I was asked to make a movie. About my art practice. This request came out of the blue, from a film maker Alisdair Kitchen, who was appointed by Rye Arts Festival Digital Fringe. I did not know of him, but liked what I saw on his website very much; he has worked with opera singers and is himself a musician. His style appealed to me, so I said 'yes'. We arranged to spend a day together, in my studio and out on location. My main worry was what to wear. I am clearly vainer than I realised..... We talked in the studio, and he watched me sewing a book. The notice board and windowsill featured highly; Alisdair liked the wind blowing papers around. I admired his setup, and realised that I would probably never make a video again..... Then we were off to Rye Harbour. A visual desert for my type of photography. Old buildings and boats. Way out of my normal comfort zone. I walked, he followed. I wondered why I had forgotten a belt to hold my trousers up. I felt acutely self conscious. I saw a seagull on a chimney. Some cracked mud. I pretended to take photos. But mostly I saw Alisdair, and felt so self conscious that I snapped wildy at anything that I passed. This was for show; except that it was not. Alisdair decided that photos I took were to end up in the film. I was not keen on this idea; I don't make images when being followed closely by a cameraman. I like to be alone, quiet, getting into a rhythm by walking and thinking. The harder I tried, the worse it felt. Alisdair was happy because he was outside, and the wind was blowing my hair.... seems he likes wind. But I should not have worried. Because Alisdair is a pro. The film that he made is gentle and beautiful. Out of all the nonsense that I talked, he picked out the key elements of my story, and put them together in a way that I feel is completely true to my practice. You can watch it here......
0 Comments
Pink Flamingos and Feral Crows I hear the hum of worker bees a leaf blower being wielded endlessly, an open fridge door beeping, the neighbour’s dog yapping, a fractious child across the way screaming. A quarantine soundscape. I watch a cat on the shingle roof, soft treading the gutter, suspended above the city. Fearless. Later, prowling in the long grass a steady stare, defiant. I navigate a virtual world of mountains with colours for names ‘pink mountain’s real claim to fame is the high population of rare Arctic butterflies attracted here by the region’s blossoms’ ‘it is a very scary place; reminiscent of a 1970’s horror movie’ I discover ‘big white’, ‘emerald’, ‘silver tip’ and more. I walk while the world sleeps, furtively. I discover pink flamingos and feral crows, give away garden flowers and a tiny front yard book exchange. I feel the temperature rising. Radishes in the grey plastic tub are quietly wilting. I consider the crenellations of a thousand fir trees on the distant mountain, watching for the snow melt, day after day. I’m having trouble with the phone, have dropped the croutons on the floor, spoken to a federal officer at the door. ‘talk in a low tone this will help you stay calmer’ A northern Flicker, thrashes and crashes against a glassy pane as a creeping nausea descends, probably fictitious. This may be the longest day. ‘a rational person can find peace by cultivating indifference to things outside of their control ’ This is a Canadian mandatory fourteen day Covid-19 quarantine. Day ten was the hardest. ******* Words and images © Caroline Fraser 2021 |
Caroline Fraser - an ordinary life
on life, suburban living, art, creativity, photography, book art and travel. Categories
All
Archives
March 2024
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies. Opt Out of Cookies |
Welcome to Caroline Fraser Photography
Colourful abstracted and traditional photographic landscapes, book art and workshops. Capturing the moods and beauty of nature whether in wild open places or in small sanctuaries in suburbia. |