I’m sitting on a 700 gigabyte pile of video in a cafe in Sofia, Bulgaria. It needs to be parsed out into the finished products of six videos for my portfolio. Most are already done (at least presentable), but I’m hoping to do some self-workshopping on the post-production process. The only way to get better is through inspiration. So here it is with a slightly chilly theme, because it’s no longer 120 degrees where I am:
As the act of shooting and editing video becomes more natural for me, it’s become apparent that the next horizon is merely the bounds of my own creativity and time. I know it’s cliche, but once you know the rules, it’s all about how you break them. I’m hoping to become more adventurous with each piece I stretch myself to do. This montage from Japan is a great example of what happens when you stretch yourself. The asynchronicity, the shifting of time and the layers are right in line with the direction that I hope to head. Simply stunning.
This video from documentary filmmaker Jonathan Burhop is proof positive that video stories need central characters, compelling personalities and emotional narratives. It’s rare that the interview shot is the strongest in any video. Here, it is. Also bonus points for killer sound. That guy’s voice rings in your head.
INDIA LEH/LIKIR – warmeye
Another great montage. This one really shines toward the end with the time-shifting in the prayer scenes.
My friend, Maja Hitij, is an amazing photographer, especially when she’s roaming the streets and looking for what she calls “moments.” When she asked me to make up some kind of presentation of her stunning street photography from Jerusalem, I was totally psyched to get to work with her content. Every image here is definitely a “moment” and more. Here’s the result:
Filming from the top of the Citadel in Erbil, Iraq. Courtesy: Jon Vidar / The Tiziano Project
Here in Iraq, I’m free from the constraints of what would normally be considered a j-o-b. Luckily with The Tiziano Project, I have mostly free reign to play photography and video for the next month and a half. I’m hoping to make a few more leaps forward before the summer ends and I take a short hiatus from video to finish grad school at Medill’s Washington, D.C., campus.
While I’ve made a lot of strides in the last year learning the ins and outs of dSLR video, I look at the greatworkbeingproduced byothers and realize I have a lot to learn. As I’ve done in the past, I wanted to hammer out some of my frustrations here in public so anyone else doing this might be able to look them over. Read the rest of this entry »
On my brick of an external hard drive, I have about 300 GB of raw video collected between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River that is waiting to be edited into some entertaining/informative format. Before I started that culling process, I needed a little pick-me-up, a dose of uncut HD smack to get me going.
As always, it wasn’t hard to find. These videos, some old, some new, all summer, are the stuff of aspiration, inspiration and, since its at least 105 F here in Iraq every day, perspiration.
Drea Cooper is a filmmaker with a flare for making awesome videos that make you want to buy stuff. Zackary Canepari is a silly good photographer who has done a lot of work on the subcontinent. Together, they released a series of videos a few months ago under the “California is a place.” moniker. Every stunning video lays out a California story, but Borderland stands out for its amazing characters and coherent color grading, a darkness accented by strong greens and blues that really snap. If you like it, check out Scrapertown. Awesome in a totally different way.
I spent three months between the Mediterranean and the Jordan. I visited every major population center from Haifa (up) to Eilat (down). Mind you, this isn’t really hard to do considering I visited those last two cities over the span of one day. Most of the time, I was reporting from Jerusalem, but on the weekends, I tended to venture out on my own for video projects (coming soon) and photography. Nomenclature in this region is tough. So, Israel/Palestine really just refers, in my mind, to everywhere I could go without getting a new passport stamp.
Now, I thought I was no slouch when it comes the international peculiarities and issues at stake in this region before I went. I quickly realized that I’d never actually argued with anyone about the problems presented by the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and was woefully under-prepared to challenge the stubborn rhetoric of people from both sides of the armistice line. Over time, I got better, and I want to share with you what people in the region told me.
Yesterday afternoon, my Twitter stream filled with 140-character paeans to the 92-year-old senator from West Virginia. I was sad, not because I admired the politics of Senator Byrd, but because his death signaled the end of a certain prototypical senatorial figure in my mind.
Fifty years is enough time to sin and repent, for blatant racism, misguided legislation and general hackery. The Byrd I saw was just an understuffed antique arm chair that sat in the middle of the Senate and looked uncomfortable. No one wants to sit in it and no one wants to move it.
When I think of the Senate, I think of out-of-touch, pork-hoarding sticklers for protocol, universally white and nearly all old. In other words, Robert Byrd. When I go to Washington in a few months, I’m sorry I won’t get the chance to sit through a wandering speech delivered with shaky hands or a committee hearing brought to a halt by senatorial deference to age. Here are some of the best:
Byrd and his si-tu: This one I can’t take credit for. A friend sat in on this hearing on pet food contamination where Byrd took over, regaling the crowd with stories about his pet si-tu, Trouble. (After inquiry, it was determined that the dog was a shitzu, but Byrd couldn’t bring himself to use a bad word for his baby.) In 6 minutes, he manages to introduce his dog three times, deny Tibet its autonomy and lionize Chicago’s mayor, all while going off the record in an obviously on-the-record hearing.
Three barns dotted the so subtle hill
between the house and pasture.
Those lineal shacks, so thoroughly
scattered over time and place,
they had a long stay.
On one long day, we buried the barns.
We flung their fibrous ribs and legs,
their innards: a deco flower in oils,
some signage said Cockright
for County Commissioner, and grandpa’s
old wood and only pitchfork
into sowed and drawn down clay
red and burgeoning at its edge.
I never crossed out
beyond those carved furrows
before we tilled them under.
