Liminal Cinema – Take Two

(Still working on the Artist Statement – I think this one makes a lot more sense.)

Cinema is not movement. This is the first thing. Cinema is not movement. Cinema is a projection of stills–which means images which do not move–in a very quick rhythm. […]It can give the illusion of movement. Cinema is the quick projection of light impulses. These light impulses can be shaped when you put the film before the lamp–on the screen you can shape it. […]Where is, then, the articulation of cinema? Eisenstein, for example, said it’s the collision of two shots. But it’s very strange that nobody ever said that it’s not between shots but between frames. It’s between frames where cinema speaks. – Peter Kubelka, 1967

Even in this day and age, we cannot literally make an image move – all of our motion picture technologies, whether they involve compression algorithms and HD flatscreens or a strip of celluloid rattling through a projector, create an illusion of motion between static frames or pixels.

So, the experience of the moving image is only possible in spaces in-between: in imagination, memory, and dream – liminal spaces, from the latin “limen,” which meant a physical, architectural threshold, through which passes light and shadow.

My work with film and video delves deeply into this liminal space, between the representation of reality and the expression of an otherworldly, subjective dream-space. My films and videos do not fit neatly into realist or expressionist categories, but exist in the dynamic tension between these types of experience.

I am fascinated by threshold spaces – between people in relationship, between the intent and the result of an action, between the light that illuminates a figure, the eye through the viewfinder of a camera, and the audience sitting in a darkened theater.

These distances create separation and isolation between us, but they also express a necessary and inherent connectedness – perhaps as individuals we can never fully convey our personal, private, subjective experience, but neither can we avoid seeing and being seen, interpreted, related. Light passes through the air and the lens, makes a mark on the sensor or the film surface, and is from there conveyed by many hands, over time, to the eye of the observer. Thus are we seen, thus do we share our experience, and therefore empathy and relationship is possible – if perhaps only via the liminal spaces that enfold us.

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