即將出爐的國外紀錄長片《Bolex: The Last Employee 》，講述瑞士製作的BOLEX, Kern鏡頭和Nagra精準工業文化。
預告片在這裡：
2015年12月30日
2015年12月10日
16mm手繪工作坊成果@國立清華大學藝術中心 2015/10月
2015年10月17/18/24/25日，連續兩個週末、共計四個整天的16mm手繪工作坊終於完成了！
國立清華大學藝術中心主辦的「手繪16mm工作坊」，目的是希望清大的學生能夠有認識電影膠片與藝術創作的機會，增進多元發展管道。對我來說，能在清大舉辦16mm手繪工作坊別具意義，除了是有幸回到母校回饋學弟妹之外，也算是終於能夠把我在舊金山藝術學院（San Francisco Art Institute）四年的實驗電影重鎮學習與訓練，將各項技術跟創作思維分享給學弟妹。
清華大學藝術中心非常非常有心，幫忙籌備了許多的設備以及購置材料，讓學生可以在材料費上「節省」一些，以專心發揮最大的創作力。
這堂工作坊是使用16mm透明與黑膠片創作，從手繪電影的概念開始，介紹動畫、電影與工藝的關聯，同時從實驗電影出發，帶入當代動態影像藝術如何結合裝置藝術的各國案例。最後成果非常歡迎以個人或團體製作的方式，完成手繪影像作品或裝置藝術或結合其他藝術元素呈現作品。呈現方式可以使用16mm現場放映，或是轉成數位檔案配上音樂、音效，或是結合其他自己拍攝的影像也都可以！
手繪膠片除了膠片是大家都一樣的媒材之外，上色或刮除或各種發想的工具、零件、材料、墨水、毛髮、粉塵、膠帶等等，都是由每一位學員自己發想、嘗試、觀摩、學習以及各自從中發現獨特的樂趣與饗宴。
2015年8月12日
移動沖印廠 Alpha Lab's Mobile Film Processing Laboratory
英文標題： Alpha Lab's Mobile Film Processing Laboratory
原文來源：http://motion.kodak.com/motion/Publications/InCamera/Alpha_Lab_39_s_Mobile_Film_Processing_Laboratory.htm
原文發佈時間：June 12, 2015
大綱分享：
心得：雖然在台灣應該是沒有這個需求，國外可能一般民眾也不需要這個服務，但是，他們還是很努力地建造了一台這樣的移動式沖印卡車，也精心在既有的卡車空間裡規劃了所有沖洗需具備的流程與設備。如果再早個20年，可能台灣會很適合吧？「環島」走透透！
原文來源：http://motion.kodak.com/motion/Publications/InCamera/Alpha_Lab_39_s_Mobile_Film_Processing_Laboratory.htm
原文發佈時間：June 12, 2015
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| 圖片來源：http://goo.gl/XyJm5s |
在英國的Alpha
Lab啟動了第一個移動式大卡車沖印廠，目的是希望可以讓有膠片沖洗需求的人或工作室，可以避免掉運送等交通時間。這個沖印卡車1天工作8小時，最多可沖洗2萬呎的35mm film，他們也會跟數位化單位合作，可以立即提供拍片現場導演或攝影師，在移到下一個就確認好現場所拍攝的影像是否滿意。看內部設計：http://goo.gl/XyJm5s
心得：雖然在台灣應該是沒有這個需求，國外可能一般民眾也不需要這個服務，但是，他們還是很努力地建造了一台這樣的移動式沖印卡車，也精心在既有的卡車空間裡規劃了所有沖洗需具備的流程與設備。如果再早個20年，可能台灣會很適合吧？「環島」走透透！
2015年4月14日
[分享] 攝影展覽《看見看不見的》：當電影膠卷保存不當時，變成照片顯得更有趣。
The Unseen Seen: When film reels aren’t preserved perfectly, it makes them all the more interesting to photograph
《看見看不見的》展覽：當電影膠卷保存不當時，變成照片顯得更有趣。
(此篇僅作為參考翻譯，若翻譯有誤煩請提醒。譯/岑竹)
Courtesy of Reiner Riedler35 mm Positive Print of "Ginger und Fred" (orig. Ginger e Fred), 1985, Dir. Federico Fellini, act 1 of 7
When photographer Reiner Riedler began shooting film reels and negatives, he veered away from capturing the content of movies, focusing his lens instead on the stories the reels themselves told. His creative playground, Berlin’s Deutsche Kinemathek film archive, housed hundreds of thousands of films spanning decades. When travel and archiving failed to preserve the reels perfectly, it was good news for Riedler. Rips, scratches and imperfections made the reels all the more interesting to photograph. His travelling exhibition, The Unseen Seen, opens at the TIFF Bell Lightbox this week as part of the 2015 Scotiabank CONTACT Photography Festival. The Post’s Teddy Wilson spoke with Riedler from Vienna about his magnum opus exhibition.
當攝影師 Reiner Riedler 開始拍攝電影膠卷與電影底片時，他的焦點不在電影內容上而是轉移到電影膠卷本身的故事。數十年累積下來擁有上千萬部電影的德國柏林電影資料館（Deutsche Kinemathek）是他的創意園區。那些到各處去放片或因保存不當而劣化的電影片，對Riedler來說都是最好的材料。撕裂，刮傷或者各種讓電影底片不盡完美的狀況都可以在攝影作品之下變得更有趣。他今年的巡迴展覽「看見看不見的」（The Unseen Seen），首展於本週加拿大多倫多國際影展，Scotiabank CONTACT Photography Festival的其中一個節目。本篇作者Teddy Wilson在維也納與Riedler訪談關於他的代表作品。(此篇僅作為參考翻譯，若翻譯有誤煩請提醒。譯/岑竹)
Q How did the idea come about for The Unseen Seen, to photograph film reels?
問：關於《看見看不見的》，拍攝電影片盤的靈感來源為何？
A The idea originally came from a friend who works in the archive at the Deutsche Kinemathek. We went to the same university, and he always told be about his archives. One day I was curious, maybe it is interesting to have a look at the boxes of film reels. They have many stories to tell because they have a long history, they travel a lot. You can see from the outside how long their journey was.
答：靈感來自一位在Deutsche Kinemathek工作的朋友。我們讀同一所大學，他常常說關於電影資料館的事情，所以有一天我就很好奇想要看看那些他說的片盒跟膠卷。這些片盒跟膠卷因為到處旅行，充滿著許多歷史跟故事可以說。光看他們的外觀就知道他們經歷多少旅程。
Q How did you start photographing them?
問：你如何開始拍攝這些片盤？
A I went to a film museum in Vienna, and rented one movie that had a nick and I brought it to my studio. I was just curious, I had never touched a movie reel. I opened it and took it against a light. There was this special moment when I saw that it was transparent. You have the size of an LP, and you turn it around and then there are these patterns and I was really surprised. In this moment I knew there was something to do. I contacted my friend in Berlin from the Deutsche Kinemathek and asked if we could start something together. I got permission to make a film list and to go to the archives and have a look at all the movies. They have hundreds of thousands. I started with very simple movies that I saw in my childhood, like Bambi and King Kong. It was a very exciting journey, and it’s not finished.
我從維也納的一間電影資料館租了一部電影片帶回我的工作室， 但是這部片有一個裂痕。我從來沒有碰過電影膠卷，我是因為好奇租的。我打開它朝向亮光看著，當我看到它的透明度時候，一瞬間有很奇妙的感覺。它的大小跟黑膠唱片差不多，但是你側面看時它所擁有的這些圖案讓我好驚訝。那個時候，我就知道可以做什麼事情了。我與那位在Deutsche Kinemathek工作的朋友聯繫，我問我們可否一起進行這個計畫。我因此得到資料館的許可，進到裡面看所有的電影片然後列出我要的清單。他們有上千萬部的電影片。我從我小時候看的一些電影片開始，比如《小鹿斑比》和《金剛》。那是個讓人興奮的探訪，至今都還沒有結束。
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Courtesy of Reiner Riedler 35 mm Positive
Print of "Der Blaue Engel" (The Blue Angel), 1930, Dir. Josef von Sternberg, act 5 of 5
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問：使用電影膠片實體創作對你來說重要性為何？
A We just know movies by their projected image, we never see the material. I wanted to have a look at the material that transports the image. I wanted to confront the photographs of [the reels], which are titled the title of the movie, and to confront that with the images in our head and in our memory [of the film]. I wanted to see what happens to an audience if you go to a space and you see pictures, titles, and bring your own memory. This was the experiment.
答：我們都只知道電影放映出來的畫面，我們從來沒有看過它的材質。我想要看那些承載影像的材料為何。我想要用攝影來面對，而且用原本電影的片名來當作攝影的作品名稱，用攝影電影片本身來面對這些在我們記憶裡與腦海裡的影像。我想要知道當觀賞者看到這些照片與電影名稱，再結合回憶時會發生什麼事情。這是一種實驗。
Q How did you then develop a technique to photograph them?
問：那之後在拍攝的技術上是如何發展的呢？
A At the very beginning I had to do some experiments. I had to backlight the movies. Now I use a ring-flash, and it is always wide light, so I don’t need to change the colour of the light. I tried to keep the same methods for all the movies, to [better] see the difference [between films] at the end. Also important, I always use the first act. Many of the movies have three, four five, up to 13 rolls, and I just decided to do the first acts. Sometimes I shoot all the acts, like The Three Colors trilogy. [For] Three Colors: Blue, I took all of them because it was amazing, the only [film reel] that was blue. It is the analogies between the colours, the patterns, and the titles that were interesting for me as a photographer.
答：一開始我必須要進行一些實驗。比如一開始我從背後打燈。現在我使用廣角的環形閃燈，所以我不需要一直改變燈的顏色。我盡量每一部影片拍攝的時候都使用同樣的方法，這樣才能看到每部片自然的不同呈現。同樣重要的，我都只拍攝第一本（或第一幕)。有些電影有3,4,5或者到13本，但是我決定都只拍攝第一本。有時候我每本都拍，比如《藍紅白三部曲》，因為《藍》實在太讓我驚豔了，它是全部藍色的我一定要拍它。對於攝影師的我來說，這部的顏色，圖像跟片名都實在太有趣了。
Q How did you approach photographing film reels versus photographing portraits or landscapes?
圖：對於拍攝人像與風景來說，拍攝電影膠卷有什麼不一樣的處理方式呢？
A I did documentary photography before. I think I just needed to change because I was really bored with documentary photography. I had been doing it for 20 years, and I had the feeling that there is nothing more to discover. What is always connected with my work is a journey. I always do journeys into worlds which are for me, undiscovered. The journey into the archives for me was a big adventure, how to look at these film reels. And I found out I was the first who did that. Every film reel is a discovery, it is a nostalgic travel to my past, to my first cinema experience, and of course I learned a lot about filmmaking.
答：我之前是拍紀實攝影的。但是我對於紀實攝影已經感到疲乏需要轉換。做了20年的紀實攝影，我覺得已經沒有什麼好再可以發掘的了。「旅程」一直是我的創作作品的關聯性。我喜歡去全新未開發的地方旅行。去電影資料館的旅程然後看到這些電影膠卷，對我來說是一個大的冒險。而且我發現我還是第一個這麼做的人。每部影片都是一次的探索，是一趟懷舊之旅，懷念我的第一次電影經驗。當然我也學了很多關於拍攝電影的知識。
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Courtesy of Reiner RiedlerCitizen Cane
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2015年4月4日
Kitchen Sink Cinema: Artist-Run Film Laboratories
http://www.filmcomment.com/entry/artist-run-film-laboratories
The decline in commercial film production, however, has been countered by a rebirth in the phenomenon of artist-run film laboratories. What in the early Nineties was limited to a handful of cooperatively owned, independent labs, mostly in France, has grown into an international network of over 30, many of them formed within the last several years. The decline of film processing created a surplus of cheap, unwanted equipment that, in the right hands, could be repurposed for the smaller-scale operation of an artist-run lab. Saved from the scrap heap, many discarded contact printers and lomo processing tanks have begun a second life as artists’ tools.
For many, this historical juncture between film and digital media has been cause for lament. But among those in the growing artist-run film lab community, the view is considerably more sanguine. Many are younger filmmakers drawn to the creative possibilities of hand-processing in workshops at places like Mono No Aware, in Brooklyn, or Big Mama’s Cinematheque in Philadelphia. For these artists, film offers a range of textures and expressive possibilities not available in digital formats. Others are drawn to the “home-brew” DIY spirit that celebrates the autonomy of artist-run labs. Josh Lewis, who in 2012 founded the Negativland lab in Ridgewood, Queens, describes it as “a more involved way of being a filmmaker. You can’t rely on an industry that serves Hollywood. You need to be a technician and a filmmaker.”
For filmmakers like Lewis, the current moment offers the opportunity to sever cinema from its industrial tether. In many ways, this is the culmination of the avant-garde dream to become fully independent. Experimental film, at least at the level of materials, has been invariably tied to the commercial conditions of the film industry at large, though its output may have more in common, aesthetically and culturally, with the types of objects that circulate in the art world. Now, in response to a collapsing apparatus for the production of film, avant-garde filmmakers are developing the means and momentum to adapt and design their own methods of making films.
Among the many facilities that MTK helped to build was L’Abominable, which has become the largest collective artist-run film lab today. L’Abominable, founded by 10 filmmakers in 1996, set up residence in a basement on the outskirts of Paris. It initially operated with no funding, scavenging equipment wherever it could, and later acquired support from the CNC (the National Center for Cinema and the Moving Image), a branch of the French Ministry of Culture. Hundreds of filmmakers came to use its facilities over the course of its first decade. In 2011, L’Abominable moved into the kitchen of a former school in La Courneuve, a municipality that provides additional financial support to the lab. Even with their expanded facilities, which includes, rare among artist film labs, a continuous processing machine, L’Abominable has not been able to keep up with the demand, admitting a maximum of 40 new members per year. But like MTK, it has done much to assist others in forming their own labs. From 1995 to 1999, it published the newsletter L’ébouillanté, which organized a European network of labs that could share resources and information. Since 2005, following an international meeting of artist-run labs in Grenoble, the website filmlabs.org, along with two listservs, has provided crucial support for maintaining this network and expanding it to North America and Asia.
The most distinctive quality about the current artist-run lab movement is the international circuit that sustains it. In its current manifestation, the artist-run film lab can be both an autonomous unit in Toronto (Niagara Custom Lab), Seoul (Space Cell), Bogota (Kinolab), or other locales, and a satellite attached to an international network. The idea of a collective, which stems in part from the cooperative organizations of the Sixties, persists in terms of the labs’ mostly open-door policies as well as this broader global unit. These collective dimensions are both political and practical. On the political side of things, some labs are more explicitly anti-commercial than others: Anne Fave and Emmanuel Carquille, in their statement “We Remember (1995–2002)” on the L’Abominable website, pointedly describe “the necessity to establish our own means of production” apart from the industrial system, and many labs operate as non-profit organizations, securing grants to not only provide workshops to their communities, but to stage screenings as well. But not every facility operates according to these ideals. Some labs more strictly restrict membership, functioning as barely more than a shared artist studio. And some like no.w.here in London, the Super8 Reversal Lab in the Hague, Niagara Custom Lab, and Nanolab in Australia even offer processing services for a fee, particularly in those areas where commercial facilities have shut down.
In many instances, the idea of the collective, and the sharing of resources, has been more important than the establishment of a physical space. In 2011, L’Abominable was evicted from its cellar headquarters before moving to La Courneuve. Fave and Carquille maintain that it was “a collective, well before it was a space.” Process Reversal, a new organization located in Colorado, has yet to build a workspace, though its members have in the meantime acquired enough equipment to build several labs, and they devote their efforts to touring workshops and assisting the formation of other labs. Rice explains: “We don’t see ourselves as a site-specific organization. Our original intention was to set up some public workspace that all of us could access. Now it’s more of a supportive role, going to communities and helping them to set up their own labs.”
Tuohy and Barrie, in addition to maintaining Nanolab in Daylesford, a rural community outside of Melbourne, are just as busy visiting and setting up labs elsewhere. The pair has visited roughly two-thirds of all the artist-run labs in the filmlabs.org network, and as their activities show, creating a lab also means instructing others in lab work. What was once a set of carefully guarded industry secrets has become a matter of open access, with expertise and salvaged equipment shared among a loose federation of film artists. A typical lab origin story goes like this: two years ago, at the Rotterdam Film Festival, Tuohy, who was there showing his own work, met a group of filmmakers from Indonesia who were interested in setting up their own lab. They had been offered a space in a vacant government building that had, in fact, formerly housed a film laboratory. Tuohy and Barrie visited the facility, helping the filmmakers restore equipment and build a new printer out of various parts to get the lab functional. Its name, Lab Laba-laba, translates to Spider Lab, which is as good as any metaphor for the international web of artist-run labs.
The
practicalities of survival are also a part of an enduring DIY ethos. In
his workshops at Mono No Aware, which he runs in conjunction with
Negativland, Lewis advocates the simplicity of the “bathtub model,”
where film can be hand-processed at home. “There’s no secret knowledge,”
he says. “You can make any kind of chemistry you need.” Hand-processing
has the advantage of being cheaper and having a faster turnaround than
commercial facilities, which often require shipment to an offsite
processing center. Some artists, like Joel Schlemowitz (Incantation of the Spirit of the Silver Halide,
97) and Tony Conrad (in his cooked and electrocuted films from the
Seventies), have made hand-processing part of their performances by
shooting, developing, and projecting filmstrips in front of an audience.
Among the resources available on filmlabs.org is Helen Hill’s Recipes for Disaster: A Handcrafted Film Cookbooklet,
a handmade, liberally illustrated and collaged 2005 collection of tips
and procedures for making and processing films on one’s own. It includes
a page on Hill’s 2001 film Madame Winger Makes a Film (A Survival Guide for the 21st Century),
which also serves as a primer for DIY filmmaking. In it, the animated
Madame Winger, a gravel-voiced Southern dame, asks: “When your film lab
is reduced to rubble, how are you going to keep making films?” Much as
the threat of “nuclear war or gigantic terrorist attacks” serves as the
impetus for creating a “film lab bomb shelter” in Madame Winger, Recipes for Disaster
was shaped by catastrophic events. The text exists only in photocopied
form; the original was destroyed along with many of Hill’s films during
Hurricane Katrina.
The decline of commercial film laboratories in the last 15 years was a result not of violent natural or man-made disasters as Hill mordantly predicted, but gradual technological and industrial change. Artist-run labs have sprung up to fill some of these gaps, though these are unevenly dispersed. The majority of independent labs are in France and other parts of Europe; the fewest are in the United States. Paradoxically, the persistence of a few major American commercial labs like Deluxe or Fotokem has undermined the establishment of artist-run labs domestically. Abroad, where commercial facilities closed far earlier, the necessity for independent labs has been around longer. Film manufacturing, which is more or less limited now to Kodak, along with places that process film, have historically had their base in the American film industry. It might seem then that where commercial facilities exist, there can be few or no artist-run labs. Yet, as many see it, the commercial base is necessary for the existence of even autonomous labs, if only for the continued manufacture of 8mm and 16mm film. (Though there are recent efforts to create homemade film emulsions, including the work of Esther Urlus of Filmwerkplaats in Rotterdam and Alex MacKenzie in Vancouver, as well as various emulsion workshops in the U.S. run by Lewis and Process Reversal, these are not enough to sustain the level of production among the artist-run lab circuit.) However atrophied these commercial facilities have become, they function as the de facto base for which any filmmaking can occur. The continued industrial operations in the United States, then, enables the formation of artist-run labs elsewhere. Tuohy observes: “Kodak will last as long as Fotokem lasts. The artist-run film lab needs you to have commercial facilities in the U.S.”
The artist-run lab, however, is not only about reproducing the technical mechanisms of filmmaking. There is an aesthetic range between those that seek to approximate professional standards in processing and those who wish to use the laboratory as the site of experimentation. Moreover, many independent labs have engineered new equipment and techniques. In part, this is a pragmatic innovation: machinery acquired from defunct commercial labs or university classrooms usually has to be modified to fit the scale of the artist-run lab. But it also offers a new set of creative possibilities. Instead of the fetishism or the resuscitation of a “dead” medium (though that element certainly persists, perhaps most commonly in the art world), filmmaking finds new life in the autonomy afforded by the artist-run lab, fulfilling a longstanding avant-garde conception of the medium defined as an artistic one, well before its technological determination. Like more traditional artistic forms like painting and sculpture, it might be defined as a method of making whose tools can be changed and renewed, but whose governing impulse remains the same. Pip Chodorov of L’Abominable writes in “The Artist-Run Film Labs” in last fall’s issue of Millennium Film Journal: “There are no format wars, no compressing or codecs, no backing up or transcoding, no upgrades or obsolescence problems, no corporations to force us to buy new equipment. We are not in an economy but an ecology…” Film need not compete with digital media—and filmlabs.org serves as a crucial communicative infrastructure to the artist-run lab movement—but might coexist as a related form alongside it.
Kitchen Sink Cinema: Artist-Run Film Laboratories
By Genevieve Yue on March 30, 2015
Print
page from Recipes for Disaster: A Handcrafted Film Cookbooklet, by Helen Hill, 2005
There are roughly 65 film labs
left in the world, of which around 20 are in North America. These
ranks, along with the number of film stocks being manufactured, dwindled
as digital technologies have saturated the realm of production and
studios have moved away from film. When it comes to labs that process
16mm film—a mainstay of experimental film—and small-gauge stocks, only a
few commercial options exist, mostly in the United States: Cinelab, in Boston; ColorLab in Maryland; Dwayne’s Photo in Kansas; and Fotokem
in Burbank. One of the most recent casualties of this technological
shift has been Pac Lab, which closed in New York, leaving the city
without any facilities to process and print 16mm.The decline in commercial film production, however, has been countered by a rebirth in the phenomenon of artist-run film laboratories. What in the early Nineties was limited to a handful of cooperatively owned, independent labs, mostly in France, has grown into an international network of over 30, many of them formed within the last several years. The decline of film processing created a surplus of cheap, unwanted equipment that, in the right hands, could be repurposed for the smaller-scale operation of an artist-run lab. Saved from the scrap heap, many discarded contact printers and lomo processing tanks have begun a second life as artists’ tools.
For many, this historical juncture between film and digital media has been cause for lament. But among those in the growing artist-run film lab community, the view is considerably more sanguine. Many are younger filmmakers drawn to the creative possibilities of hand-processing in workshops at places like Mono No Aware, in Brooklyn, or Big Mama’s Cinematheque in Philadelphia. For these artists, film offers a range of textures and expressive possibilities not available in digital formats. Others are drawn to the “home-brew” DIY spirit that celebrates the autonomy of artist-run labs. Josh Lewis, who in 2012 founded the Negativland lab in Ridgewood, Queens, describes it as “a more involved way of being a filmmaker. You can’t rely on an industry that serves Hollywood. You need to be a technician and a filmmaker.”
For filmmakers like Lewis, the current moment offers the opportunity to sever cinema from its industrial tether. In many ways, this is the culmination of the avant-garde dream to become fully independent. Experimental film, at least at the level of materials, has been invariably tied to the commercial conditions of the film industry at large, though its output may have more in common, aesthetically and culturally, with the types of objects that circulate in the art world. Now, in response to a collapsing apparatus for the production of film, avant-garde filmmakers are developing the means and momentum to adapt and design their own methods of making films.
Brûle la mer
The current artist-run lab movement has historical roots in the
independent strain of the avant-garde. In 1966, the London Filmmakers’
Co-op, modeled after the shared distribution structure of the Filmmakers’ Co-op in New York,
added to its operations a darkroom and lab space for making films.
Later, a few small labs were established in Europe, including, in the
Eighties, Studio Één in the Netherlands, and Métamkine,
or MTK, in Grenoble, France. Both of these were open to anyone who
wished to use their facilities. MTK became a hand-processing hub for
filmmakers in France, Switzerland, and Belgium, and by 1995 it had
proved so popular that it had to shut its doors to newcomers. The
founders, however, offered to assist others in establishing new labs.Among the many facilities that MTK helped to build was L’Abominable, which has become the largest collective artist-run film lab today. L’Abominable, founded by 10 filmmakers in 1996, set up residence in a basement on the outskirts of Paris. It initially operated with no funding, scavenging equipment wherever it could, and later acquired support from the CNC (the National Center for Cinema and the Moving Image), a branch of the French Ministry of Culture. Hundreds of filmmakers came to use its facilities over the course of its first decade. In 2011, L’Abominable moved into the kitchen of a former school in La Courneuve, a municipality that provides additional financial support to the lab. Even with their expanded facilities, which includes, rare among artist film labs, a continuous processing machine, L’Abominable has not been able to keep up with the demand, admitting a maximum of 40 new members per year. But like MTK, it has done much to assist others in forming their own labs. From 1995 to 1999, it published the newsletter L’ébouillanté, which organized a European network of labs that could share resources and information. Since 2005, following an international meeting of artist-run labs in Grenoble, the website filmlabs.org, along with two listservs, has provided crucial support for maintaining this network and expanding it to North America and Asia.
The most distinctive quality about the current artist-run lab movement is the international circuit that sustains it. In its current manifestation, the artist-run film lab can be both an autonomous unit in Toronto (Niagara Custom Lab), Seoul (Space Cell), Bogota (Kinolab), or other locales, and a satellite attached to an international network. The idea of a collective, which stems in part from the cooperative organizations of the Sixties, persists in terms of the labs’ mostly open-door policies as well as this broader global unit. These collective dimensions are both political and practical. On the political side of things, some labs are more explicitly anti-commercial than others: Anne Fave and Emmanuel Carquille, in their statement “We Remember (1995–2002)” on the L’Abominable website, pointedly describe “the necessity to establish our own means of production” apart from the industrial system, and many labs operate as non-profit organizations, securing grants to not only provide workshops to their communities, but to stage screenings as well. But not every facility operates according to these ideals. Some labs more strictly restrict membership, functioning as barely more than a shared artist studio. And some like no.w.here in London, the Super8 Reversal Lab in the Hague, Niagara Custom Lab, and Nanolab in Australia even offer processing services for a fee, particularly in those areas where commercial facilities have shut down.
Seoul Electric
Practically speaking, resources are limited. Equipment, even when
acquired cheaply, is often difficult and laborious to maintain. Beyond
the basic setup of a sink, a lomo tank (or bucket), and a contact
printer, few labs have the plumbing capacity necessary for continuous
processing machines. When Lewis came across a 35mm processor with
25-foot tanks from a lab that was closing in New Orleans, he found he
could afford the equipment, but couldn’t manage a space adequate for it.
Running an artist lab, moreover, comes with the reality of rising
rents, the necessity of having a day job, and members who don’t always
get along or stick around. Expertise in maintaining equipment can be
learned but takes time. A few, like Lewis, are former employees of
commercial labs; more often the people who run and service equipment are
self-taught, like Richard Tuohy and Dianna Barrie of Nanolab, or gain
experience by visiting other labs, as in the case of Kevin Rice, one of
the founders of Process Reversal.
And many labs, even well-established ones like L’Abominable, have
struggled to find and maintain a workspace. Collectivity, more than a
political ideal, may in fact be most effective as a survival strategy in
an age of austerity and economic decline. Instead of rejecting the
dictates of capitalism by declaring oneself independent, the pooling
together of resources serves more appropriately as a calculated response
to inevitable conditions. Where physical space is not guaranteed, the
network helps to maintain and redistribute knowledge and equipment until
a temporary home can be found. Quite simply, labs help secure the
existence and future of each other.In many instances, the idea of the collective, and the sharing of resources, has been more important than the establishment of a physical space. In 2011, L’Abominable was evicted from its cellar headquarters before moving to La Courneuve. Fave and Carquille maintain that it was “a collective, well before it was a space.” Process Reversal, a new organization located in Colorado, has yet to build a workspace, though its members have in the meantime acquired enough equipment to build several labs, and they devote their efforts to touring workshops and assisting the formation of other labs. Rice explains: “We don’t see ourselves as a site-specific organization. Our original intention was to set up some public workspace that all of us could access. Now it’s more of a supportive role, going to communities and helping them to set up their own labs.”
Tuohy and Barrie, in addition to maintaining Nanolab in Daylesford, a rural community outside of Melbourne, are just as busy visiting and setting up labs elsewhere. The pair has visited roughly two-thirds of all the artist-run labs in the filmlabs.org network, and as their activities show, creating a lab also means instructing others in lab work. What was once a set of carefully guarded industry secrets has become a matter of open access, with expertise and salvaged equipment shared among a loose federation of film artists. A typical lab origin story goes like this: two years ago, at the Rotterdam Film Festival, Tuohy, who was there showing his own work, met a group of filmmakers from Indonesia who were interested in setting up their own lab. They had been offered a space in a vacant government building that had, in fact, formerly housed a film laboratory. Tuohy and Barrie visited the facility, helping the filmmakers restore equipment and build a new printer out of various parts to get the lab functional. Its name, Lab Laba-laba, translates to Spider Lab, which is as good as any metaphor for the international web of artist-run labs.
The
practicalities of survival are also a part of an enduring DIY ethos. In
his workshops at Mono No Aware, which he runs in conjunction with
Negativland, Lewis advocates the simplicity of the “bathtub model,”
where film can be hand-processed at home. “There’s no secret knowledge,”
he says. “You can make any kind of chemistry you need.” Hand-processing
has the advantage of being cheaper and having a faster turnaround than
commercial facilities, which often require shipment to an offsite
processing center. Some artists, like Joel Schlemowitz (Incantation of the Spirit of the Silver Halide,
97) and Tony Conrad (in his cooked and electrocuted films from the
Seventies), have made hand-processing part of their performances by
shooting, developing, and projecting filmstrips in front of an audience.
Among the resources available on filmlabs.org is Helen Hill’s Recipes for Disaster: A Handcrafted Film Cookbooklet,
a handmade, liberally illustrated and collaged 2005 collection of tips
and procedures for making and processing films on one’s own. It includes
a page on Hill’s 2001 film Madame Winger Makes a Film (A Survival Guide for the 21st Century),
which also serves as a primer for DIY filmmaking. In it, the animated
Madame Winger, a gravel-voiced Southern dame, asks: “When your film lab
is reduced to rubble, how are you going to keep making films?” Much as
the threat of “nuclear war or gigantic terrorist attacks” serves as the
impetus for creating a “film lab bomb shelter” in Madame Winger, Recipes for Disaster
was shaped by catastrophic events. The text exists only in photocopied
form; the original was destroyed along with many of Hill’s films during
Hurricane Katrina.The decline of commercial film laboratories in the last 15 years was a result not of violent natural or man-made disasters as Hill mordantly predicted, but gradual technological and industrial change. Artist-run labs have sprung up to fill some of these gaps, though these are unevenly dispersed. The majority of independent labs are in France and other parts of Europe; the fewest are in the United States. Paradoxically, the persistence of a few major American commercial labs like Deluxe or Fotokem has undermined the establishment of artist-run labs domestically. Abroad, where commercial facilities closed far earlier, the necessity for independent labs has been around longer. Film manufacturing, which is more or less limited now to Kodak, along with places that process film, have historically had their base in the American film industry. It might seem then that where commercial facilities exist, there can be few or no artist-run labs. Yet, as many see it, the commercial base is necessary for the existence of even autonomous labs, if only for the continued manufacture of 8mm and 16mm film. (Though there are recent efforts to create homemade film emulsions, including the work of Esther Urlus of Filmwerkplaats in Rotterdam and Alex MacKenzie in Vancouver, as well as various emulsion workshops in the U.S. run by Lewis and Process Reversal, these are not enough to sustain the level of production among the artist-run lab circuit.) However atrophied these commercial facilities have become, they function as the de facto base for which any filmmaking can occur. The continued industrial operations in the United States, then, enables the formation of artist-run labs elsewhere. Tuohy observes: “Kodak will last as long as Fotokem lasts. The artist-run film lab needs you to have commercial facilities in the U.S.”
The artist-run lab, however, is not only about reproducing the technical mechanisms of filmmaking. There is an aesthetic range between those that seek to approximate professional standards in processing and those who wish to use the laboratory as the site of experimentation. Moreover, many independent labs have engineered new equipment and techniques. In part, this is a pragmatic innovation: machinery acquired from defunct commercial labs or university classrooms usually has to be modified to fit the scale of the artist-run lab. But it also offers a new set of creative possibilities. Instead of the fetishism or the resuscitation of a “dead” medium (though that element certainly persists, perhaps most commonly in the art world), filmmaking finds new life in the autonomy afforded by the artist-run lab, fulfilling a longstanding avant-garde conception of the medium defined as an artistic one, well before its technological determination. Like more traditional artistic forms like painting and sculpture, it might be defined as a method of making whose tools can be changed and renewed, but whose governing impulse remains the same. Pip Chodorov of L’Abominable writes in “The Artist-Run Film Labs” in last fall’s issue of Millennium Film Journal: “There are no format wars, no compressing or codecs, no backing up or transcoding, no upgrades or obsolescence problems, no corporations to force us to buy new equipment. We are not in an economy but an ecology…” Film need not compete with digital media—and filmlabs.org serves as a crucial communicative infrastructure to the artist-run lab movement—but might coexist as a related form alongside it.
2015年3月1日
[分享] 如何清理與組裝Canon Super 8 攝影機
[分享] 如何清理與組裝Canon Super 8 攝影機
http://canon-s8-repair.yolasite.com/
感謝Mishkin Productions提供內容！
有：
目視鏡清理 （eye-piece-cleaning）
814/1014攝影機手把移除 ( 814/1014 handgrip-removal)
814攝影機目視鏡更換 （ 814 eye piece replace）
814/1014 攝影機拆解 （814/1014-body-disassembly）
1218 拆解（1218-disassembly）
Canon 鏡頭更換或修理（ Canon lens-repair-or-replace）
16mm攝影機詳細介紹（16mm Cameras）
進階攝影機修理（Advanced camera repair）
http://canon-s8-repair.yolasite.com/
感謝Mishkin Productions提供內容！
有：
目視鏡清理 （eye-piece-cleaning）
814/1014攝影機手把移除 ( 814/1014 handgrip-removal)
814攝影機目視鏡更換 （ 814 eye piece replace）
814/1014 攝影機拆解 （814/1014-body-disassembly）
1218 拆解（1218-disassembly）
Canon 鏡頭更換或修理（ Canon lens-repair-or-replace）
16mm攝影機詳細介紹（16mm Cameras）
進階攝影機修理（Advanced camera repair）
2015年1月14日
【荷蘭鹿特丹Filmwerkplaats工作室+許岑竹16mm實驗電影放映會】@ 國家電影中心 104.1月13&14日 19:00pm
【荷蘭鹿特丹Filmwerkplaats工作室+許岑竹16mm實驗電影放映會】
關於Filmwerkplaats：位於荷蘭鹿特丹的膠卷電影工作室，成員皆來自很多不同的
關於放映：
這次曾莉珺選擇了一些荷蘭鹿特丹的膠卷電影工作室歷年來
主持人：徐明瀚（《Fa電影欣賞》執行主編）
104年1月13日與14日，晚上19:00 @ 國家電影中心電影教室 (台北市青島東路7號4樓)
關於Filmwerkplaats：位於荷蘭鹿特丹的膠卷電影工作室，成員皆來自很多不同的
關於放映：這次曾莉珺選擇了一些荷蘭鹿特丹的膠卷電影工作室歷年來
主持人：徐明瀚（《Fa電影欣賞》執行主編）
片單介紹：
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| 《Reflect》許岑竹提供 《Reflect》 許岑竹 | 16mm | 彩色｜ 無聲 ｜ 3.5分鐘 ｜ 2010
在獨處的空間裡，感受最大的寂靜。 使用16毫米以及標準8毫米仔細聆聽房間與光影的對話、
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| 《Cotton Sugar》許岑竹提供 《Cotton Sugar》 許岑竹 | 16mm |彩色｜ 無聲 ｜ 3.5分鐘 ｜ 2009
以電影膠片為媒材，我將編織和手工藝術的喜好和元素融入
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| 《Balga》曾莉珺提供 《Balga》曾莉珺 | 16mm | 黑白 ｜ 無聲 ｜ 4 分鐘 ｜ 2012
以高反差的黑白膠卷紀錄澳洲原生植物──the grass tree的特質，借由膠卷獨特的語言與光影的呼應，呈現
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| 《Ai Mi》Klara Rava提供 《Ai Mi》Klara Ravat ｜16mm ｜彩色 ｜ 無聲 ｜2分鐘 ｜ 2012
靈感來自於法國中世紀的作曲家與詩人紀堯•德•馬肖（G
Ai Mi 是以一個當代女性的符號來對應中古世紀著名的人物，主教
創作者將影像列印與透明的貼紙上，再轉黏於16mm透明
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| 《Abandoned Interiors》 Esther Urlus提供 《Abandoned Interiors》 Esther Urlus ｜16mm ｜彩色 ｜有聲｜ 8 分鐘 ｜ 2004 以手工沖洗彩色負片紀錄一系列即將因都市更新被拆除的空 |
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| 《NYC》Judith van de Made提供 《NYC》Judith van de Made | 16mm | 黑白 |無聲 | 2分鐘 | 2012 用Robert Schaller（美國實驗電影工作者）設計的自製手搖 |
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| 《Konrad & Kurfurst 》Esther Urlu提供 《Konrad & Kurfurst》Esther Urlus | 16mm |彩色 | 有聲 | 7分鐘 | 2014 以自製感光乳劑的脆弱性來隱喻與反思德國騎士英雄人物K |
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| 《Utrecht 3&4》Daan de Bakker提供 《Utrecht 3&4》 Daan de Bakker |16mm |彩色 |無聲 | 6分鐘 | 2010 所有影像皆成型於拍攝過程，不管是多重曝光，顏色經由光 |
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| 《Sciopticon》Hanne van Asten提供 《Sciopticon》 | 16mm |彩色 | 有聲 | 6分鐘 | 2004 光的紀錄。光的顏色，光的形狀，光的結構，光的律動。 光給予了生命，也是生命本身。 |
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| 《Wijk》Daan de Bakker提供 《Wijk》Daan de Bakker | 16mm | 彩色 |無聲 | 9分鐘 | 2008 城市的觀察與紀錄，其中的部份特效是來自於重新翻攝的多 |
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| 《Interlude》Joost van Veen提供 《Interlude》Joost van Veen |16mm| 黑白 | 有聲 | 3分鐘 | 2005 以高反差黑白膠卷紀錄魚的優游，再以特殊的化學藥劑在沖 |
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| 《Flow》曾莉珺提供 《Flow》曾莉珺| 16mm| 黑白 | 有聲 | 17分鐘 | 2013 如果改變是一個過程，起點等於終點嗎？變的是什麼？不變 |
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| 《Deep Red》 Esther Urlus提供 《Deep Red》 Esther Urlus | 16mm |彩色 |無聲 |7分鐘 | 2012 高反差的黑白膠卷紀錄了荷蘭秋冬的枝幹，以黑白的影像為 |
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| 《Color Writing Me Out》Christelle Gualdi提供 《Color Writing Me Out》Christelle Gualdi ｜16mm ｜ 彩色 ｜ 有聲｜ 6 分鐘｜ 2006 跟隨著某人的旅程，但不確定前往何處。時時刻刻的改變也 |
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