FilmVomit

If ever there was proof that Lynch was not meant to be a sculptor, this is it. The piece is clever, in that art student way. And of course, there is Philadelphia all over the place. Vomited across the screen.

Six Men Getting Sick (Six Times)

Just as an aside, did you know David Lynch sells coffee? Apparently it’s delicious. Tastes like existential terror.

Lewis showed three pieces which I do not feel like separating into different entries- The Pharoah’s Belt, Valise, and episode two of The Diptherians. The first two pieces, like much of Lewis’s work, are completely entrenched in his own world of near semaphoric communication- indecipherable except superficially to nearly everyone, and at the same time mesmerizing and beautiful and possessed of a subconscious clarity completely unique to Klahr.
The Diptherians features Willem Dafoe. I don’t really have anything else to say about it.

Lewis Klahr

David Lynch has always been… present… in my film consciousness, a sort of hovering phantasm whenever I consider creating anything. Not necessarily his later works, but his early shorts and Eraserhead. The Alphabet is, I think, my favorite of the early pieces. The animation is elegant in its simplicity and the ever-present Lynchian themes are more delicately wrought here than elsewhere. He is a simple man, really, neurotic to the bone about the things that every thinking man is. Children, women, dissemination of seed and of knowledge, power and the loss thereof, waking and sleeping, dying, aging.

The Alphabet

I needed to be reminded that I will die, and then I needed to remember that I am well and truly alive. Sublimate the base lizard brain that endlessly feels and reacts.

Stellar

It is easy to forget that this suit is made of meat, and it is easy to mistake this meat as foreign. We rarely are confronted with our status as meat-bags; rarely are we confronted even with the very real fact of our own demise. One must see, one must touch, one must stick the hand into the wounds like Thomas and take nothing on faith. Such beauty even in death, the human body has. Such hideousness and such beauty that can be brought out in tandem- no, that exist always in tandem. 

It is easy to forget for a moment; watching the scalpels arc gracefully and the glistening reds and whites, watching red liquid that must be blood drip slowly or gush in cascading torrents, that these are people. Were alive, once, not long before the camera caught their bouncing photons. And then a hand, a breast, a nose. These fine lines so easily crossed. 

It is strange to think that even the living on film are likely dead, have likely passed through the hands of someone else quite similar to themselves. 

The Act of Seeing with One’s Own Eyes
 

I love animation, and even more than animation, I love exceptionally challenging animation. Hand drawn 1:1, large-scale claymation, etc. This, though, may take the cake. Because I love graffiti almost as much as I love animation, and this is both. And it is exceptionally well done. All of the technical flaws are turned into virtues, and even the 4:1 (I think it’s 4:1, it might be more) looks good instead of jumpy. I am awed.
Muto

I am easily overwhelmed by technical virtuosity. I cannot help it, my heart is weak.

Pan with Us

One brief incandescent moment when the photographs overcome themselves. One breath, a small smile, the static becomes dynamic.

La Jetée

It is funnier to be dying than to not be dying. It is friendlier and more beautiful, and you will meet more people and have more interesting conversations. If you are dying, people are nice to you. People permit you to see strange things and don’t laugh at you when your teeth fall out or you fall to pieces on the bus. When you aren’t dying anymore, your flowers are taken away.

everything will be ok