Flim
Hell 3 (with Richard di Santo)
There is no doubt this is a dark piece, yet one i find strangely comforting. I'm not sure whether it's simply the soothing quality of Flim's piano countering the darkness and the void - not to mention the consumption of the vegetable-like form by a hirsute decay. So many things are at odds here. For example: Are the hair-like protensions a sign of decay or growth? Is this a cycle of life or the inevitable decline? Is the solitude of the organic form, isolated from its (any?) environment, a cause of dread or comfort? Personally i continually find myself confronted by such contradictions and conflicting emotions. But, whatever the case, let alone the artists' initial intentions there can be no question that Hell 3 conjures up an acute sense of temporality and transience.
One issue Geoffrey, Richard and i found ourselves questionning was the size of the image. The dimensions you see are those of Richard's original file, though we questioned him as to his intention. What follows below are excerpts from a series of emails that formed my discussion with Richard on this issue. I myself find this piece quite perplexing, in the most positive sense of the term, and continually return to it in an attempt to solve its mystery, all the while knowing full well that that elusiveness is the very attraction.
A Brief Discussion between Richard di Santo and Michael Tweed
RDS: Flim's piece looks great on the Frail site, Michael, thank you. One small thing, though, which should be an easy fix: I've noticed that it has been resized (that is, enlarged), and I would prefer that it be kept to its original dimensions (enlarging it changes the resolution of the images, making them look far more pixellated than they should). I ask that it be restored to its original size. Hope that's ok with you.
MT: The size has been fixed. Looks good. Now on my system Hell 3 seems a bit less consequential, but I am under the impression that was your intention from the beginning, that microscopic cellular sense has its own subtle impact. Especially now floating there in the void of the full black screen. I really like this piece, and kudos to you and Enrico for creating it... and many thanks for sharing it.
RDS: Thanks for your kind words, Michael (although I don't really get what you mean by "less consequential"), and for fixing the size.
MT: "Less consequential" -- yes what do I mean? I think what I was attempting to refer to was the balance of the size relationships, and that the "actual" size just somehow seems too small, but as I said that then strengthens that minuscule cellular sense that the images provide. It becomes a play between the notion of hell and the organic. The slightly larger version was less tangible and the sense of space and void more palpable. Counter-intuitively it seems to me that the smaller version is more palpable and concrete, the images seeming denser and the space less threatening. It's a very odd effect and very much against what I, at least, would expect.
RDS: For me, it's much better small like this. Thanks again!
There is no doubt this is a dark piece, yet one i find strangely comforting. I'm not sure whether it's simply the soothing quality of Flim's piano countering the darkness and the void - not to mention the consumption of the vegetable-like form by a hirsute decay. So many things are at odds here. For example: Are the hair-like protensions a sign of decay or growth? Is this a cycle of life or the inevitable decline? Is the solitude of the organic form, isolated from its (any?) environment, a cause of dread or comfort? Personally i continually find myself confronted by such contradictions and conflicting emotions. But, whatever the case, let alone the artists' initial intentions there can be no question that Hell 3 conjures up an acute sense of temporality and transience.
One issue Geoffrey, Richard and i found ourselves questionning was the size of the image. The dimensions you see are those of Richard's original file, though we questioned him as to his intention. What follows below are excerpts from a series of emails that formed my discussion with Richard on this issue. I myself find this piece quite perplexing, in the most positive sense of the term, and continually return to it in an attempt to solve its mystery, all the while knowing full well that that elusiveness is the very attraction.
A Brief Discussion between Richard di Santo and Michael Tweed
RDS: Flim's piece looks great on the Frail site, Michael, thank you. One small thing, though, which should be an easy fix: I've noticed that it has been resized (that is, enlarged), and I would prefer that it be kept to its original dimensions (enlarging it changes the resolution of the images, making them look far more pixellated than they should). I ask that it be restored to its original size. Hope that's ok with you.
MT: The size has been fixed. Looks good. Now on my system Hell 3 seems a bit less consequential, but I am under the impression that was your intention from the beginning, that microscopic cellular sense has its own subtle impact. Especially now floating there in the void of the full black screen. I really like this piece, and kudos to you and Enrico for creating it... and many thanks for sharing it.
RDS: Thanks for your kind words, Michael (although I don't really get what you mean by "less consequential"), and for fixing the size.
MT: "Less consequential" -- yes what do I mean? I think what I was attempting to refer to was the balance of the size relationships, and that the "actual" size just somehow seems too small, but as I said that then strengthens that minuscule cellular sense that the images provide. It becomes a play between the notion of hell and the organic. The slightly larger version was less tangible and the sense of space and void more palpable. Counter-intuitively it seems to me that the smaller version is more palpable and concrete, the images seeming denser and the space less threatening. It's a very odd effect and very much against what I, at least, would expect.
RDS: For me, it's much better small like this. Thanks again!
Michael Tweed
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