The Flow

For almost a year now I have been a part of the Seattle Minute Movies group. Every month a group of us get together at the Seattle Film Institute, drink some sort of beverage with snacks and then go into the screening room to watch the films most of us have put together over the past month. Normally, as per human nature, most of the films are finished somewhere around the Saturday before the Sunday of the screening. Many times, like my writing of this piece hours before final deadline, the last minute scramble is necessitated by a desperate search for inspiration to drive and fill the creative void. Part of the premise behind the minute movie concept is that each month we are given a word that a moving picture of a length not to exceed two minutes is to be conceived and built within. I generally try to keep each piece as close to a minute as I can. If you think it is easy filling a minute with something- anything- you should give it a try, because it isn’t.

The word for last month was cold, which actually had been given to us in November, and since our normal meeting day was too close to the December holidays, we had two months to sweat the details. As it turns out, being given a word is a help, as it gives one a baseline to work from. One then goes about inventing a context for that word and then trying to solve the problem of translating that context to the digital moving picture realm. One time I solved this problem totally by accident, having recorded nearly a minute’s worth of walking through the Detroit airport on one of my cross country jaunts to my troubles in New England. The transit space being recorded had a people mover walkway on either side of this half-circle, arched white ceiling that was bathed in ever changing colored lights which were somewhat synchronized to a cheery electronic ambient piece of music.

I was fretting not having anything to turn in for that month, when I played back the recording I’d made on my pocket point and shoot and realized that to my mind it fit the ‘move’ theme to a tee. In contrast, this past month’s word had given me an idea almost immediately. My problem was layered with the dread of how to technically translate my particular conceptualization into reality. Having worked through those issues as best I could, I am now known, at least in part, as the guy who made a movie about an ice cube. This may sound a bit pedantic, perhaps Warhol-ian, but what I found after four attempts at shooting was that creating a stop motion animation with ice on glass makes herding cats look like a fun and worthy endeavor. While it wasn’t perfect, I didn’t see how a fifth take would turn out much better than take four, although if I had gone one more take I might have had to look for a royalty free version of Mr. Brubeck’s catchy tune for the soundtrack. The random and self-willed movements of  melting ice on a nearly frictionless surface would be a good visual foil for the asymmetrical rhythm of a 4/5 time signature.

Following the screening of each month’s word visualizations, all attention is turned to the altered magic 8 ball being broadcast live on the big screen. Having “hacked” into the ball’s innards and having placed a selection of ten different words on the prophecy block that hides within its inky black depths, all that is left to do for group organizer Sarah Ferrier is to turn the word window to the waiting lens of the camera above it and allow all to see what our next cosmic word assignment might be. This time around it took three tries, since the first two were words we’ve already wrestled with. The charmed third time brought the word “flow” to the surface, and with that we were off.

My first temptation was to remove the title ‘Cold Passage’ from this past month’s submission and in its place insert something like ‘a Curious Flow’, but that would be kind of, as they say, cheating. Instead what came to mind was an ancient ritual I devised many years ago while having festive beverages and watching a salt firing at the Penland School of Crafts somewhere in western North Carolina near the Tennessee border. I was there to study photography, which I did most hours of the day. But one thing I soon found while skulking about after dark was that there was a wealth of creative knowledge throughout the school, and since all the studios were open day and night, one could wander and watch all kinds of stuff happening. My two favorite viewing venues were the pottery shop and the glass studio. Watching molten glass being formed into something either functional or ornate was always a fascination. There was also the energy- both light and sound- that emanated from the glass oven’s glory hole that was a value addition to the night’s entertainment. Firing up the kiln in the land of pottery was somewhat less exciting, unless salt was to be added to the mix. With salt firing the evening’s viewing could have the additional element of actually becoming a participant in the process. What happens in salt firings is that once the pots have been baked to a certain point, a door is opened that allows access to the inside of the kiln. In a brief instant, one then throws a measured amount of salt through the door hole, which is then quickly closed. I believe the salt is mostly vaporized when it enters the superheated interior of the kiln, and then it circulates around and attaches itself to the clay body surfaces of the pieces inside and creates a texture and color that normal glazing does not provide.

I do not think any music was playing while this particular firing was happening. I do not remember that there was any music rattling around in my head. All I do recall is that for some reason I began to bob up and down in place while standing next to the kiln. There was a certain, constant rhythm involved with it, and after a while the moderate gathering of potters and other watchers were all bobbing in unison while awaiting the next grand opening of the door and accompanying flash of light as the scoop full of salt collided with the flame and hot air on the hotter side of the opening. It was a gradual realization amongst us that everyone was moving in synch with each other, and it was a source of great amusement when this recognition finally sank in. For some reason, this movement became known as the flow. I don’t recall if the flow returned for other firings, or if it was a one time occurrence. I am thinking that this may become the basis for my next created film minute, although at this point, the details remain a bit unclear. We do, after all, have almost another month to figure out what film step comes next.