond of life. The line between the analog nature of life and the digital nature of computers is thin if not outright illusory. The shifting pixels on the screen become a life and death battle for supremacy. Survival of the fittest. Light and dark become life and death.

Having been in the business of creating fantasy worlds my entire adult life, I never would have thought that moving on to such a small stage would open up so many possibilities.

TimeLapse

Tuesday, August 23rd, 2011

I’ve been in the process of learning a couple of computer graphics programs and the programming language Procesing. I have long been interested in video and computer graphics and have been interested in Processing for over a year since I first heard about it. Not having a background in CS I was intimidated by the rather opaque nature of staring at lines of code.

Fortunately the creators of Processing are also equally interested in teaching. And since they created the language for the development of computer art they are interested in teaching artists. As such they have written one of the best textbooks I have come across called Processing: A Programming Handbook for Visual Designers and Artists. It takes a total novice through the iterative process of writing computer programs.

I am a little over halfway through the book. I made the following out of a series of modified programs from the book. The image was taken by my with a film camera and then scanned. It is then convolved through a randomly generated kernel to create the flicker effect. The colored squares come from the RGB data of randomly selected pixels in the image extracted and used to fill translucent squares in random locations across the screen.

I would not go so far as to call this art. But it sure is fun.

Here’s a 30 second movie of the program’s output:


TimeLapse from lucaskrech.


and a link to the original program if you want to see more than a static 30 second snippet.

It’s the art stupid

Monday, February 28th, 2011

My work ranges a long vertical spectrum from the basements of art galleries to 1st National Broadway tours. It also has a wide aesthetic spectrum from the deeply esoteric dramatizations of post-Heideggerian texts to popular farce. I light for dance, opera, theater, live music, art installations, and more. No matter what medium I am working in, in whatever aesthetic vein, for however much money, the common thread is that we are all striving to make the best work possible.

It is an amazing thing to behold really. Because when it comes right down to it, if you are not in this for the love of the art you better get out fast. The hours are terrible, the money is worse, projects are inconveniently timed, and career advancement takes a long time as you slowly watch your mentors and idols die off. And did I mention the money was bad and the hours are worse?

There’s an old joke that runs something like this:
Q: How do you make a small fortune in the theater?
A: Start out with a large fortune.

Because of these realities of time and money and love of the product, we all make sacrifices. Some of us work shitty jobs to fund our underfunded art. Others take a de facto vow of poverty. Some are blessed with independent wealth which allows them maintain some degree of creature comfort. And should you be cursed with success every relationship outside of the work is negatively impacted.

The only other group I can think of who willingly suffers in this way is the National Masochist Association. So why do we do it?

I had a mentor of mine once say “If you can think of ANYthing else to do with your life that would make you happy, do that.” Being as I couldn’t, I didn’t. And why not?

Because the magic of creation is unlike anything else I have ever done in my life. Creating a work of art, a true work of art, one that engenders more questions in me than answers, one that leaves an audience breathless, wondering, joyful, and full of tears, is an experience unlike any other. Taking a dark room, a black box, and filling it with another world that moves and changes and transforms, is the most wonderful thing I can think to do.

The only other activity I have engaged in that gave me a similar sense of satisfaction was back when I did black and white photography. Shooting the film was fun. Waiting for it to develop was nice. But watching an image, my image, appear as if by magic, through the rippling tray of chemicals, on a formerly blank white piece of paper was amazing. Tweaking the various filters and exposure times to get the image just the right balance of light and dark was awesome.

So it is with light. Watching the curtain open to reveal a new world is an astonishing thing to be a part of.


Et by Andrew Skeels

Art is not easy and it does not come cheaply. It is no wonder then that throughout human history artists have been supported by nation states, corporations, or wealthy individuals. These people, like the artist herself, do it because of their love for the work. It does not make fiscal sense to pay for a piece of canvass encrusted with pigment infused oils, or to build a theater and attempt to recreate Greek Drama through the use of sung, rather than spoken, words.

No. These people, be they the Vatican, the de Medicis, or the Guggenheims play such a significant role in the creation of art because they love it. Perhaps they love it for reasons other than the creators. Perhaps that love runs less than altruistic. But love it they do. There are far more expedient means to social and political influence than artistic patronage. Without a love of the work there is no reasonable excuse for such otherwise absurd behavior.

Even contemporary examples are, I am confident, borne out of love for the art. While the current Spider-Man musical engenders no end of schadenfreude I firmly believe its creators are there for the sole purpose of making the best work they know how to do. I know some of them personally and can not imagine them doing anything else.

It is easy to sit at some distance from a trainwreck and point fingers and claim those involved are not “true” artists. It is hard to truly accept the fact that these people have the highest artistic standards for themselves and are pushing themselves as far as they can go. I’ve been involved in some trainwrecks myself. They are very unpleasant.

Art is not easy. Art is a delicate balance. A very delicate balance. When one item is off, by even a very slight amount, it affects every other aspect of the work. Sometimes balance is regained. Sometimes not. But if you never find yourself off balance during the creation of a work of art I have a hunch you are not trying hard enough.

at the end of the tunnel

Monday, February 14th, 2011

During the Passover Seder participants relate the liberation of Jews from Egypt to their own lives. The word for Egypt is Mitzrayyim. While used to refer to the Egypt of Jewish enslavement, Mitzrayyim translates into English as “a narrow or tight place.” During the Seder you examine your life and your own Mitzrayyim and how you have been liberated.

Over the past few weeks we have repeatedly heard the phrase “witness to history” with regards to events in present day Egypt. Since January 25th the common people gathered in Tahrir Square, itself a literal narrow place, in protest of their totalitarian government. This weekend they were delivered from that modern day Pharaoh. How appropriate then that Tahrir translated into English means “Liberation.”

The value of spirituality lies in the ability of metaphor to shed a light on aspects of our lives which are lacking or perhaps, more importantly, on aspects of our life where we lack gratitude. Far and away the situation of most Jews on the planet today is so far removed from the situation dealt with in Exodus as to bear a kinship in name alone. Yet even sixty years ago things did not look so good.

Times change.

The darkness of a tunnel can be foreboding when looking to the side at the imprisoning walls or backwards at the evidence of a long journey. Yet like that narrow place in Egypt it is only temporary. Up ahead shines a light. Outside the tunnel it is a clear and beautiful day.

In 2008 I watched as project after project I had been asked to light lost its funding and either cancelled entirely or reduced from an Off-Broadway to a Showcase contract. Projects fell apart and companies cut seasons. It was not a fun period. By the end of the year I felt brutalized by the economics of theater. Not one year before I was riding high on a fully booked schedule that had me darting back and forth across the country and across the Atlantic. I had no idea what was to come next.

At the end of 2008 I made a rather rash decision. The pretext I used was one of optimism, but the real cause was far from that. My career, it appeared from where I stood, had fallen apart. Time to put down the cards, round up the remaining chips, and go home. There was an air of defeat that I felt which was honestly a quite novel experience for me. Or at least it had been so long it felt new.

Needless to say, the proximate cause of my return to California dissolved in a blaze of glory in rather short order. Add to that a continuing downward trend in the economics of art and things looked bleak. Companies were scaling back on travel expenses. What had made my first year on the West Coast financially viable, the fact that I was for all intents and purposes not working on the West Coast, was now gone. 2010 was going to be rough.

2010, much to my surprise, was far more interesting than I would have first expected.

My friend Mark took over as Artistic Director of a small opera company in the area. We had met a few years before when I was the lighting assistant at SF Opera and he was an assistant director. We had done one show together since that time. As he took over the company he asked if I would light their season. The company was traveling through its own narrow place when Mark took over. The budgets were tightened to the breaking point and they had just lost their long time venue.

Mark found a new venue, twice the size of their last one, and took the reigns of the company directing a new production of Don Giovanni. The show was a hit selling out its brief run and, as if rounding that last corner in a dark tunnel, light began to shine in. I lit three more shows for Mark’s company that year.

The end of the year brought another interesting collaboration. Director Jon Tracy, who had seen my work several times through projects I had done with his fiancee, asked me to light his newest work. The sequel to his, then running, outdoor adaptation of The Iliad. This would be the second chapter, The Odyssey. It was a phenomenal project both on purely artistic merits and for the quality of the collaboration. Of The Earth finished out the year to raving critical success.

While not the best year by economic standards it was quite satisfying creatively.

Finding myself in a bit of a narrow place financially, my deliverance came through creativity. What saved me was, quite literally, the light at the end of the tunnel. A 2K Fresnel perhaps, gelled in L201.

While the financial trials of an American pale next to the struggles of the oppressed to speak freely, they are for each a Mitzrayyim. We can only observe our fellow humans in their tunnels lost in the darkness. It up to each of us, as individuals, to turn our heads away from the past and look up.

Fundamentals

Monday, January 10th, 2011

In learning new skills one, by necessity, focuses on fundamentals. You have to learn the rules before you can break them. Or you learn the rules so you know never to break them. In Zen mind, Beginner’s mind Shunryu Suzuki makes the observation that “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, in the expert’s there are few.” Suzuki encourages the student to cultivate a Beginner’s Mind such that they might continue to see unlimited possibility as they progress through deeper levels of awareness and understanding.

This cultivation of a Beginner’s Mind is no less important to art as it is to the study of Zen Buddhism. As one progresses in their artistic life it is seductive to see one’s accomplishments as proof that they have mastered a subject or a technique. I have come to that line of thinking myself from time to time. When I find myself there, I try and force myself back to a beginner’s state. I refocus my efforts on the fundamentals. My essays on color theory were written more as my own personal exercise in fundamentals than they were an attempt to demonstrate mastery. The same was true when writing about templates or most any other subject that appears in this blog.

Reminding myself of fundamentals can be a truly difficult task at times. This can be especially true when working in a space I know well. “Oh yeah, the sidelight spaces out like such and such.” But every set is different. Every show is different. This show might need a steeper angle than that last one. The comedy a lower angle than the drama.

It can be a hard discipline to actually sit yourself down and do all the worksheets. I’ll admit I cut corners from time to time. But in the end it is a far more enjoyable experience to finish focus early and go out for drinks than it is to stay late and move a whole sidelight system. It happens both ways. For every designer who doesn’t check each zone of sidelight there is an electrician who eyeballs the distance between the lights. And when those two meet, oh boy will it be a long and painful focus session.

We are dynamic creatures. We are either growing or we are dying. We are moving forwards or we are moving backwards. Never are we actually still. In order to keep moving ourselves forward, to keep evolving as individuals and as artists, we must keep a focus on improving ourselves. Be that through emotional awareness or artistic craft, if we are not working to improve then we are allowing our skills to atrophy.

Fundamentals.

Some friends of mine recently published a book on Cocktails. The myriad recipes for divine ambrosia can be intimidating to look at. Someone coming at them, unfamiliar with contemporary cocktailing, might balk at the use of mango and jalapeno in a drink. Or worse, think that a cocktail is nothing more than a bunch of random food items mixed together with some obscure booze.

But the reason these recipes are so effective is that they are born out of an understanding of cocktail fundamentals. The oldest definition of a cocktail is from 1806 and defines it as “a stimulating liquor composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters.” Rather simple. The Old Fashioned is the clearest example of this, but any classic cocktail, more or less, fits the bill. Many of these fancy newfangled cocktails are really just an elaboration on these original oldfangled cocktails.

Whether one is making a Filibuster or a Sazerac a knowledge of the fundamentals of cocktailing are necessary to make a first rate drink. Be they recipes from Jerry Thomas’ How to Mix drinks or the formulas laid down in David A. Embury’s The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, a master mixologist must know her fundamentals to make new concoctions worth drinking. Before inventing your own recipe, you need to master the Old Fashioned.

Design works the same way. Lighting is, first and foremost, about putting light where you want it and taking it away from where your don’t want it. Rather simple. This same principle applies whether we are talking about a one man monologue, or Spider-Man, or a tradeshow floor. The details might change. The technology might change. Yet the fundamental underlying principal remains the same.

This is why I like to look back at old lighting texts. Stanley McCandless or Jean Rosenthal deal in fundamentals. Back before we had automated everything, with hundreds of dimmers and almost limitless capacity, they were finding solutions to make a limited situation as flexible, durable, and dynamic as it could be. Returning to these basic texts can help us step back from the cutting edge of technology and actually look at what we are doing.

Finding access to that Beginner’s mind, focusing on the fundamentals, can keep us moving forward and perfecting our craft. With the Beginner’s Mind we keep working on the fundamentals, we keep growing. As we deepen our awareness we deepen the mastery of our craft.

A Poem

Friday, June 4th, 2010

I decided to write a poem today

I decided to write a poem today about the morning sun
streaming through my window
cool with a promise of warmth
waking me up so gently

I decided to write a poem today about rain
shadowing thirsty trees
waiting for just the right moment
to come say hello

I decided to write a poem today about the clouds
silver-grey and brilliant
shining with the sun behind them
just out of sight

I decided to write a poem today about sunsets
and skies filled with color
folded into clouds
over a calm blue bay settling in for a quiet evening

I decided to write a poem today
because I dream of light
more amazing than any I have seen
and wanted to share it with you

Exit through Novelty

Monday, May 24th, 2010

Yesterday I saw the film Exit Through the Gift Shop by street artist Banksy. The film is almost a meta-documentary following the exploits of a man who documented a great deal of street art over the course of several years and then became a street artist himself in the process.

Through the film viewers are given a solid introduction to the world of street art, some of the major players, motifs, and ideas, before the film shifts gears. In the end it becomes a critique of the very notion and meaning of art itself. The absurdity of the commercial artworld, galleries, auction houses, and the like, are shown in stark relief to the gritty working of a piece of art. Appropriately set largely in Los Angeles, the film grapples with notions of originality and authenticity contrasted against celebrity.

An issue that often plagues artists is originality and authenticity. To be anything more significant than mere decoration, art must constantly push its own boundaries and discover new frontiers of aesthetic exploration. As our society becomes increasingly remixed, truly new ideas become harder and harder to find. The duration of the new is ever decreasing as the rate of recouperation into the cultural feedback loop grows faster and faster. The latest fashions hit the racks of discount clothing stores like H&M mere days after debut on runways in Paris, Milan, and New York. Music, painting, photography, performance, all become elements to be remixed upon their release into the cultural data streams due to the near instantaneous rates of communication we have developed.

This fast culture, much like fast food, might satisfy our immediate desires but is not necessarily the healthiest option. Just as the cutting edge of food has taken on slow as its moniker, perhaps culture at large would do well to consider a slower pace. Slow art.

I went to the Whitney Biennial the other day and was radically underwhelmed by the work presented. The biennial, by focusing on contemporary American art, gives a kind of snapshot look at the state of the artworld right now. While I can only assume the camera was in focus, the image it rendered was dull and uninspired. Like the work of Mister Brain Wash in Exit Through the Gift Shop it felt dull, repetitive, uninspired, and derivative. The work felt bored. Not boring, bored. As if there were no suitable subjects left to cover. Or the work had been created without bothering to truly look and find a suitable subject.

There was no sense of a point of view displayed, although there was lots of amazing technique. Don’t get me wrong, there was immense talent. But the talent resided at a craft level only. That deeper level of inspiration was lacking.

Art is first about looking. Before you can make, you must see. You must be able to see the world around you as the unique thing that it is. Then you must see it anew. When you create, you are presenting the world with a window into your particular vision of that world. Duchamp, after Nude Descending a Staircase, taught the world to see differently. He taught us to see both the world in general, and art in particular in a wholly new light. He called the very notion of art, of what can be art, into question.

We can see these kinds of aesthetic ruptures in the flow of creation throughout the history of art. Caravaggio is another game changer. As critic Robert Hughes has said, “there was art before him and art after him, and they were not the same.”

Banksy has garnered international recognition for his work through politicizing an inherently political art form. Graffiti has been around since humanity lived in caves. The first art was public art executed on walls in public space. It is as old as human consciousness itself. In its modern form it rose to prominence in New York in the 1970′s appearing on subway cars and train cars. Despite some critical acclaim it did not truly hit the mainstream until, like many American artforms, it had a white face to champion the medium. Like Elvis turning Blues to Rock and Roll or Shepard Fairey turning Grafiti into street art, the work was finally given an establishment legitimacy it previously lacked.

Banksy radicalized the form by creating deeply political works in highly charged locations like Israel’s West Bank barrier. His own work has called into question the legitimacy of art world standards as far as what qualifies as art by placing his own works inside museums like London’s National Gallery clandestinely.

Every generation of artists asks the same questions. What is art? Why is art? The questions are answered, for better or worse, through the work itself. Some years may be inspired and some dull. The task of the artist is to keep asking the questions and to answer as honestly and authentically as possible. In order to arrive at a truly authentic answer, we must slow down and take the time to look.

On Inspiration

Monday, May 10th, 2010

The question of inspiration is one that is central to any creative person. While inspiration might not be thought of in the moment, its lack is one of the most terrifying things to be felt in a creative pursuit. Writer’s block is probably the most commonly heard version of this, but the problem can plague anyone working creatively.

While there is no surefire cure for the problem, there are numerous strategies we can employ to not only prevent it from arising in the first place, but to create a plethora of creativity such that we never approach such a situation. For those of us working on deadlines, like an opening night, we quite literally do not have time to be bogged down with writer’s block. We must simply get to work.

Inspiration can come from any direction and often can hit us by surprise when least looking for it. While we can not ensure that we will be struck by inspiration we can create situations that will increase the chances that we will. In short, we can create our own luck. We may not know what bit of stimulus will spawn a creative flurry, but we can be open to new sources of stimulus, new ideas, new images, new sounds, new people, and new art. Ninety-nine percent of all this will just be enjoyable diversion, but that one percent is invaluable. That one new painting, or new restaurant, or random conversation will spark a creative fire that could not have happened without it.

This kind of luck requires two discrete actions on our part. The first is access to novelty. We must actually experience these things. We must go to the museum, or the movie, or the concert, or the library. This is the easy part. Every day we are exposed to novelty if we are open to seeing it. And that is the second, deeper, and more difficult aspect of this. We must be open to new experiences. We must train ourselves to see things in a new light. Inspiration often comes from seeing the familiar in a new and unique manner. We must take each moment as the new, unique, and novel thing that it is.

I find exposing myself to new art, new music, new people and so forth to be mandatory as an artist. Seeing the old as new, reframing the familiar as the novel, is a powerful exercise to increase novelty in your life and thus increase your luck in discovering the right spark for that next project. Situationists like Guy Debord used techniques like the derive to give new meaning to the familiar environment of their well worn urban streets.

While the SI looks a bit old fashioned from the perspective of the early 21st century, their techniques, or variants on them, can be profoundly powerful. Breaking with routine has an amazing effect on the creative mind. That break in routine can be through something wholly new, or it can come from turning the familiar into the novel.

I find music to be a powerful source of inspiration. While I will certainly listen to a single album, score, or a general genre, one thing I love to do is put my entire music collection on shuffle and hit play. The juxtaposition of a Mozart symphony with minimal techno with gangsta rap presents me with a kind of aural derive drifting between radically different musical styles, causing my mind to reprogram connections as it finds similarities between previously disparate songs.

I remember, years ago, going to a poetry event somewhere in the East Village. There were people reading works, and poems on the walls to be read. There was music, and wine, and shifting lighting. Perhaps a bit more raucous than what many people think of when they think poetry event. But then this is New York. There was a station set up with a typewriter. Guests were encouraged to sit down and write for five minutes. It was timed. When the timer was started, in addition to the lighting and music for the general room, a boom box was played, flashlights were shined on the person, and several books were read aloud right in their ears. The effect of this was to wholly shortcircuit the thinking rational part of the brain and leave only the creative generative part able to function in the sensory barrage. Manufactured Inspiration.

One of the simplest sources of inspiration I find is in living life. Simply being open to experience and aware of one’s surroundings and interactions with others can provide a deep and rich palette upon which to draw. Unfortunately too many people sleepwalk through their interactions in life. With a focus on what could have been or what might be they fail to actually take the time to appreciate what is. Being in the present is where the creative power lives. Cultivating presence of mind is an invaluable exercise to build one’s creative muscles.

The quest for inspiration is eternal. As we move through experiences our perception of different inputs as sources for inspiration will shift and change. It is necessary to be vigilant and create opportunities for inspiration that change with our changing needs.

What inspires you?

For Your Viewing Pleasure

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010

Thomas Wilfred was a musician and light artist working in the early 20th century. He created his Lumia Devices by hand and while not an engineer by training the few extant creations of his still function lagely with their original parts. While this digital reconstruction is nothing like watching one of the analogue originals, the movement, colors, and patterns are still quite striking and engaging.

For more information on Thomas Wilfred and his Lumia devices check out this site. To see a slideshow of stills from one of his works click here.

Enjoy!


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