- Venue
- Camden Arts Centre
- Location
- London
My interest in the relationship between sound and visual imagery was stimulated after viewing an exhibition at Camden Arts Centre in London. A World of Glass is an immersive video installation by Swedish artist Nathalie Djurberg and the musician Hans Berg. It features four animated films in two galleries displaying luminous, glass-like objects on tables. An atmospheric soundscape filling the rooms uses tinkling glass sounds and rhythmic percussion. The films deal with similar themes to Djurberg’s previous work, such as sexuality, desire and self-destruction; but with a stronger focus on the notion of fragility, which is shown in all aspects of A World Of Glass: in the delicately eerie music, in the array of misshapen glass-like sculptures, in the animated characters’ plasticine skin being sliced through like butter, and in the ambiguity felt and unnerving questions we ask about what is actually happening in these films. I found the exhibition incredibly engaging as well as unsettling at times, coinciding with the way the themes addressed in the films are a contrasting combination of humorous and horrific. On my visit I saw some people’s reception to the films was more negative, as shown by shocked expressions and nervous chatter to friends. But I think that to give a strong emotional impact- whether it be positive or negative- and just to make a person feel, is something to view as an achievement in any artwork.
Djurberg’s films use the technique claymation, a form of stop-motion animation that uses a malleable material[1], in this case plasticine. Theanimation seemed somewhat crude: the clay figures’ motion was jerky and the overall appearance was not smooth and polished like a lot of animations try to be. But Djurberg is not telling the same stories as a film by, say, Nick Park, a creator of comedy (Chicken Run, Wallace and Gromit, Shaun The Sheep)[2], or a children’s entertainment programme. Those films are what the audience links claymation with- something playful, simple and naïve- and people often have their guard down because of this. Djurberg’s films played in this dark space made me feel like I was in a dream- a bad one at times. It had a very surreal, random quality that meant you could not predict what was coming next. A lot of the time I felt torn between inquisition and horror as bizarre things happened before my eyes. I saw a bull writhing in despair, peeling away his own plastic flesh with broken glass to eventually leave his own bloody corpse lying on the floor of a china shop; and a naked pubescent girl made out of butter dancing lustfully; desperately; around her companion the haggard bull, whose eyes show a mixture of sorrow and desire. Once or twice I even felt like it was wrong for me to viewing what I was viewing, and wondered if it was “ok” for me to be as interested as I was.
For me, one of the reasons A World Of Glass was so enchanting and immersive was due to the fundamental partnership of moving image and music. Music has the ability to shift your mentality to another place and significantly alter the atmosphere of a space[3]. It effects people in different ways, but there is certainly a “middle way”- a mutual understanding society has about a sound or type of music. For example, music written in the minor key sounds sad or frightening to the majority of people, which could be a way for horror film score to reflect the genre. So we can that say on a broad level, the soundscape thoroughly enhances a dark, ambiguous mood that the films visualise; the mood being key to reflecting the essence of the work.
I think the most important thing about this music is that it is immersive sound which flows through the whole exhibition and you are submerged in it wherever you stand in the space. In an interview for Time Out magazine about A World of Glass, Hans Berg explains: “The sound acts as a container to carry the viewer between the films and the galleries.[4]” And as soundtrack to all four films, it connects them in one world. If all four films are watched completely, Berg’s music is listened to for twenty minutes in total (at least) which allows time for it to be absorbed into the brain and for it to stay with you after leaving the exhibition. When I wandered out of the gallery into reality I still had the enchanting music rolling about my head, keeping Djurberg and Berg’s world vivid.
As an animator, Djurberg plays every character she mobilises, therefore it is impossible to precisely interpret the images I saw. But as a spectator who has stumbled upon her world I don’t necessarily want, or need to understand it all. What I enjoyed the most was experiencing an intense atmosphere and feeling like I had stepped out of my everyday life into another world. I was impressed at how well the music and visual imagery worked together and enhanced the significance of the other, heightening the overall visceral quality of the exhibition; and I was captivated by these bizarre stories told with fascinating characters, and the minimal yet entrancing music flowing through the galleries. Ultimately, the fundamental reason why I was so engaged with Djurberg and Berg’s exhibition is because they thoroughly immerse the viewer into their environment and provide a haunting and memorable show.
[1] Wikipedia, 2011. Clay Animation. [online] Available at: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claymation#Claymation> [Accessed 3 November 2011].
[2] Film Reference, 2011. Nick Park Biography (1958-). [online] Available at: <http://www.filmreference.com/film/98/nick-park.html> [Accessed 3 November 2011].
[3] Higgins, D. , Live Lecture: Wonder and Disgust, [lecture] (Received 9 November 2011).
[4] Sumpter, D. , 2011. Interview with Nathalie Djurberg and Hans Berg, Time Out Magazine, [online] Available at: <http://www.timeout.com/london/art/article/2829/interview-with-nathalie-djurberg-and-hans-berg> [Accessed 10 November 2011].
