helveticaaaa

I've seen the film "Helvetica" once before, and what surprised me most was that I actually found it just as interesting the second time as I did the first. Admittedly, this may be because I wasn't paying as much attention the first time.. but still. It's such a powerful font, and it's not until one has seen the film that one truly begins to realize that it is in fact everywhere. The varying viewpoints about helvetica are interesting, mostly because they come in such extremes- people either love it or hate it. Those who love helvetica seem to tend to use it incessantly and feel that there is never any need to use any other font, save for a few similar ones. On the opposite end, those who hate helvetica seem to believe that it's more or less useless and boring and shouldn't have the hype it does. My personal opinion falls somewhere in the middle- I like helvetica and think it's really powerful and visually pleasing, but I also highly enjoy more visually stimulating, exciting text work done by hand or in the computer. David Carson's (I love his work) segment in the film stuck out to me the most, especially when he said "There is a fine line between the difference of simple and clean and powerful and simple and clean and boring." I think that is true in its entirety, and that there are times when the simplicity and smoothness of helvetica create a beautiful and lingering piece, but also times when it makes things a little dull and something a little more exciting would have been better. Overall, I enjoyed the film (again); this time even more so due to my increased interest in graphic design- hurrah!

on "decasia"

I found Bill Morrison's "Decasia" to be a hauntingly beautiful film that left me contemplative and slightly disturbed. Watching it was like watching something die- something that was once thriving and full of life, but had become old and crippled with decay. The effect of watching it was, needless to say, an unpleasant one, due to the powerfully negative emotion that it emanated. It was horrifying, saddening, and it felt as if one should not be watching- but you can't tear your eyes from the screen. Decasia was not only haunting visually, but aurally as well- the music throughout was a convoluted mess of beautiful compositions and the screams of dying souls. When the music combines with the film, the two mold together and morph into a dynamic work that both disturbs the soul and captivates it.  Watching it was an experience that I'm glad I had, but one that I'd never want to have again.

batchen readingggg.

Walter Benjamin's The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction was an interesting enough read, if not a little dense as well as slightly disjointed. The main point became clear after a few reads and re-reads, and addressed the fact that the ability to reproduce a work of art has drastically effected not only the purpose of art, but also it's impact on its viewers. I found Benjamin's view on art very interesting; his view was one I had not heard before. I never thought to consider an original work of art in comparison to its replica before. His comments on art's purpose (ritual versus political) were too broad a generalization for me, although I was able to see where he was coming from, but I found myself getting lost in his explanations and examples. I think the point that most stuck out to me was his comment in section five, where he mentioned the different types of value in art- cult value and exhibition value. He stated that what mattered in a work of art depended on what kind of value it had- for example, if a work had cult value, what mattered in the piece was merely that it existed, whereas what mattered in a work with exhibition value was merely that it was on view. This made a lot of sense to me. Art today is readily available to the masses, and generally a work of art's worth is dependent on how it is received by the public. Art in previous times, however, was available to a much smaller circle of viewers, and was more intimate and pointed. As I read further into the article, I continued to sort of lose myself in its discussion of photography and film as art. Generally, I do not see the need to discuss whether or not the two are forms of art- to me, they obviously are. The comparisons between the cameraman and the painter and their respective realms of view were hard for me to grasp, and I struggled with the last few sections. Overall, I thought that Benjamin's article was an interesting one; it introduced me to some viewpoints I had never considered before.