In Brakhage’s abstract hand-painted films especially, each individual frame is important. Though one can’t individually analyze each of the 24 very different frames that might shower onto one’s retina in a busy second, each frame, in relation to adjacent ones, contributes to the churning motion and intricate rhythms that make these movies, at their best, uniquely moving and powerful.

One knows this, that every moment counts, yet everyone who knows this body of work well is also familiar with a kind of sensory exhaustion that comes and goes as one watches. The level of attention that these films require really can’t be sustained continuously for an hour straight. The mind drifts for a moment, and the eye, involuntarily, takes a rest. One sinks for a moment into inward, often wordless, thoughtfulness. This moment of quiet mind is itself a gift, a difficult state to attain amidst the frenzy of daily life and obligation.

On the other hand, one often “wakes up” to realize that one’s mind has inadvertently shifted,  has drifted from concentration on the filmic moment into background chatter. Plans for the next day, cranky resentments, memories, errands to run. The urgency of moment-to-moment attention in Brakhage’s work makes these startled moments of awakening exceptionally intense, even alarming, like nodding off at the wheel of a fast-moving car. Bringing attention back, one is once again immersed in the texture, spark & tumble of Brakhage’s painted imagery. A moment, or a minute, or two, has passed during one’s absence.

Every Buddhist sect and lineage begins (and perhaps ends) with meditation practices that force one, again and again, to become aware of the wandering, chattering nature of ordinary, daily, busy mind. Whether one is focused on one’s own breath, a mantra, a tangka image of a deity, or a rhythmic Tibetan chant, the taming of one’s own undisciplined mind is the underlying project, and becoming aware of it is the first step.

The experience of meditation is related to watching a great hand-painted Brakhage film in this regard at least: One is reminded again and again of the limits of one’s attention. By learning to focus attention on purpose, we come to more clearly perceive our own minds and actions. To get there, though, requires that essential first insight, the realization that one is not actually fully aware. That one can be more so, and that the reward for that effort is, among other things, a richer, more vivid life, all the time.

“Devotees” of Stan Brakhage’s films and related experimental cinema are an odd breed, and one thing they share is a mind that they’ve conditioned by long practice to be capable of sustained attention, to a degree that few outside of spiritual disciplines even aspire to. As with other sects, cults, and conversions, most people in this crowd have a story about how they stumbled in and somehow got initiated into this profound and demanding body of work. I have mine.

As if these images  in Odin-Odeon (September 2-October 8 at RMCAD) weren’t hard enough to decipher, here’s a movie that makes several of them into a squishy, churning mass. All of the prints in the movies are made on the same etched plate, though you might not be able to guess that at a glance by looking at them side by side. The etched tones on the plates create a pull toward certain shapes, gestures and patterns, and the animation takes advantage of that common thread.

If you haven’t seen the show yet, come by, and if you’re reading this before Friday, September 10th, come by between 5 and 8 for the opening reception. All the info you need about Odin-Odeon, as well as several images, directions, etc., can be found here (same link as above). Of course, get in touch if you have any questions or thoughts.

On your left, a 2 minute trailer for the show, a strange reading of Odin’s time hanging upside down from the great tree, with moving abstraction made entirely from the etchings and monotypes that will appear in Odin-Odeon. There’s a video component to this exhibition, but it will be very different from this. You’ll see.

Also, here’s a preview of the show from Anselm Etting, who is very kind indeed:

“At first, the etchings & monoprints in Eric Waldemar’s Odin-Odeon seem shamelessly archaic. A warm palette of earth tones and a concern with the rhythmic mystery of the agile brush reflect a long engagement with the drawings of Rembrandt, Hakuin and Homare Ikeda. Given time, these tiny images unfold in the mind, often with several simultaneous layers of imagery. They feel weighty at first glance, but after close attention, many are subtly hilarious, especially in combination with Waldemar’s wry, deadpan titles.
Then there are the movies, displayed on a tiny screen to force close attention. These intricate rhythmic abstractions use this series of prints as source material, transforming their already ambiguous subject matter into a trembling, bewildering dream. Tiny jewels of abstract cinema, they also suggest an approach to the accompanying prints, to which the viewer returns with a fresh eye for close detail and half-hidden treasure. “

Gosh. Thanks. See you there, everyone, and if you’re too far away to make it, I’ll try to keep adding images to the Odin-Odeon page, so you can attend vicariously. Either way, thanks for having a look. Leave a comment on the site if you end up having a thought. Thanks.

Rian Kerrane‘s piece, Velvet Letters, covers two walls with an evolving tangle of letters/words that wrestles with red-flocked circles and leafy shapes. Visitors add their own significant words and phrases to a rolling list, and the new thoughts and sounds get composed and installed as the run of the show continues. Labor intensive interactive installation. If all of Letterkenny gets a word or two in, the wall will be a highly-figured near-black with the texture of text and its intersections. There’s still some space, so bring your words.

My short movie looks great on a framed monitor lent by the Letterkenny Arts Centre. (See this previous post for an even-more-abstracted variant of what’s being shown.)  The show is open to view right now. A wide range of people have come through and are amazed, puzzled, charmed, or caught off guard by Letterkenny’s most peculiar currently-showing movie. Everyone I run into seems to have something to say, which can’t be bad, and most seem to be productively befuddled, which is perhaps how the human mind evolves. It’s how mine does. I like this writhing flick. Hope you do. Stop by the opening and talk to us, and to the exhibition’s adventurous curator, Seamus Quinn (pictured).

The version of “Old Tongue” that just opened at ArtWorks is too quick and detailed to come across on the web, but by trying to strip it down for compression, I came up with a very different version, one that leaves recognizable imagery mostly behind for a flattish world of peeling and twisting. If you’re in Ireland, it’s up now, in Letterkenny, but I won’t be there until next week. Hope you like this variation.

(Update: I’ve arrived. If you didn’t arrive here via my home page, click here for more info on this show, Rian Kerrane‘s piece, Velvet Letters, curator Seamus Quinn, and the opening reception, which is coming up in a few days as I write. Here is another link, to my description of Old Tongue, my contribution to the exhibition [with a composite image].)

Several monoprints from the same intaglio plate.

Each Wednesday (Woden’s Day) night this Spring, when possible, I would go over to the studio and make prints. I had several etched plates lying about, each of them suggestive of image, while not quite readable without interpretation. The ways in which an intaglio plate can be inked, and stroked into art, are infinite. Each of these shuffling images is a “reading” of the same etched printing plate. You can see the traces of a common origin, if you care to pause and look for a moment. If this is no interest, if this kind of transformation isn’t your cup of tea, well, then, by all means, you’d best move along and not waste any more of your time here. I like this kind of thing, though, and if you do, too, don’t be shy about leaving a comment.  A moment’s attention means a lot to me, in a busy world.

Primordial Soup Cartoon from Eric Waldemar on Vimeo.

Several notable curiosities came out of last fall’s “Time and Attention” show, and not everything got included in the gallery exhibition. Here’s a sort of image poem that tells of the emergence of life and form on Earth. Interpretive dance, perhaps. This should give you a decent sense of what it was like back then for those ambitious little critters. Millions of years are compressed into a couple of minutes, so bear with me if I missed anything important.

In Odin/Odeon, Eric Waldemar takes a maximalist approach to a small installation space, assembling a piece of “visual chamber music” that combines an intricate arrangement of monoprints with tiny abstract video work. In ancient Greece, an Odeon was a type of small theater, designed for more intimate productions. The Norse god Odin, as the tale goes, hung upside down from the World Tree for nine days until vision and knowledge arose in his mind. In Waldemar’s studio, imagery is invited, awaited, then shaped as it emerges. In an art world that favors shrewd, spare concept and wry sampling, he persists in affirming the mysteries and depths of an open, exploratory work process that hangs between picture and nameless form.

Eric Waldemar: Time & Attention from Eric Waldemar on Vimeo.