Posts Tagged ‘Bard College’

Old Bard

by Matt Paley

Adolfas Mekas (September 30, 1925 – May 31, 2011)

Adolfas Mekas died yesterday, at 85. It’s easily to speak about what the film world –and the avant-garde in particular – has lost: co-founder of the seminal magazine Film Culture and NYC’s Anthology Film Archive (both with his older brother Jonas), the first film critic for The Village Voice, one of the great voices of the New American Cinema, a godfather of American experimental film. It’s just as easy to speak reverently about his work: his 1963 opus Hallelujah the Hills is one of the most joyous, poetic, absurd experiences you will ever have watching a movie, and I suggest you put it on your to do list. See Going Home (1971) too. But to me and many of the boys who contribute to Saint Eliot, Adolfas will always be, first and foremost, the de facto founder of Bard College’s scrappy, boisterous, anarchic Film Department, which came to be known during his tenure as “The People’s Film Department of Bard College.” It is still a department crafted in his image. His face (last I checked) still adorns the clock in the Film Office, his patron saint (St. Tula, Our Lady Of Cinema) still offers snarky aphorisms (“blame not broken equipment. Your vision may be too small to see what the broken camera sees” is a personal favorite) from forgotten corners of the film building. Ask you then where ‘Saint Eliot’ comes from? (more…)


Another One From Reichardt

by Adam Hirsch

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Kelly Reichardt, the patron mater familias of the Company, whom most of us here were mentored by during our days up on Annandale, has just churned out her newest work, Meek’s Cutoff, and from most of the internet buzz, it’s something. It was sold for theatrical release at the Toronto Film Festival, and as of today it’s loosely scheduled for a Spring 2011 release.

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Cabinets of Curiosities

by Matt Paley

Yesterday, NPR.org’s picture show blog featured the work of Kate Stone.  I knew Kate at Bard, but had missed her thesis show; boy, am I grateful to NPR for cluing me in to what I’d missed.

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In her most recent work, Kate explores a space with her camera, prints the photos, reconstructs the space in three dimensions, and then re-photographs the scene.  In At The Seams, Kate disassembles and reassembles strangers’ houses, leaving doors poking out of the floor and fans reproducing across empty rooms.  In Wunderkammer (which translates to ‘cabinet of curiosities’), the stuffed animals at a museum seem to step right out of their displays. (more…)


Sunday Night Watch

by Giampaolo Bianconi

From Peggy's 1987 film, "The Dead Man"

From Peggy's 1987 film, "The Dead Man"

Peggy Ahwesh is a well known avant-garde filmmaker. She was also my first adviser here at Bard. Most days, I’m fortunate enough to run into her and catch up. Today, you’re all fortunate enough to watch one of her recent films, Beirut Outtakes, which she assembled from footage that was recovered by one Mr. Salloum from an abandoned theater in Beirut. Here, all of her obsessions are on display, making it a wonderful introduction to a her work.

Beirut Outtakes (2007)

This is also a great opportunity to link you to one of my favorite websites, Ubuweb. I dare you to spend less than an hour on it.


Honesty of Experience

by Giampaolo Bianconi

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Dead Birds, dir. Robert Gardner (1964)

I saw Robert Gardner’s Dead Birds this weekend, when Gardner received and honorary degree at Bard College. A panel preceding his award featured Stanley Cavell, Luc Sante, Ian Buruma, Susan Meiselas and Gardner himself. The panel (d)evolved into a celebration of Gardner the Man (he mentioned, casually, that he flies his own plane) and a defense of Gardner the high humanist, who operates with the utmost respect for the autonomy of his subjects, never interfering in the world he records. Gardner, everyone seemed to agree, was a prophet of the objective camera.

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Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater!

by Adam Hirsch

The one inarguable element of Peter Hutton’s work is that you know a Peter Hutton film when you’ve seen one. All of his films share the same aching reminder of beauty that normally comes from landscape painting. I’d argue that his most engaging and beautiful work is Boston Fire — an eight-minute silent film comprised of haunting shots of a huge, burning warehouse on the Boston waterfront. Each shot fades in and out, interspliced with meditative lengths of black leader. But what’s so interesting about Peter is that the process behind the film can many times be as interesting as the film itself.

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