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| The seductive chambers and corridors of Akerman's Hotel Monterey. |
After several months neglecting this blog, I finally attempted to update it with a rather rambling entry, only to find that it been so long that I forgot my password. Regardless, I gained access and now find myself backlogged with fragments of many feelings and thoughts.
I am close to a conclusion of sorts, the first year of teaching my own courses and find myself struggling to sleep well. I won't complain here, as agitated unrequited sleep seems to be par for the course as I age. At least that is what I am experiencing and my older friends tell me. The image of beds and bedrooms evoke all kinds of conflicting feelings in me now. I have strange sleeping rituals, something I call 'My Window Of Opportunity", that is, when I am ready to fall asleep I have a brief 'window' where I can easily drift off, however, it must follow a very quick succession of rituals and if one of these steps is interrupted then the 'window' closes and I cannot fall asleep. I must 'reset' the whole thing and wait out the anxiousness and prepare for another round. This 'window of opportunity' is not only a personal story of annoying sleeping rituals. I include it here as a metaphor of sorts. Windows slowly closing. Not very original, but whatever.
Perhaps this is why I found Chantal Akerman's Hotel Monterey so incredibly soothing and seductive. It is a series of shots from Manhattan's Hotel Monterey from the early 70's. The entire film is a series of silent interior sequences consisting of hallways, corridors, rooms and one gorgeous exterior shot outside the hotel panning the Hudson riverbank. It is clear upon further investigation where David Lynch (and eight years before Kubrick's The Shining) may have took his colour palette and set design inspiration for the fantastically confusing Inland Empire (2006). The aquamarine colours offset by deep saturated crimsons are clearly evident as seen in the strange domestic bunny-family sequences.
Hotel Monterey, also provided me with a viewing experience that I rarely experience now: total captivation. Shot in available light, walls glisten with almost sticky-like glossy qualities and elevator lobbies provide beautiful falloff shadows cast from cheap hotel desk lamps. Hotel guests enter and leave elevators, sit uncomfortably for long takes and the whole film has a particular patina only film stock from the 70's could create. I could watch this film over and over. I want to shake off my growing inclinations to fictionalize my work and make more films like Hotel Monterey. I have a few new films I am working on, and confess only one seems likely to simulate aesthetics from Akerman's masterpiece. After watching it I felt a well of gratitude but at the same time acknowledged lingering unsatisfying feelings for my own abilities as a filmmaker. This may also be confounded by the fact that I have a growing collection of film festival rejection letters for my most recent effort (my thesis film Nocturne produced last year).
Most colleagues comment on Nocturne's beauty and strong sound design. I am grateful for these encouraging words. However, I would like to see my film screened not so much for satisfying ego-driven hubris, but for the people that worked hard as collaborators during production. It is really for them that I want to see some kind of validation. Their dedication and efforts made in the hot, bug infested, pitch black difficult ravine locations we filmed in needs to be redeemed. But the window of opportunity is closing in-yes like milk- films have a shelf life.
This renewed round of facing constant rejection is not something new. In fact all my life I've been surrounded by a variety of rejections. As most artists will confirm, hearing/reading 'no' is just part of life, it can drag you down to depths of sorrow but also makes you cynical and strong. Or maybe just cynical. This cynicism punctured my usual first-time-teaching 'open-minded' composure while reviewing senior student video projects.
It was fascinating to me to see the difference of creative rigor between my younger and older students. My younger students were energetic and frankly, quite clearly excited by the work they were making. (Well a good handful were anyway). What happens in between these years making senior students flat-line? There must be some kind of disastrous pummeling of their life's energy, a kind of dark mushy liminal space that devastates natural curiosity and passionate urges. What is it? Art schools do this, I've experienced it first hand, perhaps its just the burnout stages of trying to 'create' under the systemic mediocrity of the institutional structure.
A few weeks ago I was spontaneously invited to go on a road trip to see Dave Hickey speak at the University of Guelph. First we toured some graduate studios from Visual Arts. I got serious hebee-geebees. Holy Fuck. It was nasty. I was immediately brought back to the stark white painting cubicles of art school. The students are the same too, although the uniforms have changed a little. Now dress codes consist of over-sized glasses, skinny jeans, the occasional 80's mustache and unicorn themed accessories. I admit falling victim to various fashion trends, and quite conscious of that fact that I usually look like a pork-wrapped sandwich when going out in my 'skinny jeans' and flat pointy runners. When wearing my over-sized glasses I look like a chunky female Woody Allen. I do have some sympathy for struggling art students. Its hard to 'fit in'. But why do we want to? What compels us? Dave Hickey had a lot to say about this.
Many artists I know love or hate Dave Hickey. I admit I don't know too much about his long career as a critic, exhibitor, collector in the art world. However, I thoroughly enjoyed reading "Air Guitar". I will confess that my interests in visual arts have seriously waned over the past several years. I now really only have interests in lens based work (film, photography). I may not know all of Hickey's references, but I understand his intentions and critique. It translates well into media art and film culture. I have a lot more to say about this, but that will have to be in another post.
Dave Hickey is not for sore losers. In particular, not for academic sore losers. His lecture ran over two hours and throughout he held no punches. His surprisingly soft spoken raspy voice held no sympathy for those who have settled for less in art and help contribute to generations of "C" grade artists. It was a curious set up. Before he stood at the podium there was successions of Serious Introductions, Thank You's and Aren't We Great And Smart For Bringing This Man To Our Amazing University. Curious indeed considering what followed was Hickey's serious damnation of art institutions.
Hickey's lamentations and almost pleading arguments calling on academics and art instructors to produce better students, and thus, better art work seemed to bristle with many in the crowd. Often his lecture went off into ramblings that would be considered politically incorrect and at times he did sound like a typical white male patriarch holding forth at the dinner table allowed to speak uncomfortable tales and anecdotes while family members cringe, wringing linen napkins in anxious despair at the often highly inappropriate missives.
After his lecture one vexed academic sprung to the microphone during the Q&A to challenge his 'seriousness'. He clearly felt threatened by Hickey's overt challenge. But beyond the intimidation, insecurities, Hickey really has something important to say. Following is a brief clip from a summary of the event by Sky Gooden in Blouin ArtInfo.
Hickey commanded we give up our institutions, relinquish our vain pursuit of accreditation, and summoned us to become artists again. “Demand that your students can perform a jump shot,” he said, in one of many references to an idealized world in which the art school was run like an athletic department. “Give up your three cars and pool, and the 4 o’clock meetings, and become an artist again.” But, he amended, if we are to continue in our endeavoring of an arts degree, or in our pursuit of a tenure-track professorship, demand of ourselves and our students skills, results, ambition, and that we kick the 90% that is shit, to the curb.
I want to 'kick the 90% that is shit to the curb'. However, it can be exhausting. And not all tenure faculty fail to rise above growing mediocrity. I have found some inspiring people where I teach who are acutely aware of the 'shit' and work hard to demand more from their students, somehow manage to be engaged themselves and continue to make excellent work. (And even more inspiration is evident from my former teachers at York University). However, I will always remember the insipid conversations overheard at art school between faculty members arguing over the latest fashions of Holt Renfrew and finding a good mechanic for their BMW's. Yes, it must be hard to find decent 'help' these days.
I don't know if Hickey would consider what I make shit, or what he would make of Akerman's Hotel Monterey. But I took solace in the fact that he is speaking from some seriously burning inner core, something that he cares deeply about. And isn't that also core to anyone who wants to be 'serious'? You need to get the shit kicked out of you. This doesn't necessarily mean having a bad critique by a 'mean' teacher. It could be falling off the grid, doing noth'n, or wandering the halls and empty bedrooms of cheap hotels.
It is such a tiny word, art. Hotel Monterey is art. It is such good art. I want to find the chambers and corridors of this film and linger for long periods of time. I want to find the blue and red rooms and fall deeply asleep without windows closing in on me.