Anamnesis

the camera as object

the camera as object. an unknown object to this woman - an object that is not ‘deified’ (whether still or ‘motion’). no self-consciousness on her part, just confusion about its function (not its importance).

I am interested in how it is that Liz looks at the camera, and what it is that she recognises (or not) in its presence.

postedbysimon

that dancing

I had a Professor at Otago University School of Physical Education whose favourite question (when we were presenting papers) was, “So what?”.

In considering the possible presence of this amniotic-like footage in anamnesis, I keep asking myself the same thing. What might it add to the form-content? Why might it be necessary? How can the feel of that (dancing) material add gravitas or context to the experience of this woman? And more importantly, why is this narrative relevant … what does it say beyond, “isn’t memory important?”, or “isn’t it sad when people have no memory?”

I am looking for a broader context, a more complex way to place (or locate) the early ideas we have for this project.

postedbysimon

today

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the ‘absence of today’, and in how the slipperiness of presence is exacerbated by constantly referrring to one’s self in the future, or the past. What if I could not experience today? – my body might remain present and alive, whilst my perceptual experience would resemble an almost constant reaching (or being pushed?) towards a terrible unfocussing.

postedbysimon

your face

I want to know your face .. the one you had before you were born. I am not sure you ever were here. It was not my choice.

postedbysimon

freedom, confusion & unknowing

CS Lewis writes (in Surprised by Joy, p.22), “One the other hand, I was aware of no motives. You could argue that I was not a free agent, but I am more inclined to think that this came nearer to being a perfectly free act than most that I have ever done. Necessity may not be the opposite of freedom, and perhaps a man is most free when, instead of producing motives, he could only say, ‘I am what I do’”.

I am intrigued by the space between freedom and confusion. In delineating the psychological space in which, whilst still ‘doing’, a human no longer is the same. (I am no longer what I do, not because I have ceased to do it, but because I do not recognise the activity).

If I do not know or recognise my actions, how are they changed?

Thinking some more about this woman’s state, and wondering what it is that she ‘knows’ or that is now missing … some language/script:

I don’t know anything.

I don’t know anymore.

Bagryana ‘character’ (off camera): What do you know of that time? What did you do?

I don’t think I know anything anymore.

Oh, and on a bit of a tangent, the possibility of disinhibition in this ‘state’ is very plausible. At this opens up the scripting/language for rapid shifts/changes, whilst maintaining coherence through the woman’s incoherence/confusion.

postedbysimon

Who is she?

In the post Merton, Bagryana commented (in that actorly way):

what is she remembering- birth? A child that is grown up and gone? A child she has lost? Has she lost her memory?

In short, I don’t know. I think I am interested in the loss of her memory as a means of considering the development of the script, and to support (or allow?) the presence of the poetic/abstracted material … as if it might be a rendering of her state(lessness) of mind.

The look of the poetic ‘ultrasound’ material certainly lends itself to the possibility of a child (in whatever context - gone, lost, etc), but I wonder to what extent we might leave this relationship unclear or ambiguous?

postedbysimon