Videotyö The Tide in Kan Tiang (2016) on nyt esillä ensimmäistä kertaa Mediaboxissa, Galleria Forum Boxissa 1.4. – 23.4. Se on on kestoltaan 11 min 52 sek ja myös AV-arkin levityksessä (täällä). Työn idea on yksinkertainen, olen kuvaillut sitä seuraavaan tapaan: “Pieni puu kasvaa kivisessä poukamassa lähellä Kan Tiang -hiekkarantaa Koh Lantan saarella Taimaassa. Eräänä vuoden 2015 viimeisistä päivistä seison sen vierellä päivän ajan kahden tunnin välein kokeakseni vuoroveden yhdessä sen kanssa.” Asettaessani kameraa jalustalle yritin päätellä vuoroveden nousua, ja odotin sen nousevan ylemmäksi. Aamupäivän kuvissa sivuvalo on selkeä, mutta iltapäivän vastavalo ja kauas kaikkoava vesiraja muuttavat kuvan tykkänään. Lisäksi kamera on lopun kuvissa liikahtanut hiukan – ehkä olin jo väsynyt ja kuumissani tai vain huolimaton.
Kun näin työn viritettynä Mediaboxin mustaan katselukoppiin ilahduin, sillä kuva näytti paremmalta kuin mitä muistin, ja toimi lisäksi ihan hyvin ilman ääntä. Äänen laittaminen kuulokkeisiin on sikäli ongelmallista, että se luo odotuksia jostakin erityisestä äänimaailmasta. Tässä, kuten useimmissa muissakin töissäni ääni on raakaa ja käsittelemätöntä kuten kuvakin. Kun näin päänäyttelyn – Kalle Katailan, Lasse Lecklinin ja Teemu Lehmuruusun Atmorelational – olin iloinen että työ pääsi hyvään seuraan. Avajaisissa oli paljon väkeä, ja mediaboxista olivat kiinnostunut lähinnä lapset, jotka halusivat “majaan”. Sitä yllättyneempi olin kun myöhemmin kuulin, että työtä on käyty katsomassa ja että siitä on pidetty. Joku on käynyt joka päivä katsomassa. Ilahduin, tottakai, melkein liikutuin, mutta tietysti myös hämmennyin. Mikä työssä viehättää? Herättääkö se lomamuistoja Taimaasta tai tarjoaako se mahdollisuuden unelmoida kesälomasta. Vai onko ajatuksessa ajan kulumisesta ja vuoroveden vaihtelusta jotakin rauhoittavaa. Voihan olla, että yksinäiseen puuhun tukeutumisessa on jotakin lohduttavaa tai jopa parantavaa? Ja veden liike on sinänsä jo koukuttavaa katsottavaa. On selvää että jokin työ, jonkun teon toistaminen kameralle, voi olla tekijälle terapeuttista ja tärkeää. Mutta on vaikea tietää minkä verran tietyn hetken tunnelmasta loppujen lopuksi välittyy katsojalle. Ja voihan työssä olla myös tasoja joita tekijä ei itse koe tai näe. Joskus aikaisemminkin olen huomannut, että vaikka ajattelen hyvin proosallisesti ja “kuivasti” tallentavani tietyn ilmiön tai tapahtuman tai hetken sellaisenaan, lopputuloksen voi kokea yllättävän tunteellisena. – Oli miten oli, minulle on harvinaista herkkua että katsoja ihastuu, ja se todella ilahduttaa…
All posts by Annette Arlander
Sunshine, snow and ARS 17
The magic purple light pillar (above) was not a UFO descending on the alder stump but a reflection of the bright early morning sun in backlight and dissolved fairly quickly. This effect on Wednesday morning is an apt beginning to the week, which featured the opening of ARS17 at Kiasma museum of Contemporary Art, focused on much stronger effects of artifice.
Changeable weather used to be the hallmark of April, and now also the end of March. On Wednesday morning the sun was shining warmly, the slopes in the park looked almost green and the buds looked like bursting any moment.
On Thursday morning the sunny weather continued, I went out early, so the chill of the night lingered in the air, but the sun was warmer every moment and the sea was almost perfectly still.
On Friday morning all that was gone; a thick layer of snow covered the ground, and the trees; winter had returned. I went out early, but the Snow was already crisscrossed by footprints of dogs. I sat by the tree, freezing, and wondered at the sudden change.
While returning from the park I amused myself with the thought that this total change would make a nice contrast and surprise in the video; good weather can be visually rather uninteresting…
On Thursday night I visited the opening event of ARS17 (see here) and tried to get a glimpse of the exhibition amongst the crowd. There was something familiar in the atmosphere of all these game worlds, internet hype and futuristic dystopias, and unfamiliar, too, of course. From the perspective of somebody beginning their artistic engagements in the eighties this world did not seem that odd, after all, although the technologies were not there yet. So why did I not feel at home? It occurred to me that I was actually beginning my intellectual and artistic life, in a modest sense, in the seventies; my sensibilities are based on the world of the seventies, rather than the eighties, to some extent; I am an old hippie at heart. Of course the real hippies were of the previous generation, but those were the ideas I admired at that time, I suppose. No wonder then that my favorite work in ARS was Julia Varela’s Luddite smashed black screens, which shined like huge slices of obsidian in my eyes. No wonder that I find myself sitting with trees and recording serial images in a minimalistic way, in a what-you-see-is-what-you-get manner year after year. Uh. Perhaps I should go and see the exhibition again, in order to update my sensibilities, or at least understand what is going on…
Puulla, puussa, puun luona?
Vai peräti puun kanssa? Olen vieraillut pari kertaa viikossa Kaivopuiston mäellä Nordenskjöldin patsaan yläpuolella kasvavan viisihaaraisen – tosin yksi haara on pelkkä kanto – hopeapajun tai lehmuksen luona, enkä vieläkään ole varma mikä puu on kyseessä. Sen lisäksi olen istunut lähellä puistokatua ja lintujen ruokintapaikkaa kasvavan, aiemmin kaksihaaraisen lepän kannolla, jota ei voi olla tunnistamatta “käpyjensä” ansiosta. Koska vierailen puitten luona melko usein, sään vaihtelut vievät päähuomion, eikä esimerkiksi silmujen paisumista tai muita elämän merkkejä tule panneeksi merkille. Esimerkiksi toissapäivänä, keskiviikkona, kiiruhdin kuvaaman keskellä päivää, sadesäästä huolimatta. Puisto oli täynnä isoja lätäköitä, kylmä viima pureutui poskiin ylhäällä mäellä ja sai pitämään pipon päässä. Ainoa lohtu surkeassa märkyydessä oli, että nyt viimeisetkin jäät sulaisivat.
Torstaina tilanne oli toinen. Ensimmäistä kertaa olin todella varhain liikkeellä, sillä minulla oli tapaaminen Teatterikorkeakoululla jo kello yhdeksältä, ja halusin ehtiä kuvaamaan ennen sitä. Aurinko paistoi siniseltä taivaalta, ilma oli kylmä yön jäljiltä, maassa oli kuuraa ja lätäköt jäässä, mutta meri oli avoin. Vain rivi jäälauttoja uiskenteli valkoisena koristeraitana Harakan ja Uunisaaren ulkopuolella. Vihdoinkin oli kevättä ilmassa.
Tänään perjantaina aamulla oli edelleen aurinkoista ja lämpimämpää, myös kuivempaa. Puun juurella istuessani tunsin miten aurinko lämmitti ja helli, vaikka viima välillä puhalsi ylitse. Mutta tätä kirjoittaessa, iltapäivällä, sataakin yhtäkkiä lunta. Ruotsiksi sanottaisiin “aprilväder”, huhtikuun sää, mutta nyt on vielä maaliskuu.
Kuvaan videolle noin viisi minuuttia kutakin kuvaa, vaikka en luultavasti voi käyttää kuin pienen pätkän jokaisesta. Viikossa kertyy jokaista kuvaa kymmenen tai viisitoista minuuttia. Noudatan samaa periaatetta kuin vuosina 2002-2014 kuvaamassani Animal Years sarjassa Harakan saaressa. (On itse asiassa aika hullunkurista istua puun juurella ja katsella saarta, jonne juuri nyt en pääse. Vene makaa kumollaan rannassa, ja odottaa että pesisin pois kotilot sen pohjasta.) Mutta karkean time-lapse kuvan tuottaminen ei välttämättä ole oikea tapa esiintyä puiden kanssa. Se soveltuu hyvin vuodenaikojen ja sääolosuhteiden vaihtumisen kuvaamiseen, mutta kertooko se mitään puu-partneristani? No, ehkä kertookin, kunhan lehdet puhkeavat. Silti ajattelen, että minun pitäisi löytää jokin toinen tapa esiintyä yhdessä puun kanssa, eikä pelkästään vierailla sen luona, istua sen päällä, sen runkojen ympäröimänä – vaikka onhan sellainenkin kosketus eräänlainen hidastettu tervehdys.
March – Month of the Ash
The Month of the Ash ended yesterday, on the 17th of March, if we believe Robert Graves (see here) and other sources as well (see or here). The choice of which ash tree to visit for the third image in my tree calendar was obvious since several weeks; I knew there was an ash standing on the shore in Kaivopuisto Park near the pier and the cafeteria, so I did not have to guess and decipher the bare branches of the tree in winter shape. I passed by several times and noticed how the branches were too high to sit on, had a vague idea of hanging from the branch, in the same manner I once did hang from the branch of an old pine tree in Kalvola, in Year of the Dog in Kalvola – Calendar. But that time I visited the tree once a month for a year and edited all the moments of hanging to be one continuous movement, which was funny in some way. To hang from a branch real-time without any tools to help me would be impossible, except for a very short moment. So I had to do something else. I realized this weekend would be the last chance to record the ash, so on Saturday I went to do my regular visit to the tree on the hill and then walked down to the shore to visit the ash and see what I could do. I took some photos of the tree from various angles and found a perspective that felt quite allright. After one small test image I decided to simply stand and lean on the tree, with my hand on a broken branch. I also tried to hang, mainly out of a sense of duty – at least I could try, couldn’t I – but had no power to hang there for long enough. After I packed my things and walked toward the park I turned around to take one more snapshot with my phone, and realized that the ash tree looked quite beautiful when seen in full from a distance. So I did another version, recording the image across the path, fully aware that I would get all the passers-by included in the image, too. Thus I have two versions again, Ash in March 1 and Ash in March 2. I actually edited a shorter version of the latter, removing the passersby as well.
I took some still images before I started recording, and they show the ash from various angles:
Med eller utan människofigur?
Veckoslut i Helsingfors, lördag morgon, iskall vind. Samma bilder om och om igen, vad skall jag göra med dem? Jag spelar ju in videobilder på ungefär fem minuter, men det jag handskas med i den här bloggen och i annan dokumentation är stillbilder, med eller utan människofigur.
Söndag morgon, en mildare vind, något som kunde bli till snöflingor dalar långsamt ner. Allt ser ut nästan precis som igår, endast havet vid Ugnsholmen är öppnare nu.
Vad brukar jag göra? Jag editerar ihop videon som ett slags råa time-lapse-videon, och kombinerar antingen långa tagningar av flera minuter eller korta bitar på 20 sekunder kanske, och effekten blir förstås en helt annan. Det jag ibland gjort är att jag bandat in lika mycket material med och utan mig i elden och har på det sättet kunnat skapa tvåkanals installationer där jag jämställer en bild med en människofigur med samma bild utan människofigur. men den här gången har jag inte gjort det. Jag glömmer bort det själv i och med att jag gjort stillbilder både med eller utan mig, men själva videomaterialet för sådana installationer finns inte nu. En annan möjlighet som jag så smått förberett mig på är att kombinera två bilder tagna från olika avstånd, och det kunde jag göra med materialet från kullen, men inte med alen, för där har jag ju bara en bild.
Event scores?
As part of the artistic research project performing with plants I am supposed to not only perform with plants, or trees, but to write scores about or related to my performances, and that I have not thought about yet, so better to start soon. On twitter I saw a great event score by Yoko Ono, from 1961, Painting for the Wind, which is a form of performing with plants although the wind is the lead character. “Cut a hole in a bag filled with seeds of any kind and place the bag where there is wind. summer 1961” Others are interested in Fluxus today, the research assistant of a Finnish photographer contacted me and asked about Finnish Fluxus scores. I sent her one of my own, but had to admit that I do not know any Finnish Fluxus scores, although Fluxus was rather big in Sweden and Denmark. Starting from an existing score is one thing, and can be inspiring, but creating a score of one’s performance afterwards is another. So how could I score my visits to the trees in Kaivopuisto?
“Find a stub and sit on it, do it again as needed” or “Choose a tree, touch it slowly, repeat at least once a week”, or simply “Visit a tree regularly”.
Yesterday, on Saturday the sun was shining and all Helsinki seemed to be out in the park. Somebody had brought a horse and a sledge there, too, and was taking people on a ride around the park with bells ringing. The sun was warm, there was no wind, everything was lovely, for a change…
Today, on Sunday there was a new world awaiting me outdoors. The heavy fog of the morning was slowly transforming into a mist, and a pale sun was partly visible behind the cloud cover from time to time. The fog lingered as frost on the trees and the open sea had an ice cover again – winter had returned. On the hill by the shore the wind was cold; by the alder the water had frozen, dogs stopped by the tree stub to make fresh marks, and the bird watchers were out again with their huge telescope lenses. The horse sledge from yesterday was there, too.
So what about the score? “Sit on a stub look around; do it again the following day; notice the changes.” Or should I say enjoy the changes?
Vår, is och vatten
Onsdag morgon den första mars sitter jag igen vid trädet på kullen och ser hur isflaken trängs i sundet mellan Stora Räntan och Ungsholmen. Det är behagligt varmt, knappt plusgrader, och ingen vind att bry sig om. Knopparna är redan stora, och snön har förvandlats till vatten på grässluttningen, med stora pölar på isen i sänkorna.
Torsdag morgon, ingen skillnad i temperaturen, men en isande vind rakt söderifrån, och hela upplevelsen är förändrad. Istället för att sitta lugnt och andas, njuta av utsikten i väntan på våren, gällde det idag att kura ihop sig, dra mössan över öronen och gömma fingrarna i de tjocka vantarna i famnen, för det var plötsligt kallt igen, trots att isen smultit allt mer och vattnet på gräsmattorna bara ökat. Det är förvånande att alarna tål så mycket vatten kring sina rötter, de lär till och med tåla lite saltvatten om det gäller…
Fredag morgonen var jag rätt tidigt ute, för jag ville hinna till träningen klockan tio. Solen går ju upp redan sjutiden, så det var ljust, men något som liknade hagel flög omkring i vinden. Lyckligtvis blev det inget mer av det, men rätt kallt var det fortfarande, och dimman gömde nästan hela Stora Räntan i sitt vita skynke. Och den bruna vattenpölen vid alen bara växer och växer.
Nu har jag besökt dessa två träd i brunsnsparken flera gånger varje vecka i två månaders tid, så jag har redan fått en inblick i hur det kommer att vara resten av året – ifall jag skall hålla på till årets slut. Det här sättet att arbeta är mig bekant, en blandning av mina år på Stora Räntan då jag besökte samma plats en gång i veckan, och mina försök i Stockholm förra året, då jag spelade in en och samma utsikt varje morgon som jag befann mig i staden. Men nu handlar det inte om landskap i allmänhet, utan om att samarbeta med växter, närmare bestämt träd. Och frågan är, ifall jag inte borde experimentera med andra sätt också. Visst uppträder jag för kameran tillsammans med dessa två träd, och visst kan man tänka sig, att deras långsammare tidsuppfattning, ifall man kan tala om tisuppfattning, förutsätter ett sätt att vara med dem som tar tid. Men visst är jag rätt egocentrisk i mitt sätt att förhålla mig till träden, jag sitter ju på dem kort och gott. Jag undrar ifall de på något sätt kan uppleva min närvaro. Kanske det som för mig innebär att sitta lutande mot stammen och andas i fem minuter, innebär för trädet en flyktig beröring, som ett handtag, en lätt hälsning. Och alen då? En ihålig stubbe kan kanppast förväntas uppleva något, men den störs antagligen inte heller av mina besök. Jag har ju trädkalendern att tänka på, i mars är det en ask jag skall hitta. Men kanske det är dags att pröva även på andra sätt att uppträda med träd…
After the snow storm
While entering the park today I noticed, for some reason, the monument next to the tree, which I usually ignore. A view from higher on the slope reveals the granite slabs standing quite near to it. They commemorate Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld (1832-1901) who was an explorer and scientist, the first one to sail the whole Northeast passage, that is, along the north coast of Asia. He was born in Finland but had to move to Sweden because of his views on Russian politics. The monument is designed by Heikki Häiväoja, and you find more information about it here.
Two days ago, on Thursday morning, the snow was still falling when I left home, but it stopped by the time I was at the shore. The sun came out and then disappeared again, changing the whole landscape dramatically, back and forth…
On Friday morning it was still chilly, minus 6 degrees celsius, but sunny and clear. I realised a structural problem with my images: the morning sun shines beautifully from the east, as a side light, revealing the forms of the tree trunks when I am sitting on the hill, but it shines me directly in the eyes, and thus blinds the camera, too, when I sit on the alder stub down in the park. And that does not look very nice, as you can see…
On Saturday, today, I went out a little later, around noon, and the sun was not so bright today, shining momentarily from behind the clouds. There was not much wind, but it was could enough for me to keep my cap on. While sitting and looking at the small Uuninsuu strait I can observe the changes in the ice cover from day to day. Although the sea is mostly open further out, there is much ice on the northeastern side of Harakka Island. But I would not walk across the ice now, although I guess it would still be possible. And if this chilly weather continues it will probably take time before the ice disappears. Soon it is time for thaw. We call it “kelirikko” in Finnish, broken weather or broken road conditions.
Spring in the Air?
Visiting my tree partners in Kaivopuisto on Wednesday morning was a delight. The sun was shining from a bright sky and felt actually warm; there was absolutely no wind, so sitting on the tree trunk looking at the icecovered sea was pure pleasure. The sun was so strong I almost had to close my eyes.
On thursday morning, what a shift in atmospere! The temperature was almost the same, but no sun and some wind made for a cold and grey day. I changed the order of the images and began with the alder stub inside the park, before walking up to the hill and the view over Uuninsuu strait, which was now partly open. My plan was to continue to the island across the ice after visiting the trees. It looked scary, but I decided to go down and take a closer look. Perhaps I could phone Osmo who planned to go across today, to have some company, or ask whether he already made it. When I walked down I saw tree people walking across the ice and tried to hurry to catch up with them, but by the time I was on the shore next to the small piece of wood placed across the rocks at the beginning of the ice, they were already almost on the other side. I tried to shout and ask where they had walked, but gave up before even trying when I realized that although I might be able to cross to the island after them now, I would have to come back alone. I would not want to to stay all day there working, as they probably would do. In short, I behaved like an old sissy and turned back.
Friday morning, the weather was wet and misty. And there was plenty of water on the ice here and there; I did not even consider crossing to the island this time. By the time I was up on the hill the mist had cleared somewhat and there was no rain, although the branches had drops. When returning to the alder across the hill the ice was so slippery with water that I sat down and tried to slide down the slope, with my big plastic bag containing the camera and the tripod sliding down next to me.
There were again bird watchers around the nearby shrubs and this time I got to know what all those people with their huge camera objectives and binoculars were interested in. A passer-by with a small border collie asked me whether the Black-throated Trush was still around, because he assumed that was what I had used my camera for. Seeing my bewilderment he explained that it is a small bird usually nesting in the Ural Mountains that had been sighted there at the birds’ feeding place. At home I looked it up, and there was indeed an image of the bird taken in that very park the day before, see here.
February, Month of the Rowan
Rowans are not so easy to find in Helsinki, it seemed, but when I googled images of rowans and then looked where they had been taken, I found some places. One of them was Haahkatie in Lauttasaari, that is, Ådvägen på Drumsö, near my old school as a child. I also remembered the small rowan I fastened my swing on more than a year ago in Särkiniemi Park in the vicinity, when I performed at the opening of the LARU Human Era environmental art exhibition. Thus I decided to make an excursion and see if I could find a suitable rowan for my calendar performance in Lauttasaari. The rowans near Haahkakuja looked pretty but the surroundings were not so interesting with all the big buildings so I walked along the shore all the way to Särkiniemi peninsula. Most of the trees along the shore were alders, willows and birches. There were some rowans, too, but most of them small and slender and entwined with other trees. Only after taking a tea break in the nearest pub, and deciding to try to do something with some of the not so suitable rowans I had passed, did I actually notice an older rowan near the shore with a low branch to climb on to. For some reason I wanted to stand next to the tree rather than sit on it.
After a quick look at the first image I thought my position looked weird and decided to try another pose, with my feet together.
The result looked even more strange because I am clutching the tree trunk, so I decided to make one more attempt by simply sitting on the branch.
And now the memory card was full, of course, so only the very beginning of the session was recorded. There was nothing else to do but to clean the card from old stuff and sit on the branch one more time. During my first sitting a whole group of ice skaters passed by, and I wondered whether they would be visible in the image. During the second sitting I heard some strange banging noice and realised only later that it was the sound of a car door. A newly wedded couple had arrived on the shore to take their wedding photo. I left them smiling in front of the ice and snow and hurried back to the city centre. – When I looked at the material in the evening I realized the images were all rather bland and grey and wondered whether I should visit the tree once more …
When Sunday seemed at least partly sunny I took the bus directly to the park with the plan to remake the same image in brighter light. While in the park I decided to take a walk and see if there would be other interesting rowans because there was an area I did not visit yesterday. I found a beautiful little rowan by the shore; the only problem being it was near the path with lots of people passing by all the time. I wanted to give it a try, so I started the new day with a new rowan.
I liked the image but there was too much traffic so I tried to place the tripod next to the tree, but there were other trees nearby that I did not want in the image, and I tried to have the sea in the background as well. A compromise of sorts was the only solution I could find, a close up with a little bit of the sea. I tried two versions of sitting on the branches that were cut off and formed a stool of sorts.
I was not happy with these close up images, but could not find any other solution, so I went to visit the old rowan from yesterday and sat for a while there. This image, too, was partly in back light.
Based on the still images one cannot decide much; only editing the video will reveal which image I can try to use, depending on the amounts of passers-by and how they behave. At least I have some material now for the February image, the Month of the Rowan.
Performing Landscape 