Dunedin winter DIY

DIY preamp building on the coldest night of the year... many thanks to electronics wunderkind Nigel Bunn for his inventive circuit bendings...

imaginary media / the legacy of professor robert jack

In the “Second Introduction to an Archaeology of Imaginary Media,” Eric Kluitenberg writes that one of the tasks of the discipline of media archaeology is to scour the historical archive – “stories, drawings, prints, films, songs, advertisements or quasi-philosophical imaginaries” – for the utopian dreams of potential or possible media forms that might “compensate for the inherent flaws and deficiencies of interpersonal communication."

Siegfried Zielinski, one of the first scholars to use the term "media archaeology," breaks down the category of imaginary media into three groups of phenomena in his essay in the same text, "Modelling Media for Ignatius Loyola":

untimely media: media realized in technical and media practice either long before or after their invention

conceptual media: media sketched, modeled or drafted but not actually built

impossible media: media which cannot actually be built but nevertheless express ideas which impact the factual world of media

Slavoj Zizek’s book on the philosophy of Gilles Deleuze, Organs Without Bodies, argues not only that the emergence of the New is Deleuze’s central concern, but that for Deleuze, the New only emerges through repetition. In other words, the creation of something truly new always involves a kind of repetition. What is being repeated, though, “is not the way the past ‘effectively was’ but the virtuality inherent to the past and betrayed by its past actualization”. In other words, imaginary media present us with a series of possibilities for actions in the present precisely because they never fully appeared in the past.

By way of positioning the political project of media archaeology, Zielinski writes:

"[T]he main purpose of this archaeological work is to counter current tendencies towards standardization and universalization in the interest of a uniform global market with the rich variety of variants offered by bygone eras. If archaeology is the principal method for this special form of historical research, then variantology is the tactic (in the Foucauldian sense) by which individual genealogies are to be unravelled from its wealth of varieties."

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visiting the University of Otago's physics department with Nigel Bunn the other day (he was picking up a trolleyful of oscillators which, no longer used in the classroom, were going to be thrown away), we were shown around the labyrinthine environs of the teaching facilities by Paul Yates. the chance find of Robert Jack's transmitter sitting in a cupboard - the actual machine used in the first NZ broadcast, c.1921 (an exceptional imaginary moment in the history of our communications media), was predicated, after a wonderful, rambling tour of all sorts of nooks and crannies of obsolete technologies and teaching aids, by the statement, "oh, you might be interested in this"

... well, yes. I was.

an excerpt from Robert Jack's original broadcast can be heard here

the Dictionary of New Zealand Biography entry on Prof Jack can be found here

a timeline for New Zealand communications history can be read here

McIntyre/MacKinnon/Bunn/Gorman

a half-hour excerpt of Pete Gorman's video documentation of an improvised radiophonic / lo-fi electronic / sound-light translation soundramble on Sunday 1st February, 2009, at NONE, Dunedin, with input as listed from:

Sally McIntyre – Radiophonics

Alex MacKinnon - Circuit-bent devices

Nigel Bunn - Hand-made light controlled synth unit

Pete Gorman - Hand-made quadtrature oscillators

is viewable here

radio cegeste at Chicks Hotel, Dunedin

the inaugural radio cegeste live micro radio performance on 12th Dec 2008 involved creating a site-specific radio programme for the iconic, historically notorious Chicks Hotel, in Port Chalmers, Dunedin. a playlist of environmental and anecdotal field recordings collected around the Port Chalmers area within 24 hours of broadcast were played back via itunes, handmade Mini FM transmitter and hand-held radio receivers.

Nigel Bunn helped me collect the field recordings. Our sonic mapping exercise took in various indoor and outdoor, cultural and natural environments. Along the way I also talked to a church organist about trains, a publican about the artist Ralph Hotere, children exiting a school bus, and the Chicks Hotel proprietor Hector Hazard about his attempts to 'unlearn the guitar'.

I shared a bill with various improvised noise / sound practitioners and DJs from Christchurch and Dunedin : Adam Willetts, Dirt Room, EYE, and A'sides for Betaville. Kim Pieters took the following performance photographs.

Flickering Birds

[initially conceived as a stylistic exercise in combing an inconsequential moment of time for its detail, treating this moment somewhat photographically as a 'zooming' from a wide to a close focus, while inevitably encountering the hubris of all that cannot be captured and the psychological biases and blind spots of the process of obsessive observation, flickering birds, as it eventually came to be called, was written ages before it was published alongside a photograph by Nigel Bunn in issue 2 of the Bill Direen edited journal, Percutio.]

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flickering birds

It is a pale light in which they first become visible. A thin section of day, held in a street, in a few minutes, in a window. Not immediately noticeable, they are nevertheless present within the frame, where further up, gauzy, near-transparent clouds are drifting.

At first the attention is taken by the clouds’ slow unravelling into bits and wisps, but it soon meanders down toward the green-lit tinge of a glass wall at the window’s edge, in which the multiplied reflections of walking birds are distorting and buckling, seemingly locked in a nauseating cyclic repetition which, in the intervening seconds, has neither gained nor lost momentum.

Light pours in and across one side, almost obscuring the single leafless tree, although the tree motif recurs simultaneously lower down, bare branches sharded into a mosaic of mismatched fragments with other patches and points, with fragments of the street, of dark and brown, of the glint of glasses and dull grey coat and a patch of light brown.

Even within the containing pattern of these sharded fragments the cloud forms’ ongoing dispersal throws into perspective an incalculably large stretch of empty air, where no bird can be discerned, and which seems only by its framing in the window, in the glass wall and in the word ‘sky’ to be in any way conceivable as either blue or a location.

There is a quick reversal and narrowing of focus down toward a cup of a white and chalky delicacy, shaped like a tiny matt-glazed porcelain bucket, elegant and linear, in circumference slightly wider at the rim than the base. From the street the cup can be seen as it is lifted and set back down at intervals.

Shifting perspective to the other side of the glass and zooming in, a series of stylised, soft-edged rectangular columns that superficially inscribe the chalky surface can be observed. A rhythmic petal pattern, but the modernist rigidity of its design abstracts the cup’s floral emblem beyond any organic reference, leaning more to a partitioned and monochromatic formal regularity.

As if in protest, the tabletop’s chaotic patina of scratches and biro lines is cut by paler rings where other heated china and glass cups have imprinted the caramel coloured, almost incidentally lustrous antique wood, and ragged dark-edged smudges where spills of liquid have bleached its varnished, scarred surface.

Across and down, the white cup travels a small, irregularly sectioned space, sometimes crystalising its integrity as a discrete object, either hesitatingly or forcefully, sometimes arcing a blur across the air above the golden wood.

Its peripatetic whiteness is simultaneously colder than the table’s amber tones and warmer than the green of the glass wall that lends a sick, almost lurid tinge to the winter skin of those framed in the window, which attention now shifts more fully toward, to the dark bob haircut, slightly wavy at the ends, its black silhouette revealed as warm rich brown where the threads breaking up its edges are backed with diffuse light, framing the pale, pointed smile and lively, determined blue-grey eyes.

Then the small, round, gold-framed glasses and heavy grey woollen overcoat and light brown hair over the unshaven but distinctly haughty jawline. He is taller and thinner and leans over slightly, talking to her, the lines of his body softened subtly by her presence, but still looking as he must look otherwise; intense, neglected, almost dusty.

We can almost see them, but then attention shifts again as the cup’s heat draws the eye down toward where one dried coffee drip trails from the thin rim, down toward the dried pooling on the base, which spreads into a brown edged peaked shape like a botched ideogram or oddly boneless ink drawing of a profile. It is now noticed that age has crackled the inner glaze of the cup into a multitude of tiny crazed abstractions that mirror the skin of the hand.

The coffee that has dripped onto the hand, in the soft webbing midway between the thumb and the fingers, has entered the cracks and traces of a normally invisible system of lines. This fragile craquelure is further offset by the cup’s handle, which soon intrudes until it becomes an obstruction taking up all the available attention.

The handle, noticed originally only for the reason of its not being quite big enough to fit two of the fingers, now unavoidably presents itself in view as a glaring and irresolvable aesthetic oversight, not belonging in any way to the cup’s quiet and assured circular momentum.

The handle, when scrutinised, is incongruously floppy, as though quickly and casually moulded out of clay, and stuck like a looping soft bodied caterpillar on one side, perversely at odds with, and breaking, the cup’s formal and architectural tone, its delicately scaled symmetry.

By the time the handle has been negotiated and attention has been diverted again toward the street it is already minutes later, they have almost disappeared, despite their slowness, and will remain only for a few seconds more, poised just before the window’s edge where the entrance of the partially obscured building becomes a cavernous and unknowable space.

A tiny thing with a dark bob haircut, carrying a brown leather satchel. Gold rimmed glasses that speak of lost things without specific era or reference. A slightly shabby exterior like something formerly luxurious has withered and gone to seed.

He is leaning over slightly, talking to her, the gesture oddly touching, his movements communicating wordlessly and publicly the private fact of his aloneness, and equally the almost dreamlike continual miracle of her company, as it has been, in this day, in this street, in the space of this window.

On the footpath unreadable people are already thickening, obscuring them from sight, walking in twos and threes and singly, sharding into an abstract vocabulary of patterns that fuses faces, hands, tshirts, backpacks and smiles with the ephemeral flickering of the pale light, with the spare and skeletal winter tree, the hard lit lines of the dull metal railing, the sharded cracked glaze of the cup’s interior, the gridded skin patterning the webbing of the hand, the flat winter light glaring on the green tinged glass wall, onto the clouds of white exhalation, onto these visible and partitioned facts.

In the same reflection but slightly lower down, flickering birds are rolling on the grey and grainy flatness of the pavement, their seasick gait stuttering in and out of reflection, soft and flattened bodies teetering on impossibly elongated spindly legs, all movement enacted in an absence of sound which is, simultaneously, their absence, but is at first unnoticeable to the observer except as an inexplicable, almost imperceivable resetting of a habitual emotional suspension or disconnectedness, which is something like a light going out.

notes for a coastline

quite soon after meeting documentary filmmaker Zoe Roland on her move from Auckland to Christchurch, she commissioned me to write the script for a short experimental film she was working on, based around the 'bach' (holiday house) culture of the South Island seaside settlement of Gore Bay.

This film eventually became Notes for a Coastline, which drew on documentary, oral history, B&W 16mm shot on vintage Bolex cameras, found archival super-8 and experimental radiophony, layering a palimpsest of film and digital video footage, and audio interviews with community members with an essayistic monologue.

It had its inaugural screenings in the 2004 Homegrown programme of the NZ International Film Festivals (Wellington and Auckland), and a screening at the 5th biennial New Zealand Expanding Documentary Conference (2004). It went on to be included in the official selection of the Navarra International Documentary Film Festival (Spain) in 2005, as well as having a hometown showing that year at The Physics Room Contemporary Art Space

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"Notes for a Coastline” is an essayist documentary about cultural memory in regard to place; in this instance, Gore Bay, a beach settlement in the South Island of New Zealand. The narrative is a poetic exploration into the art of storytelling, which presents and muses upon the subject from a number of angles. It is “about” storytelling, a semi-scientific portrayal as well as a personal portrayal of the search of stories."

Director: Zoe Roland
Screenplay: Sally Ann McIntyre
Music: Ryan Smith
Sound: Zoe Roland, Sally Ann McIntyre, Nigel Bunn

Director of Photography: Nigel Bunn
Producer: Zoe Roland