Condor feather in hand, Polish animator and filmmaker Aleksandra Korejwo manipulates dyed salt in search of synchronicity between movement and music. Often inspired by a piece of classical music, her work carries rhythm and texture through the poetics of dance, presenting works of such profound beauty and delicacy. With blended edges and cascading forms, the images can be gentle, soft-flowing, or vigorous and fast moving, yet never harsh. Even in her presentation of Bizet’s Carmen Suite, a figure may move with ferocity but always with the poise of a trained dancer; calculated, precise. This is no surprise, of course, as much of her work is directly inspired by inhabitants of the stage.
She approaches animating in just the same way as those performers, often rehearsing the choreography before committing to the part, sweeping and probing the tiny crystals like stained glass exploded. In a recent interview, she discusses how she approaches the composition, annotating the printed manuscript with sketches and swatches, transforming the bars to graphic notation as a form of expanded storyboarding. In doing so, with precise timing she can effectively marry the two mediums before commencing work on the light-table.
While her works tend to burst with intensity, Ave Maria is much gentler. Reflecting on Franz Schubert’s composition, performed by violinist Kaja Danczowska and pianist Janusz Olejniczak, and the works of master painter El Greco, the metaphysical becomes physical through gesture and colour. With considered use of blues and yellows, the ethereal quality of the music is matched visually as figures gradually form and dissolve; in the hands of the Mother, to those in prayer, rising up into the clasp of wings, as if lit by moonlight. As with each of her works, it’s a beautiful - perhaps even moving - piece and shows her mastery over the erasure form. I will no doubt return once again to Korejwo in a future post, for she deserves greater appreciation. For now, Ave Maria.
As I hold no copyright over these spotlighted works, links may break from time to time, but where this is the case, I ask you - seek them out. It’ll be worth it.
Like many, I first encountered Scottish animator and filmmaker Norman McLaren whilst studying. Having come to the field from a background in history, with little experience and much to learn, I was instantly enamored. His inventiveness and flair for experimentation - delighting in pure abstraction, pixelation, and dance - helped shape my appreciation for what animation could be and contributed directly to my development as an animator and educator. With no less than 70 films spanning a career of 50 years, we owe much to his pioneering antics. In celebration of his birthday, though a little late, I thought it apt to share the piece that first introduced me to his work, claiming me as one of his own.
Produced in 1949 for the National Film Board of Canada, working alongside long-time collaborator Evelyn Lambert, Begone Dull Care is an audio-visual masterwork. Drawn directly on celluloid film, we are given an abstract expressionist view of graphic notation, capturing the energy not only of the sounds produced by collaborating jazz musicians, the Oscar Peterson Trio, but their movements in performance too. In three distinct acts, the piece moves from the establishment of instrument-corresponding motifs and showing the work’s potential, to a relaxed monochromitisation of forms, to a frenzied explosion of multimodal expression, exploring the depths of colour, harmony, texture, and rhythm. If music is the universal language, then animation must be the instrument of its projection.
I adore this piece, it’s truly captivating, and I will never tire of it. If you only ever manage to see one of the 70, let it be this one.
As I hold no copyright over these spotlighted works, links may break from time to time, but where this is the case, I ask you - seek them out. It’ll be worth it.
Working on a homemade rostrum to capture the delicate metamorphosis of sand beneath his fingertips, Cesar Diaz Melendez carves out a haunting narrative in his short, Zepo. It tells of a little girl in search of firewood, and instead finding a trail of blood. While it’s runtime is a mere three minutes, time seems not to pass, building in stark uncertainty to a moment so chilling, it feels endless.
Melendez utilises the erasure form wonderfully. Having worked on films such as Anderson’s Isle of Dogs and Kaufman’s Anomalisa, as well as various personal projects, this is no surprise. The film feels both Soviet Bloc era in its design and setting, and yet current, with the world once more cold, and Fascism on the rise. The horror of this short is painfully real. It is current, reflective of times past, and suggestive of those ahead. Where William’s Prologue (2015) presented war in battle as gruesome yet exciting, Zepo sees the effects on the outskirts: the unseen and unforgivable acts, the tragedy of the innocent, and we as witness and unwitting accomplice. It has stuck with me since first viewing, and well worth sticking with you too.
As I hold no copyright over these spotlighted works, links may break from time to time, but where this is the case, I ask you - seek them out. It’ll be worth it.
