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Light Pioneers, Part II

Sometimes a particular technique (or technology) pervades an industry so entirely that subsequent generations don’t realize that the techne was once new. Today, ‘bounce lighting,’ the use of a reflective surface to redirect light towards a subject or scene, is a standard cinematographic (and still photography) technique. However, it was an innovation as recently as the mid-1900s.

 
Bounce lighting is deceptively simple— the manipulation of light can create emotional dimension in a film that is separate from those aspects of the film that more easily identified with emotion, such as dialogue or facial expression. If a filmmaker is shooting outside, she can use the sun as a backlight, then take a reflector-- a cloth structure called a ‘bounce’-- to deflect the sunlight on an actor’s face. (A wall or ceiling can also be used as a bounce.) Depending on the angle, the result can be glow behind the actor and a reduction of shadow on their face.
 
While these details of light intensity might seem to be a small part of a movie, if you think of great cinema, like Satyajit Ray’s films or Ingmar Bergman’s films, the impact of the stories they tell depends in large part on the mood created by the cinematographer. While the human eye has a huge dynamic range, the ratio between the largest and smallest possible values of a changeable quantity like light, the camera captures much less. Accordingly, actual light on a set has to be manipulated to adjust to what the camera is capable of capturing. Just as light can positively or negatively affect our mood in real life—think of light boxes used for depression-- it plays a significant role in creating a mood in a film’s viewer.
 
Subrata Mitra (1930-2001), the cinematographer of Satyajit Ray’s critically-acclaimed Apu trilogy, was the first cinematographer known to use bounce lighting. While shooting Aparajito, the second film in the trilogy, the threat of monsoon rain made shooting courtyard scenes outside (as originally planned) difficult. Instead, the courtyard set was built inside a Calcutta studio with studio lights.
 
Mitra, who was originally a still photographer, attempted to simulate shadow-less diffused light by placing a framed white cloth over the set. The cloth represented a patch of sky and studio lights below it were arranged so that light would bounce off the cloth and create the illusion that the courtyard was actually outdoors. Prior to Mitra’s use of bounce lighting, the Hollywood aesthetic favored strong back-lighting and heavy diffusion (in an interview, Mitra compared the ubiquitous use of strong back-lighting to “putting chili powder in whatever you cook.”)
 
Mitra operated the camera for Ray’s films, until Charulata (The Lonely Wife), a film based on a story by Nobel prize winner Rabindranath Tagore. After Charulata, Ray operated the camera himself. Ray emphasized the importance of making the right photographic decisions in film, writing, "[t]he style of photography should grow out of the story, and the director should be aware of what he wants and be able to convey it in precise terms to the cameraman." Coming up on December 16-17th, 2010, Stanford Theater in Palo Alto, will show Charulata, as well as Mahanagar (The Big City). Both movies are about women (played by Madhabi Mukherjee) that stand apart from their time and circumstance in mid-1900s India.
 
They are lyrical and realistic at once, a combination due in part to their technical brilliance. David Packard, who restored Stanford Theater and turned it into the most popular revival theater in America, is known to be a passionate admirer of Ray, holding Satyajit Ray retrospectives at the Stanford Theater and once arranging a special showing of Ray’s films in Southern California as an antidote to the pessimism of Slumdog Millionaire.
 
Anita

Light Pioneers, Part I

Generation Xers grew up with Lite-Brites, toys that allowed artistic children to create drawings by sticking colored pegs into black paper on a light box. These glowing works of art were electrifying in the dark, more than the sum of the colored pegs (at least to the maker) and a source of endless pleasure.

Artist Leo Villareal’s light installations tap into the same sense of wonder. Currently on view at the San Jose Art Museum, a survey of Villareal’s work shows a passion for light expressed as emergent phenomena. By ‘emergent,’  I mean that which spontaneously self-organizes in a way that can’t be predicted by simply viewing and stringing together each component of the whole, like a swarm of insects or snowfall. (Some believe that human consciousness itself is an emergent phenomena arising out of the interconnection of neurons. For an interesting counterpoint, check out dualist Thomas Nagle’s essay What Is It Like to Be A Bat?)

 
Born in Albuquerque, New Mexico in 1967, Villareal fuses LED lights and encoded computer programming to generate literally-dazzling illuminations that appear, not out of nowhere, but not just from their programmed electrical components either. At the beginning of his career, Villareal worked on virtual reality projects at Interval Research Center, a revered think tank in Palo Alto, co-founded by Microsoft’s Paul Allen. (A fellow alumnus of the think tank was Don Hopkins, developer of The Sims.)
 
In 1994, Villareal attended Burning Man for the first-time and was inspired to begin creating immersive experiences on a larger scale. The earliest piece in his show, Strobe Matrix, is a board of pulsing light subdued by Plexiglass that grew out of a beacon he created to signal his camper’s location in the desert at Burning Man in 1997. You can see Villareal’s biography in his work.
 
One of his coolest pieces on display in San Jose is a 2001 strobe light sculpture called Firmament (2001), which is suspended from the ceiling. You lie ensconced in a giant black couch and are strangely and comfortably immersed in the blinking above you.
 
In Red Life, a geometrical light panel based on the mathematical Conway’s Game of Life, you pass your hand, like a wand, over a panel, to light up a certain number of cells. In Conway’s  Game of Life, the rules are:
 
Any live cell with fewer than two live neighbors dies, as if caused by under-population.
 
Any live cell with two or three live neighbors lives on to the next generation.
 
Any live cell with more than three live neighbors dies, as if by overcrowding.
 
Any dead cell with exactly three live neighbors becomes a live cell, as if by reproduction.
 
The initial passing of your hand over the panel mutates according to the rules and you get to watch the patterns that emerge.
 
The most poetic piece, Amanecer, can be compared to the dawn sky after which it is titled-- or the gentle Focus Feature films banner. You can spend hours sitting on a bench in the museum watching the hypnotic colored lights move across the screen and never lose interest.
 
At first blush, if you are not into art and simply look at these works on the Internet, you might question what the fuss is about. If you are a great art lover, you might feel a little bit guilty for enjoying something that superficially seems commercial. But, when you let yourself be immersed in Villareal’s work, you may be moved by the same feeling of sensory transcendence- the same belief that regardless of whether we are programmed, we are not simply the sum of our parts- that a painter like Mark Rothko inspires.
 
Villareal’s first survey show will go on tour after it closes at the San Jose Museum of Modern Art on January 9, 2011.
 
Photo by frankieleon
 
Anita