ScreenFish

where faith and film are intertwined

art

Martha: A Picture Story

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In Selina Miles’s debut feature documentary, Martha: A Picture Story, we enter the world of street art through Martha Cooper, who has been documenting that field for more than forty years.

Cooper was in many ways a trailblazer as a working woman photojournalist. Her early years in the business are covered only briefly. But when she gets to New York and begins working for the Post, she begins to grow in her own understanding of capturing life in the city. It is when she began taking pictures of kids at play in some of the more depressed neighborhoods, that she started seeing graffiti writers, most of whom were writing their names. At the time, the city’s subway cars were a prime target for such writing. Cooper established enough rapport with these writers that she had access to them as they worked. Even today, at age 75, she is held in great regard by the street art community worldwide, and continues to accompany masked artists as they make their clandestine works.

Besides street art, she has spent time capturing the hip hop dance scene and just the lives of people who are finding joy as they get by as best they can. It is really the people, more than the art that are her real focus. When she collaborated on the book Subway Art (now considered the “bible” of street artists), her co-author Henry Chalfant was more interested in the art itself, but Cooper cared about the artists and their process. That focus seems to be central to her own artistic process of finding the human stories in the art. That also carries over into the way Miles has put this film together. We see the art, but the main point is to get to know Cooper.

A key question that arises in the film is what constitutes art? Is street art or subway art really art, or is it vandalism? Is it free expression or criminal behavior? In the same way, what of Cooper’s photography. Is it art? Is it documentation? As we watch her with a gallery curator going through her pictures, they discuss the merits of pictures with people smiling. Does such posing negate the artistic nature of her work?

While the assumption of the film is that this is art, neither Cooper nor the film provides an apologia for the artistic genre. There is no psychologizing about what leads people to doing this. There are no discussions of themes or rebellion. The art is presented as it is for us to consider.

Martha: A Picture Story is available on VOD.

Reporting from Slamdance – Holy Frit

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“It can’t be the biggest shitty window in the world. It has to be the biggest and the best.”

Holy Frit, an amazing documentary directed by Justin Monroe, is making its world premiere at the Slamdance Film Festival. It is the story of the making of the world’s largest stained glass window to go into the new facility of the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection in Kansas City. It was to be 100’ long and 40’ high. (That’s a little longer and a little narrower than a basketball court.)

The window was created by the Judson Studios, a family-owned company going back generations. Tim Carey, who had worked as a painter was inspired to work in this medium. When the church was looking for companies that could make such a window, Judson was one of the few in the world they considered. Carey made the presentation and the company got the contract. The only problem was, in spite of all their experience, no one really knew how to make such a window.

And so began a three year project that brought together Carey, company owner David Judson, and stained glass innovator Narcissus Quagliata. It is sometimes great cooperation, and at times a clash of egos. They had to learn new ways of making the glass. And they also raced against the deadline to get the 161 4’x5’ panels created. It was a challenging task, but one, when you see the finished product was well worth it.

The process of making a stained glass window is interesting enough on its own. But to see the work and artistry that went into this project makes it even more intriguing. And artistry is what this film is really about. As we see some of the panels come together we can appreciate each one. When the face of Christ is revealed we are in awe. And to see it in its finished form is astounding.

The window includes various bits of biblical stories to keep the window within the linage of church stained glass used to educate and proclaim the gospel. It also includes a number of people throughout church history who form a “cloud of witnesses”. But the dominant figure in the window is the risen Christ.

At one point in the film, Quagliata mentions that when one enters into such a project, they will come out a different person. We clearly see that in Carey’s case. He grows in many ways as he goes through this, but it also takes a toll on him and his family. It also takes a toll on his relationship with the studio he works for.

The film’s one shortcoming would be that it only briefly touches on the ethical/theological/economic question of churches spending such large amounts of money on art projects such as this. I am not one of those who would argue that this is not an appropriate use of money within a church context, but I certainly know people who would raise the issue. Those issues cannot be easily dismissed.

Driven to Abstraction – Fraud of the Century

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The greatest art fraud of the twentieth century is examined in Driven to Abstraction, a documentary by Daria Price. Over a period of fifteen years, the Knoedler, the oldest and one of the most prestigious art gallery in New York, sold $80 million dollars worth of forgeries. Among the artists whose works were forged are a who’s who of modern American: Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Robert Motherwell, and many others.

As the story is told it seems very obvious to the viewer that a large fraud was taking place. Several previously unknown works by well known artists slowly trickled into this one gallery. There was, of course, a story about why this was happening, focusing on a mysterious Mr. X, Jr. His father might have been Mexican, or Filipino, but moved to Switzerland. Now Mr. X. Jr. was cashing in some of the art his father had collected. This may seem ridiculous on its face to viewers, but we also learn that anonymity is very common in the art world. One of the people in the film says that art is one of the largest unregulated markets in the world.

What was really going on, as we learn as the film unfolds and eventually a court case plays out, is that the works were all made by one Chinese artist living in New York, Pei-Shen Qian. A small-time art dealer, Giafira Rosales, would bring the pictures to the Knoedler where Ann Freedman, the gallery director would find buyers. Of course, provenance is an important aspect of selling art. An authentic art work should have a paper trail. Freedman would have carefully worded lists of people who had seen the art, implying but not saying that they verified its authenticity.

It is easy to look back at this and see the red flags that should have been obvious.  But we never learn why various people didn’t pay attention. This is a world of wealth and secrecy. It is only when the trial takes place that we see just how deep the fraud was. But the trial in many ways is inconclusive, because the parties settled before the end of the trial without those who knew what was happening telling what they knew and when. It raises questions of not just who was responsible, but also what constitutes responsibility in such situations.

The film also raises questions of what it means to be a villain or a victim. In this story, it could be that our first impressions may be distorted. Are people acting out of greed or hubris? Are they under the power of others and must keep doing what they have been even if they suspect wrongdoing? Are they so caught up in the world of money that they don’t want to see what should be obvious? Or do people tend to portray themselves as victims when they have acted badly? All those questions are possible by the time we get to the end of this story.

Walking on Water – Finding the Real in Art

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“Artist is not a profession. You don’t work from 9 to 5. To the artist, you are all the time artist. There is no moment you are not artist.”

The artist Christo is known worldwide for his very large scale temporary art projects. But after the death of his wife and collaborator Jeanne-Claude, he made nothing for over a decade. But beginning in 2014, he set about making a new piece, one that he and Jeanne-Claude had proposed beginning in 1970—a series of floating bridges connecting land and islands. Walking on Water is Andrew Paounov’s documentation of the 18 month process of the preparation, creation, and realization of his “Floating Piers”.

Those unfamiliar with Christo’s work would do well to search it out online to understand the grand scope of his installations. The vision comes from Christo (and Jeanne-Claude), but it takes a fairly large team to bring the work to fruition. And each work is unique. As he says in the film, they never do the same thing twice. The film shows some of the process of creating this work at various points in the process.

This particular work of art was made on Lake Iseo in northern Italy. Originally Christo and Jeanne-Claude wanted to do it in Argentina in 1970. In 1997, they proposed to do it in Tokyo. In both cases they could not get permission. So in a sense this is a piece of art that took nearly 50 years to create.

The film doesn’t create a compelling narrative that explains what is happening. Rather it gives small insights from time to time. We do see that there are problems that come up both before it is completed and after it opens to the public. Not everything goes as planned. What I found to be missing (other than a clear narrative) was an explanation of how the various pieces that were needed to make this project were created. In a sense this is a very complicated Lego-like creation, but how does one buy tons of thousands of the pieces needed? I know you can’t find them at Home Depot.

But the film does capture a bit of the experience that Christo is trying to create. Early in the film, he is speaking to some middle school art students in New York. He tells them, “I love real things. Real Things. Real things. Not virtual reality…. I want to have real one mile, two miles, real wind, real dry, real wet, real fear, real joy.” The experience of the reality of the world in the midst of his artificial creation is central to understanding Christo’s art in general and “Floating Piers” specifically. Real wind, real wet, real fear, and real joy all come into play as “Floating Piers” is constructed and when it is experienced by the public.

Part of what makes Christo’s art interesting is that he often uses artifice to point to the beauty of nature or some other work of art. So even though he loves real things, it is through the unreal that he helps us see the real things more clearly.

Photos courtesy of Kino Lorber

At Eternity’s Gate – Van Gogh’s Calling

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“God is nature, and nature is beauty.”

The life of Vincent Van Gogh with all its spiritual and psychological challenges is well known. In At Heaven’s Gate, from artist and filmmaker Julian Schnabel, we see scenes from his life—some based on his letters, some from legends, some (as Schnabel notes) “just plain invented”. It is not meant to be viewed as a straight biography. Rather it is an examination of what it means to be driven to produce art—especially art that is as personal and out of the ordinary as was Van Gogh’s.

The film covers many years of Van Gogh’s (Willem Dafoe) life, from his days in Paris, to Arles, and Saint-Rémy where he was hospitalized, and Auvers, where he died. Along the way we meet others in his circle: his brother Theo (Rupert Friend), Paul Gauguin (Oscar Issac), and some of the people immortalized in his paintings such as Joseph Roulin (Laurent Bateau) and Dr. Gachet (Mathieu Almaric).  But it is Van Gogh’s art and his making of the art that is more important than plot per se.

It is of import that Schnabel is himself a painter. His approach to the Van Gogh story includes a great deal of subjectivity. He tells the story as it has affected him. The scenes are often based in his reactions to Van Gogh’s works. And his concern for the need to make art is very evident in the way this story is told. Van Gogh often speaks in the film of how much he needs to paint. In one important scene while he is hospitalized, Van Gogh talks with a priest (Mads Mikkelsen) about his art and how he sees the world he paints. The priest thinks his work is ugly and offensive. But Van Gogh sees his vision and his talent as a gift from God. And asks the priest why God would give him a gift to show the ugliness of the world.

There is throughout the film a sense that for Van Gogh painting was in many ways a spiritual exercise. He has a deep connection to nature, immersing himself in the very soil of a field before starting to paint it. And in that connection to nature he feels a connection to God. He expands on this as he talks to the priest and brings in theological insight and scripture to expand on his ideas. (Van Gogh was the son of a pastor and at one time began to study for the ministry.) For Van Gogh in this film, painting is a calling to share his vision of God’s creation. For him that vision is about the beauty that God shares with us.

That conversation with the priest give me pause because there are times in the film that I react to Schnabel’s directing in much the same way the priest reacts to Van Gogh’s art. Some of the camera work and editing at times seem to work against watching the film. A case in point is the use of a lens for some shots that seems to be looking through bifocal glasses. It may be that he is trying to visualize the sense of madness going on in Van Gogh, but it was so off-putting for me that it made the film hard to watch and appreciate fully.

Photos courtesy of CBS Films

American Masters: Andrew Wyeth

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“He painted the soul, not just the image.”

The PBS series American Masters is airing an episode focusing on the painter Andrew Wyeth. Wyeth was one of the 20th century’s most famous magical-realist painters. He had both popular and critical success. But the popular success also led to a time of critical rejection as abstract expressionism came into vogue.

Andrew Wyeth. photo credit: Bruce Weber

The episode provides an overview of his life and work. His life revolved around two rural communities, one in Pennsylvania, the other in Maine. Here he painted the landscapes and people that he knew. This often included neighbors such as the Kuerners in Pennsylvania and the Olsons in Maine. (His most famous painting, “Christina’s World”, features Christina Olson on the ground in a field in front of a house.) He also had a long series of paintings of his secret muse, Helga.

Wyeth approached painting as a way to express his vision of the world around him. He said, “Painting to me is a matter of truth and maybe of memory.” As the film shows us many of his works and we hear the background to those works, it provides new ways for us to appreciate his art. For all the realism of his paintings, there is also interpretation and adjustment being made to create something that reflected the real world and the world that Wyeth wanted to show. His paintings often invite the viewer to imagine the story behind the scene we see. In doing so, he created pictures that allow us to connect with them on an emotional level as well as the esthetic.

At times Wyeth’s work evokes a consideration of mortality, even when looking at a scene filled with life. His art can serve as a kind of meditation on life and death, joy and sorrow, community and emptiness. The episode offers us a chance to see all of this in a brief hour.

Don’t Worry He Won’t Get Far On Foot: Hope, Healing and Higher Powers

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Directed by Gus Van Sant (Good Will Hunting, Elephant), Don’t Worry He Won’t Get Far On Foot tells the story of controversial cartoonist, John Callahan. After nearly dying in a car accident, the last thing Callahan (Joaquin Phoenix) intends to do is give up alcohol. Reinvigorated by his girlfriend and a charming sponsor, Donnie (Jonah Hill), Callahan reluctantly enters Alcoholics Anonymous and discovers that his passion for drawing. The budding artist soon finds himself with a new lease on life when his edgy and irreverent newspaper cartoons gain a national and devoted following.

In its best moments, Don’t Worry… provides Phoenix ample opportunity to showcase his incredible ability to disappear into a role. His portrait of Callahan balances both pride and brokenness in an engaging manner. However, it’s Jonah Hill who continues to surprise. As Callahan’s sponsor, Hill steals the film, depicting Donnie as a complex picture of truth and grace. Interestingly though, it’s director Van Sant’s decision to break the film’s narrative structure that creates the most conversation. By juxtaposing moments of death with moments of hope and personal breakthrough, Van Sant seems to want us to understand that each moment of our lives informs the next. In other words, by presenting the life of his subject to the viewer seemingly all at once, the film serves as a reminder that Callahan’s battles also mirror and enlighten his successes. (For instance, in one particular scene, Van Sant parallels Callahan’s tragic car accident with a moment when he falls from his wheelchair, reminding us that his past has created his present.) While jarring in some places, the technique proves effective for the majority of the film, offering context to Callahan’s journey in a unique manner.

Since much of the film chronicles Callahan’s journey with Alcoholics Anonymous, Don’t Worry…is imbued with intriguing conversations about reliance on a higher power. Callahan’s journey to sobriety takes him on a genuine wrestling match with God—although, to be fair, what God looks like here is entirely subjective and even unorthodox. (For example, Donnie’s vision of a higher power takes the form of psychotic doll Chucky, because “he’s unpredictable”.) For Callahan, his journey towards healing begins with his acknowledgement of his own weakness and his need for help from someone more powerful. In the strangest of realities, there is a healing that takes place when he understands his own human frailty and accepts the spiritual strength from Another. (As a pastor, I can relate to this truth on any number of levels.)

However, Callahan’s story is not merely one of healing through group therapy either. In fact, his journey also shows the power of finding your voice. Known for his political cartoons, Callahan found his true calling by speaking on behalf of a generation that was struggling to find itself. Though frequently controversial in his content, Callahan committed himself to expressing himself in ways that challenged the cultural norm. In doing so, his voice also gave him sense of hope and purpose that had eluded him throughout much of his life.

In the end, Don’t Worry He Won’t Get Far On Foot is a poignant character piece about one man’s fight for self-discovery. Anchored by Phoenix but buoyed by Hill, the film is often engaging in ways that are both challenge and entertain. Though not his best work, Van Sant can still create well-rounded characters that don’t shy away from their frailties but still highlight their hopefulness as well.

Five Seasons: The Gardens of Piet Oudolf

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“This is what you’d like to see in nature.”

Gardens bring us pleasure, even if we have to work to keep them beautiful. Gardens bring a bit of nature close to us, even if it is in an artificial setting. But Dutch landscape designer Piet Oudolf seeks to make gardens that reflect nature. Filmmaker Thomas Piper has brought us Five Seasons: The Gardens of Piet Oudolf, a visually enjoyable visit to some of the amazing gardens Oudolf has designed.

Piper is a documentarian who has specialized in films about contemporary art. And the gardens that Oudolf designs are truly works of art. Oudolf began with a nursery to grow perennial plants, but in time branched out into designing public gardens that often seem to be like a trip into nature. Oudolf’s gardens include The High Line in New York City, Lurie Garden in Chicago, as well as gardens in London, Paris, and the Netherlands.

The film takes us to some of the gardens he has designed and lets us look over his shoulder as he works on a design for a new garden. In the process we move through the year from winter to winter to see how the gardens change over time. We also come to understand that the beauty of a garden is not limited to the colorful times of blooming, but even when the plants become “skeletons” there is still a beauty to be found. The film also takes us with Oudolf as he travels to see the beauty of nature in various places: the Texas Hill Country during the bluebonnet season, a prairie restoration in Iowa, and a post-industrial forest in Pennsylvania. Here he finds inspiration for his work.

Piet Oudolf’s plans for the gardens at Hauser & Wirth Somerset.

Because the film views these landscapes as art, it is careful to let us see the beauty—not only in the plants themselves, but in the design that Oudolf creates on paper. It also allows us time to savor the visual world, and to reflect on the relationship between humankind and nature.

There is a certain poetic feel to the film that invites us to consider the way nature enhances our lives and also how we fit in to nature. This is especially true as the film moves into the second winter, because at that point it gives us time to reflect on death—death that exists in nature before newness comes, and the death that is inevitable in every life.

The gardens at Hummelo in the fall.

Photos courtesy Argot Pictures

Leaning into the Wind – The Art of Nature, Time, and Andy Goldsworthy

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Leaning into the Wind – Andy Goldsworthy is a reunion between the artist Andy Goldsworthy and film director Thomas Riedelsheimer, who also made the 2001 film about Goldsworthy and his art, Rivers and Tides – Andy Goldsworthy Working with Time. For those who have seen the earlier film, this will be both familiar and different, because of some of the changes in Goldsworthy’s approach to his art.

Goldsworthy focuses his art on nature and time. Many of his works are momentary. Others are more permanent (although even those are designed to change over time). The art work done here may cause some to consider just what makes art. Is it something that is seen by others, or is it still art if it is only a moment with just Goldsworthy and the camera present? And what of the things he does without the camera present? For example, one of his works is walking through a row of bushes, unseen, except for the movement of the bushes. That certainly fits with his connection with nature and the way we interact with nature.

Because time, decay, and change are key elements of Goldsworthy’s work, it is very interesting that he came across a large fallen tree near his home, which he views as something he will be creating art with for the rest of his life. As the tree decays that will affect things he has done with that tree. And then when others come and take some of the branches, others are also affecting his art.

One of the ways time is affecting his work on a larger level is that his daughter is now working with him to create art. We see them go to a college campus and painstakingly use leaves and flower petals to make a line going up a flight of stairs. Their interaction becomes an important piece of the work itself.

In Rivers and Tides we pick up a bit of the thinking that lies behind his creations. The current film includes some of that, but is a bit less verbal, relying on viewers to have some familiarity with his work and his philosophy of art. Watching the earlier film before viewing the current one would be helpful—especially if unfamiliar with his work.

Because I was so taken with Rivers and Tides I was looking forward to seeing this new film. I again enjoyed watching Goldsworthy’s process and the unique art that he creates—even if it only momentary. But I didn’t have the strong emotional reaction to Leaning into the Wind as I did to the first film. A large reason for that could well be that with the first film I was in awe of Goldsworthy’s vision of art in nature and the way he used time itself as one of the media of his art. He has gone into some new, interesting directions, but it just doesn’t seem as amazing this time through, because I had a good idea what to expect beforehand.

Photos courtesy of Magnolia Pictures

Maudie – Validation of a Life

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“The whole of life, already framed, right there.”

It’s hard to assign Maudie to any one genre. Certainly it qualifies as biography. But it is also a bit of art history. It’s an inspirational story of finding success and happiness against terrible odds. And at its heart it is a love story—but not the kind of love story that usually is made into movies.

This is the story of Canadian primitivist artist Maud Dowley Lewis (Sally Hawkins). Suffering from severe arthritis since childhood, she is cared for by her overprotective and judgmental aunt. When mercurial fish peddler Everett Lewis (Ethan Hawke) seeks to hire a woman to clean his house and cook his meals, Maud sees it as a chance to escape. Everett lives an almost hermit-like existence. He had learned to be self-reliant to a fault. He lives in a 10’x12’ house without water or electricity. When Maude moves in to such close quarters, it is hard for both of them to adjust. Everett is demanding and at times violent. He is taciturn, while Maud is opinionated and talkative.  Early on he treats her as a lower life form (even the chickens outrank her), but she soon finds an important place in his life.

As an outlet, Maud begins painting pictures of birds and flowers on the walls—and soon the door and the windows. She paints on scraps of wood and paper. A woman from New York wants to buy some pictures, and soon Maud has a roadside business. While this enhances their finances, in many ways it rubs Everett the wrong way. It is a constant struggle to balance these two very independent souls whose lives have become intertwined and who find a love that many may find a bit cold, but there is a passion there.

The film’s greatest strength is the pair of performances by the lead actors. Even when there is little dialogue, their screen presence carries us through the story and the moods that are such a part of the film.

The film often makes use of windows—looking in or out through windows, conversations through windows, windows that might be so dirty we can barely see. For Maud, her art was the window through which she viewed the world. Her paintings are vibrant and happy—far happier than we might expect from someone who suffered so much both physically and emotionally. It is through the window of her art that Maud found happiness and validation.

The concept of validation is a key. How frequently we use the word invalid for someone with a physical or emotional problem. And how close we may come to thinking of such a person as not valid because of their affliction. That is certainly how Maud’s family treated her. She was deemed unimportant and a burden. Early in her relationship with Everett, he thought her incapable of doing what needed to be done. Yet when others began to see beauty in the pictures that she created, it was obvious that she mattered. It was not just that she was earning money. It was that she did something that brought joy to herself and others.

Maudie reminds us of the intrinsic value each person has. To treat them otherwise means we could well miss the gifts they offer to us.

Photos courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics