Tuesday
Der Mude Tod, Fritz Lang
Monday
Narrative Structures
Narrative structure is generally described as the structural framework that underlies the order and manner in which a narrative is presented to a reader, listener, or viewer.
Generally, the narrative structure of any work (be it film, play, or novel) can be divided into three sections, which is referred to as the three-act structure: setup, conflict, resolution. The setup (act one) is where all of the main characters and their basic situation are introduced, and contains the primary level of characterization (exploring the character's backgrounds and personalities). A problem is also introduced, which is what drives the story forward.
The second act, the conflict, is the bulk of the story, and begins when the inciting incident (or catalyst) sets things into motion. This is the part of the story where the character's go through major changes in their lives as a result of what is happening; this can be referred to as the character arc, or character development.
The third act, or resolution, is when the problem in the story boils over, forcing the characters to confront it, allowing all elements of the story to come together and inevitably leading to the ending.
An example is the 1973 film The Exorcist: The first act of the film is when the main characters are introduced and their lives are explored: Father Karras (Jason Miller) is introduced as a Catholic priest who is losing his faith. In act two, a girl named Regan (Linda Blair) becomes possessed by a demonic entity (the problem), and Karras' character arc is being forced to accept that there is no rational or scientific explanation for the phenomenon except that she actually is possessed by a demon, which ties in directly with the theme of him losing his faith. The third act of the film is the actual exorcism, which is what the entire story has been leading to.
Theorists describing a text's narrative structure might refer to structural elements such as an introduction, in which the story's founding characters and circumstances are described; a chorus, which uses the voice of an onlooker to describe the events or indicate the proper emotional response to be happy or sad to what has just happened; or a coda, which falls at the end of a narrative and makes concluding remarks. First described in ancient times by Indian philosophers[1] and Greek philosophers (such asAristotle and Plato), the notion of narrative structure saw renewed popularity as a critical concept in the mid- to late-twentieth century, when structuralist literary theorists including Roland Barthes, Vladimir Propp, Joseph Campbell and Northrop Frye attempted to argue that all human narratives have certain universal, deep structural elements in common. This argument fell out of fashion when advocates of poststructuralism such as Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida asserted that such universally shared deep structures were logically impossible.
Northrop Frye in his Anatomy of Criticism deals extensively with what he calls myths of Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter.
- Spring myths are comedies, i.e., stories that lead from bad situations to happy endings. Shakespeare's Twelfth Night is such a story.
- Summer myths are similarly utopian fantasies such as Dante's Paradiso.
- Fall myths are tragedies that lead from ideal situations to disaster. Compare Hamlet, Othello, and King Lear and the movie Legends of the Fall.
- And finally Winter myths are dystopias, for example George Orwell's 1984 or Aldous Huxley's Brave New World or Ayn Rand's novella Anthem .
[edit]Linear and non-linear narrative structures
A non-linear narrative is one that does not proceed in a straight-line, step-by-step fashion, such as where an author creates a story's ending before the middle is finished. Linear is the opposite, when narrative runs smoothly in a straight line, when it is not broken up.
An example of a non-linear narrative is the 1994 film Pulp Fiction. The film is ostensibly three short stories, which upon closer glance are actually three sections of one story with the chronology broken up.
Tuesday
Quick Thoughts....
Olafur Elissaon: The Weather Project

The subject of the weather has long shaped the content of everyday conversation. The eighteenth-century writer Samuel Johnson famously remarked ‘It is commonly observed, that when two Englishmen meet, their first talk is of the weather; they are in haste to tell each other, what each must already know, that it is hot or cold, bright or cloudy, windy or calm.’ InThe Weather Project, the fourth in the annual Unilever Series of commissions for the Turbine Hall, Olafur Eliasson takes this ubiquitous subject as the basis for exploring ideas about experience, mediation and representation.
In this installation, The Weather Project, representations of the sun and sky dominate the expanse of the Turbine Hall. A fine mist permeates the space, as if creeping in from the environment outside. Throughout the day, the mist accumulates into faint, cloud-like formations, before dissipating across the space. A glance overhead, to see where the mist might escape, reveals that the ceiling of the Turbine Hall has disappeared, replaced by a reflection of the space below. At the far end of the hall is a giant semi-circular form made up of hundreds of mono-frequency lamps. The arc repeated in the mirror overhead produces a sphere of dazzling radiance linking the real space with the reflection. Generally used in street lighting, mono-frequency lamps emit light at such a narrow frequency that colours other than yellow and black are invisible, thus transforming the visual field around the sun into a vast duotone landscape.
The weather
Eliasson views the weather – wind, rain, sun – as one of the few fundamental encounters with nature that can still be experienced in the city. He is also interested in how the weather shapes a city and, in turn, how the city itself becomes a filter through which to experience the weather. ‘Every city mediates its own weather’, Eliasson has said. ‘As inhabitants, we have grown accustomed to the weather as mediated by the city. This takes place in numerous ways, on various collective levels ranging from hyper-mediated (or representational) experiences, such as the television weather forecast, to more direct and tangible experiences, like simply getting wet while walking down the street on a rainy day. A level between the two extremes would be sitting inside, looking out of a window onto a sunny or rainy street. The window, as the boundary of one’s tactile engagement with the outside, mediates one’s experience of the exterior weather accordingly.’ In The Weather Project, Eliasson has sought to bring a part of London into the building, and through the experience and memory of the work, a part of it is taken back out into the city by the viewer.
Experiencing the work
This project is linked to Eliasson’s fascination with the way museums mediate the reception of art. In a museum, visitors are offered an array of information before they even see a work of art – from the marketing poster and press reviews to the interpretation text panel on the walls of the gallery. Eliasson recognises that this information influences the experience and understanding of the work. In this project he decided to direct these less overt aspects of making an exhibition, so that the experience of the work would be left as unscathed as possible for the viewer. He conducted a survey of staff at the museum, posing a series of questions ranging from the everyday to the abstract (‘How often do you discuss the weather?’, ‘Do you think the idea of the weather in our society is based on nature or culture?’). The statistical data gathered from this study was then used in the promotional campaign for the exhibition. Instead of photographs of the work, simple statements about the weather can be seen on advertisements in magazines, taxis or on the internet. Eliasson carefully chose information which would not prejudice or influence the visitor’s expectation of the work of art: ‘I think there is often a discrepancy between the experience of seeing and the knowledge or expectation of what we are seeing’.
The way in which Eliasson’s works harness the precarious and fleeting aspects of the natural world might initially evoke the spiritual and emotional attachment to nature found in the Romantic tradition. Yet the transcendent experience at the core of this tradition is disrupted in Eliasson’s work by exposing the structure and apparatus delivering the installation: ‘The benefit in disclosing the means with which I am working is that it enables the viewer to understand the experience itself as a construction and so, to a higher extent, allow them to question and evaluate the impact this experience has on them.’ For this reason, as well as Eliasson’s subversive engagement with the construct of the museum, in The Weather Project there is the opportunity to walk behind ‘sun’ to see the sub-structure and electrical wiring, as well as the machines distributing the fine mist.
Eliasson’s impressive installation draws attention to the fundamental act of perceiving the world around us. But, like the weather, our perceptions are in a continual state of flux. The dynamic variations in the composition of the ephemeral elements of The Weather Project parallel the unpredictability of the weather outside, which despite the efforts and sabotage of humankind still remains beyond our control.
Brian Eno: 77 Million Paintings

Eno’s latest work, The Constellations (77 Million Paintings) creates “visual music” using screens showing constantly evolving paintings. The 77 million paintings are generated from handmade slides, randomly combined by a computer using specially developed software. A soundtrack of interwoven sound accompanies the work.
The random nature of The Constellations allows each visitor a unique experience.
Monday
The Garden of Forking Paths
'In Greek mythology, the Labyrinth (Greek λαβύρινθος labyrinthos) was an elaborate structure designed and built by the legendary artificer Daedalusfor King Minos of Crete at Knossos. Its function was to hold the Minotaur, a mythical creature that was half man and half bull and was eventually killed by the Athenian hero Theseus. Daedalus had made the Labyrinth so cunningly that he himself could barely escape it after he built it.[1] Theseus was aided by Ariadne, who provided him with a skein of thread, literally the "clew", or "clue", so he could find his way out again.
In colloquial English, labyrinth is generally synonymous with maze, but many contemporary scholars observe a distinction between the two: mazerefers to a complex branching (multicursal) puzzle with choices of path and direction; while a single-path (unicursal) labyrinth has only a single, non-branching path, which leads to the center. A labyrinth in this sense has an unambiguous route to the center and back and is not designed to be difficult to navigate.[2]'
Garden of Forking Paths (again)....
Beyond its facade as a spy narrative, "The Garden of Forking Paths" has similarities to today's digital media and hypertext projects, including perhaps Wikipedia. Borges conceives of "a labyrinth that folds back upon itself in infinite regression", asking the reader to "become aware of all the possible choices we might make."[4] The elaborate hypertext is much like the book which Borges suggests to be the labyrinth, ("Every one imagined two works; to no one did it occur that the book and the maze were one and the same thing...the confusion of the novel suggested to me that it was the maze"[1]) in a sense of how the site offers different approaches to how you may interpret the information provided, yet you're not trapped in the dilemma of choosing one and eliminating others; you may choose to unfold all possibilities. You "create, in this way, diverse futures, diverse times which themselves also proliferate and fork" (Wardrip-Fruin, 33). Although the story appeared before the advent of modern computers, Borges seems to have invented the hypertext narrative structure. Wardrip-Fruin and Montfort write: "Our use of computers is ... based on the visions of those who like Borges—pronouncing [The Garden of Forking Paths] from the growing dark of his blindness—saw those courses that future artists, scientists and hackers might take."[1]
My quick thoughts
create a labyrinth of visual imagery, completely lost in
Brian Eno, 10000000000000000 images
constantly trapped in visual labyrinth
images are connected but unsure how
readers possible choices, viewers possible choices
maze in the visual
You "create, in this way, diverse futures, diverse times which themselves also proliferate and fork"
Keinholz
Been thinking about an exhibition I saw at the Baltic, the work of Keinholz and its suck with me for all these years. One of the works included a turn table selection, in which you selected your 'fate' and entered into the installation where that specific selection lit up a certain object (animal) and played a certain song. This process always made me want to create a work in which the audience can interact and select, Tralfamadore had this element but I want to further the selection process and really immersive the viewer in their selection, perhapsTuesday
Latest Ikon Trip

What the Ikon has to say....Takamine’s work Inertia (1998) involves the uneasy combination of a young woman and a bullet train. She is shown close-up and feet first on top of a carriage while the rest of the world flashes past. A powerful electric hum dramatises her fruitless attempts to push her dress down over her legs against the force of the wind; the situation is intensely sexual, unstoppable and exhilarating, clearly drawn from classic fetishism and nightmare scenarios. Kimura-san (1998), a controversial video piece featuring footage of the artist providing sexual relief for a disabled friend, was previously shown at Ikon in 2002. Revisited for this exhibition, Kimura-san highlights the sexual needs of people with disabilities, a subject which is often unacknowledged or ignored by wider society. The subject of the film, Kimura-san (Mr Kimura), is confned to a wheelchair, barely able to control his limbs having suffered poisoning as a baby through contaminated infant milk formula. Unable to talk, feed himself or perform any toilet activity without help, he can think clearly and is able to make noises with his mouth. The artist cared for Kimura-san during the 1990s, developing effective communication through gestures, which resulted in Takamine’s sudden realisation of Kimura-san’s sexual desire, and the fact that it could only be fulflled with the help of others. Despite its sympathetic and unpatronising nature, this work remains contentious especially in Japan. God Bless America (2002), a highlight of the 2003 Venice Biennale, is a comment on the global intrusion of American culture in the post-9/11 world. For eighteen days Takamine and his female partner lived in an entirely red room, filming themselves as they worked, ate, slept and had sex. In the resulting time-lapse footage we see them kick and punch a sculpture into being: a giant head, resembling George W. Bush, which continually singsGod Bless America. Like Kimura-san, this work asserts the value of free will.