1 Fog

1 Fog

A series of unconscious aesthetically interesting iPhone videos

A few weeks ago I had one of the most soul-setting audio-visual experiences I have ever had. My friends asked me if I wanted to go and see Yves Tumor at a late concert. I hesitated, not only because of my periodic social anxiety, but also because I have a resistance towards supporting artists that have a rumor of being extremely contemporary; it’s like purchasing a very modern garment that you’ll throw away because something else will take its place, just as forgettable, in a few weeks. Despite my hesitance, I joined them. And as the night went by, we passed cigarettes, beers and joints as a ritual preparation before the concert.

We stood in line for twenty minutes. Our eyelids were collectively heavier than just a few hours before, but we had tickets on our phones and told each other anecdotes we had heard several times before.

A stamp on my wrist, like marking my pulse, and we got in. We ran into the venue like children, and spread out. Some of us holding hands.

We all stopped immediately.
A wall of extreme noise, artificial smoke and epileptic strobes hit us and we stopped.
I forgot where I was and whom I was with – the until now unnoticed warm-up artist Puce Mary played her music so hard and so intense I knew my ears would bleed a painful sound for hours, maybe days. This was in no doubt a physical performance, even though she stood several meters away and swayed heavily, her thin blonde hair waving back and forth as she intensified pitches and drones and then slowed it down and then up again, sometimes screaming into a distorted microphone. It was very painful, I wanted to run back out into the humid night. But it was worth the pain, I would never stop, I wanted it to last forever, l wanted to experience this performance which was not like a petite mort but a grande mort, the ultimate climax, where heaven and hell met, where the only thing that mattered was your own soul in this space created of wavelengths, composed like a suffering you never had seen coming or a euphoria you never planned. Your pathetic physical being had nothing to say or nothing to do; a limbo of sound and intensity. Rough hard noise, semi-rhythmically, with screeching high-pitch howls and vowels.

We came too late for the whole concert, but the twenty minutes of Puce Mary performing – so extremely hard, intense, intimate and violently unapologetic – is the most intense performative musical piece I have ever experienced. After this experience I found I wanted to explore these feelings channeled into my work, maybe expressed in similar medias, maybe in other medias.

The last year has been an uncomfortable mark on my skin, and being quick to pick up my phone at everything moving in a dark, brutal, overwhelming or mysterious manner, I had a collection of clips somewhat related to my chosen instinct already in my archive from the last 12 months, that I wanted to put together as a story. Making something concrete out of those passive memories feels almost like pruning branches of the brain; for something else to grow I need to finish what I started to discover. Maybe it was obvious for my unconsciousness that this instinct had to be elaborated all along  — maybe not as narrative as I am describing it here, though nevertheless a start for an idea of the instinct I want to explore, and the fusion (or dissolvement) of fog and fire can commence.

Best seen vertical on a handheld device.

My next step will be to build something that the fog can live in. A video format is the logical way to document it, and by teaching myself to work with Adobe Premiere I can also develop skills and tools to express myself through – for me – a whole new media.