#robert beavers

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Pitcher of Colored Light (Robert Beavers, 2007)

[dare-g]

The Hedge Theater (2002)

[teethburied]

Early Monthly Segments 2003, dir. Robert Beavers

[prgnant]

The shutter in the camera is like the wings of an insect: both create movement one in space the other in the eye. Film is not an illusion of movement it is movement.

From the Notebook of... (1972) dir. Robert Beavers

[12tableaux]

Robert Beavers' Listening to the Space in my Room proposes the idea that space is nothing but a stratified zone of receptivity, of permeability into which the tremblings of the heart reach and find just as many resonances as they send out for. We inhabit space; according to the rhythmicality, the tonality of our lives, space becomes our sojourn. Yet cinema invokes a curious doubling of what we call space, making it uninhabitable, always from a distance, before making it ours again, though this time as space lived from afar, as if I would become the dreamer of another's sleep. As Jacques Rancière suggests, the image is always a third still, impossible to reduce to the intention of the imagemaker nor to the interpretation of the spectator — it is always, invariably, a third, meaning that I could never hope to occupy it, to make it my own. I cannot but watch the image from a distance. Cinematic space is categorically uninhabitable; it opens itself up by the same breathturn according to which it encloses itself again. And yet it is infinitely open, too. But only if we ourselves are prepared to become equally open and meet the image somewhere halfway, always halfway. Serge Daney wrote that the cinema taught him where his gaze ends and the gaze of another begins. Could it be however that what separates my gaze and the gaze of another is exactly this meeting of two gazes, each belonging to the ontological density of a visage, infinitely distanced from one another? If so, cinema is always a matter of ethics — and I, I can only hope to inhabit cinematic space to the extent that I, too, become the sojourn for its image, and we together come to sound in the same yellow note of light. When Robert Beavers set out to put to image the surrounding space of his room, he could perhaps not have envisioned that he would capture a glimpse of cinematic space altogether and the space of our hearts. And when the final image turned to black, I had seen and heard it all (sound having become vision, the image become song) — every single gesture, turn of light, or change of season, all of them, all of us cosmic bodies continuously, unendingly crashing into one another, and I became aware of every trembling as I trembled concurrently, and still I sound, always still I sound for in the image I become space and I become time, and we together, if only for a little while, if only for the impossible duration of an instant, come to share in the same breathturn where nothing endures except the utter fact of our having met in spite of all.

[rrrauschen]

Robert Beavers, {1980} AMOR

[frnndlcs]

From the Notebook of…, Robert Beavers, 1972

[thinkingthinking]

politics of gods