Like many of us, I haven’t been very productive lately. I tried signing up for Coursera classes, which have been a mixed bag, but also haven’t spurred me on to do anything. Creative Mornings is now offering Zoom fieldtrips, but I’m beginning to feel meditated out. I finally managed to finish reading a book, but Emily St. John Mandel’s apocalyptic story, Station Eleven, may not have been the best choice right now. Granted the book didn’t become a Hollywood disaster/zombie film (thankfully no zombies in the book or in real life yet), but it added to my melancholy. I tried to convince myself that reading about the worst/or quasi-worst outcome (99% of the population dies due to the swine flu in the book, and within 48 hours of developing symptoms) would make what we’re dealing with easier somehow. Instead, I keep thinking we may end up like that outcome thanks to our incompetent and impatient government.
I’m still spending too much time on Facebook posting anti-Trump articles to the clearly already converted, perhaps to convince myself that I’m still sane amongst all this insanity. But it doesn’t make me feel any better, and it’s certainly not productive.
I did spot a post from a friend who’s and artist and filmmaker about an online class about experimental filmmaking that she’s co-moderating. I’ll admit my knowledge in that area is limited to Maya Deren and what I’ve caught at various galleries and museums in the past, but I thought it was worth checking out, and that perhaps it could offer some inspiration to get me doing something, anything.
During the first Zoom class, we were given links to a few films to watch and then discussed them. I was immediately struck by Bruce Baillie’s short film, All My Life. The film may seem to some like just a pan of a wooden fence, various wild plants, colorful flowers, and a bright blue sky, with a musical track, but I kept thinking about it. There were additional films we were given as homework to watch, including Maya Deren, and asked to make a one-minute reaction film about, yet I kept coming back to the Baillie film.
My take-away from Baillie after watching that film, without knowing anything else about him, is that he wanted the viewer to really look at something completely. The Cincinnati Art Museum (back when it was open) used to encourage slow art days, where you’d sit and look at a piece of art for an hour. Of course most of us in normal times don’t do this; I rarely do this. His film made me feel guilty for not looking and observing what was around me.
When the craziness hit Cincinnati about a month ago, I began walking a lot. The weather was improving, and the gym, and then the mall (for mall walking) closed, but mostly I felt the need to move. I was so happy that the preponderance of pear trees around downtown had begun to bloom. It made me feel that spring was here and it would somehow all be okay. I started taking photographs and short videos with my phone on these walks, yet I didn’t notice until going back through the footage that once the leaves of the pear trees had fallen, the people disappeared, and the silence set in.
As much as I noticed the trees in full bloom, I mostly missed them in their in-between stage. I wanted to go back and document the trees, as if that could change the outcome of what we’re experiencing. Of course it wouldn’t, but maybe I wouldn’t feel like I’d lost something, like I’d missed out.
My other habit of listening to podcasts mixed in as well with thoughts on this piece. Several of the shows have recently included a great deal of climate change discussions. This made me think of Rachel Carson and her book, Silent Spring, while throwing together my reaction film. Again, I’m not feeling very productive, and succumbed to waiting until the night before to edit, but thankfully I finally got something done.
I think Carson and Baillie knew how important seeing, really seeing, is, and how so many of us just don’t do it. I need to start, while there’s still time.