Friday, April 30, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
uh!
I experimented with the scanningproces to create these stretches of my head. Moving my head sideward and changing faceexpression.
dobbeltekspo
This is a montage of two scans. I moved my head downward during the scan proces to create this stretch of my head
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Pillow money
Pillow money from Bjarke Stenbæk Kristensen on Vimeo.
Stopmotion movie
school project
Its a story about a man's hair that goes out in the night to make money by singing at the train station. Taking place in Istanbul
Music by me
we had a 1 minut timelimit
Picture 267
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Flickering
20 times 20 seconds
Stop motion
photographic impressionism
and I've been exhibited at GalleríBOXi in Akureyri
Stop motion
photographic impressionism
and I've been exhibited at GalleríBOXi in Akureyri
Friday, August 17, 2007
Hack Pictures - Make Music
I learned a way to make pictures and other files into sound. Its actually very easy, and very exciting.
First step, is that you take a normal mp3 (Also try with wav, if you have it), and open it in textedit (if you have a mac, notebook i think its called in the world of minimushy)
When you do this, you will see a very strange and decorative code (you can print some out, and hang it on the wall)
This is what the computer reads, when i sings to you, which is nice. You need to copy the very first part of the code, the part that tells the computer, that this is a mp3.
Now you open a photoshopfile, or something like that (the bigger file, the more strange code and ditto sound), in the exact same way.
Now you paste the piece of code from the mp3, into the top of this code...
And now you save the picture as a .mp3, by writing mp3 at the end of the name. (Write .wav if you took the code from a wav file. Now you have forced the computer to read the file as sound! Hurra!
First step, is that you take a normal mp3 (Also try with wav, if you have it), and open it in textedit (if you have a mac, notebook i think its called in the world of minimushy)
When you do this, you will see a very strange and decorative code (you can print some out, and hang it on the wall)
This is what the computer reads, when i sings to you, which is nice. You need to copy the very first part of the code, the part that tells the computer, that this is a mp3.
Now you open a photoshopfile, or something like that (the bigger file, the more strange code and ditto sound), in the exact same way.
Now you paste the piece of code from the mp3, into the top of this code...
And now you save the picture as a .mp3, by writing mp3 at the end of the name. (Write .wav if you took the code from a wav file. Now you have forced the computer to read the file as sound! Hurra!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Strange familiar smells (three spheres) - when I became New Age..
My last project in school, selfchosen
First, I decided that I wanted some far-out project, where I would build my own gigantic canvas, paint on it, and then make an installation where people would look at my work in a camera obscure-room, I would build for the occation. And then I thought I could stand next to the installation and cook food, so that people also would experience through their smell-sense.
I dropped it all. I wanted to do something that nobody would expect me to do
Then I started to think about something that has been on my mind, for over a year now.
It started with at picture in my head of some sort of a staircase. And some strange feeling of a place where you can sense the precence of other people, but only just. Like somebody had just left the room.
Before I knew it, I was swirled up in strange fantasies about lighthouses, frost, northern light, polar expeditons, camera obscura and faint melancholic pseudo-memories of a longgone summer. Strange familiar smells. Glimpses in the corner of my eye. Things like that.
It was clear to me, that all these things was somehow linked together. But I could not for the world figure out how.
In the end I desided that my project should be about these strange feelings. And that I should somehowe, through analyse and such, figure out what it was all about.
It is very complicated. And I think I will post some of all my analyse material later. Then perhaps the product of the project will make some sense to you..
But in short, I figured out, that i could boil down three catagories (I would later call them spheres) of feelings/textures, which all the pictures feelings and textures circled around. (It's pretty fucking abstract in my head)
First sphere is the raw and intense. It has words like sexuality, brutality, ocean, storm, coldness.
Second sphere is the mysterious subtleness, it has words like undefinable, light, Aion, melancholy, frost, dreams, morning.
The third sphere is the sort of cozy, homely Biedermeier.. words like rain, rainpits, smell of burning nells, dew, wooden floor, smell of lighting a candle, normality, meditation..
I figured out that almost all I was interrested in, almost all the things in art that would trigger me, the things that moves me, well they all seems to have on, two or three of these spheres in them. The spheres would interact and blend, creating unique textures. It became clear to me, that non of these could very well function, and pehaps not very healthy, on their own. They needed the others to find a balance.
I later realized that these spheres perhaps already have been defined a long time ago. They share clear simularities with what we call Heaven, Hell and the Profane Life.
I find it intriguing that these things could be a part of me, deep down, without my knowing.
I made three big posters you can see down there. I made them in a very strict Russian poster/bauhaus like style. Just to make it a little more abstract. And to see how much of all these fucked up things I could actually express through composition..
First, I decided that I wanted some far-out project, where I would build my own gigantic canvas, paint on it, and then make an installation where people would look at my work in a camera obscure-room, I would build for the occation. And then I thought I could stand next to the installation and cook food, so that people also would experience through their smell-sense.
I dropped it all. I wanted to do something that nobody would expect me to do
Then I started to think about something that has been on my mind, for over a year now.
It started with at picture in my head of some sort of a staircase. And some strange feeling of a place where you can sense the precence of other people, but only just. Like somebody had just left the room.
Before I knew it, I was swirled up in strange fantasies about lighthouses, frost, northern light, polar expeditons, camera obscura and faint melancholic pseudo-memories of a longgone summer. Strange familiar smells. Glimpses in the corner of my eye. Things like that.
It was clear to me, that all these things was somehow linked together. But I could not for the world figure out how.
In the end I desided that my project should be about these strange feelings. And that I should somehowe, through analyse and such, figure out what it was all about.
It is very complicated. And I think I will post some of all my analyse material later. Then perhaps the product of the project will make some sense to you..
But in short, I figured out, that i could boil down three catagories (I would later call them spheres) of feelings/textures, which all the pictures feelings and textures circled around. (It's pretty fucking abstract in my head)
First sphere is the raw and intense. It has words like sexuality, brutality, ocean, storm, coldness.
Second sphere is the mysterious subtleness, it has words like undefinable, light, Aion, melancholy, frost, dreams, morning.
The third sphere is the sort of cozy, homely Biedermeier.. words like rain, rainpits, smell of burning nells, dew, wooden floor, smell of lighting a candle, normality, meditation..
I figured out that almost all I was interrested in, almost all the things in art that would trigger me, the things that moves me, well they all seems to have on, two or three of these spheres in them. The spheres would interact and blend, creating unique textures. It became clear to me, that non of these could very well function, and pehaps not very healthy, on their own. They needed the others to find a balance.
I later realized that these spheres perhaps already have been defined a long time ago. They share clear simularities with what we call Heaven, Hell and the Profane Life.
I find it intriguing that these things could be a part of me, deep down, without my knowing.
I made three big posters you can see down there. I made them in a very strict Russian poster/bauhaus like style. Just to make it a little more abstract. And to see how much of all these fucked up things I could actually express through composition..
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Calligrafight-club
On my old school Den skandinaviske Designhøjskole I had a little project about writing and stuff. Quite funny.
Kenn Munk was our wise instructor. It was my duty to videodocument the project.
The outcome of that, you can checkout below.
All the music is made by me, naturally.
Kenn Munk was our wise instructor. It was my duty to videodocument the project.
The outcome of that, you can checkout below.
All the music is made by me, naturally.
Running down the hill
My brother, Birk asked me to make a movie for a song, he'd made as a bachelorproject.
We decided that I should be a card-board stopmotion. And the only thing that was certain, was that he wanted his face to sing when he sang.
I decided to create a special atmosphere, a bit surreal and melancholic. With great help from an old book about cirkus, acrobats and clowns.
My brother took a whole bunch of pictures of himself, trying to mime different words with his mouth. And I printed them out, and glued them on cardboard.
I developed a complicated system with framenumbers and the words in the song, so I could figure out, which face-expression I should use where.
We decided that I should be a card-board stopmotion. And the only thing that was certain, was that he wanted his face to sing when he sang.
I decided to create a special atmosphere, a bit surreal and melancholic. With great help from an old book about cirkus, acrobats and clowns.
My brother took a whole bunch of pictures of himself, trying to mime different words with his mouth. And I printed them out, and glued them on cardboard.
I developed a complicated system with framenumbers and the words in the song, so I could figure out, which face-expression I should use where.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Svæver
Og således vandrede han ud i vandet. Fulgt af tusinder og atter tusinder af blegrøde kakaduer.
Vandet mørknedes udad, af de algebevoksede sten.
Der var en stilhed i luften. Kun klukken af vand og en susen for ørene. Små laksorte tordenfluer svirrede.
Bløde krusninger fra de vandrende, forvandlede spejlingen af skyernes flugt, til blåhed og gule striber.
En knasende lugt af tang, fedtede luften.
Vandet mørknedes udad, af de algebevoksede sten.
Der var en stilhed i luften. Kun klukken af vand og en susen for ørene. Små laksorte tordenfluer svirrede.
Bløde krusninger fra de vandrende, forvandlede spejlingen af skyernes flugt, til blåhed og gule striber.
En knasende lugt af tang, fedtede luften.
To som os, to som vi
Her er et par. To som os. To som vi. En positiv og en negativ. En bagside og en forside.
Her er et par. To som os. Vi står i vejen for lys. vi åbner op og lukker i. Vi drikker the og samler smådele.
Her er et par der forsvandt. Hér blev de væk, og hér gik de bort. Her er et par der forsvandt. To som os. To som vi. Kiggede sig om og gled ned i et hul. Gik langsomt og ebbede ud. Bladrede baglæns. Søgte indad. Drømte køligt.
Vi var et par, og vi er tilsammen et par. Vi løber i ilden.
Vi rejste til steder langt væk. Vi lænede os imod vinden. Vi sagde ting vi ikke mente, fordi det føltes rigtigt.
Vi var engang, og den dag kom nærmere.
Her er et sted vi har boet og været. Og elsket. Her har vi lavet mad, og her stod vi alt for tidligt op.
Her er vi. Som du kender os. Du ser os kun som skygger der flakker, i grænselandet til dit synsfelt. Vi blænder dig i solvejr. Vi er grå når det regner.
Rummet
I thought it would be nice to show how I made the movie 'Rummet'. I made as a the last project before the holidays last year.
Now you can just look at the scannings of my process.
Now you can just look at the scannings of my process.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
En lille film jeg har lavet.
A little animation I made. I've tried to describe a feeling of suppression.
Jeg har fundet et stykke i Forbrydelse og Straf der beskriver det meget godt:
Under sin sygdom var han dog ikke helt bevidstløs; han lå ofte i en halvdøs og fantaserede. Meget af det huskede han siden. Snart forekom det ham, at der omkring ham var samlet en mængde mennesker, der ville flytte ham et eller andet sted hen og kom i skænderi for hans skyld. Pludselig lå han så atter alene i kammeret, alle var gået, alle var bange for ham - kun af og til åbnede man døren for at betragte ham og true ad ham, man havde noget for, lo ad ham og drillede ham. Natasja så han ofte ved siden af sig; der var også et glimt af et andet menneske, der syntes ham bekendt, men hvem det var, kunne han ikke komme på; det pinte ham, så han måtte græde.
Undertiden var det ham, som havde han nu allerede ligget syg en måned, til andre tider - at det stadig endnu var den samme dag. Men det andet - det begåede - havde han fuldstændig glemt, dog - samtidig vidste han, at han havde glemt noget, som for en hver pris ikke måtte glemmes - han anstrengte sig til det yderste, ja, pinte sig selv for at komme på det, stønnede, fik anfald af raseri og en frygtelig, uudholdelig angst. Så fo´r han op fra sit leje, ville flygte, men der var altid en der holdt ham tilbage med magt, og atter faldt han hen i dødelig slaphed og sløvhed.
Fjodor Dostojevskij
‘’Rodion Raskolnikov’’
s. 138
Friday, April 20, 2007
At blive transporteret
At køre. At blive transporteret. Det er lige meget hvor uendeligt langsomt det går. Faktisk jo langsommere jo bedre. Så længe man kommer fremad. Nej det er ligemeget, man kan også køre baglæns eller til siderne. Så længe man bevæger sig. Så længe man befinder sig på en bevægende flade ganske få centimeter over jorden. Sålænge man ligger på maven og stirrer ned i det forsvindende underlag. Måske gennem en sprække. Et underlag der forsvinder på den måde; ganske langsomt. Det er en historie der bliver fortalt.
Man skal også ligge på ryggen og stirre op i himlen. Op på skyerne. Og i øjenskrogene se skygger af objekter sejle forbi.
Man ligger på brædder; rå brædder. Men slidte. Uden for mange splinter. Det er varmt. Solen bager. Men der er en brise. Både en kølig og en aftenlun. Det kan være en diset tidlig morgen, en høj middag, en rødmende aftentime. Så længe man ligger på duftende brædder, og man bevæger sig. Ganske langsomt. Henover græssletter. Småsten. Udtørrede flodlejer. asfalterede veje. Blomstrende midterrabatter i gamle hulveje. Masser af glitrende vandpytter. Lavtvandede bronzefarvede søer. Skyggefulde markskel. Kølige bække med fisk. Skolegårde. Forladte markedspladser. Rålugtende havne. forladte haller. Tilvoksede industriområder. Teglsten pludselig. Oppe i byens tage. Det sitrer i maven når du glider over dybet mellem tagene. Hvor gaderne larmer fjernt. Og opdriften bringer dufte. Teglsten der er halvvejs grønne. Kører forbi under dig. Som en historie der bliver fortalt. Hver sprække. Alle detajler. Alle græstå. De mindste mostuer. De mindste konturerer. Insekter. Når du ser dem så ganske tæt på, giver de pludselig mening. Pludselig dirrende spænding. Alle sandkorn er pludselig sten, med egne farver, egen glød. Historier i deres egen ret. Alle årer i et stykke træ. Splinterne. Det frø der har sat sig fast i en sprække og spirer.
Og så den bløde fremdrift. Berusende, hypnotiserende. En tranceagtige tilstand.
Hvis du kan komme til det må du have hænderne frem. Røre. Lade dem glide hen over underlaget. Alt det bløde.Alt det kolde. Brændende. Skærende. Stikkende. Hakkende. Ruflende. Det ru. Græsset. Vandspejlet. Asfalten. Gruset.
Du tager fat i noget, og lader det glide ud igen. Den samme bevægelse om og om igen. Tidsløst. Alt er tidsløst. Uberørt af tiden. Enorme uformelige cirkler.
Du falder i søvn. På et tidspunkt falder du i søvn. Blunder, hedder det. Fjerne skygger af objekter flyder stadig forbi over dig. Solen blænder måske det ene øje. Du vågner måske, uden egentlig bevidsthed. En sprække af lys bliver pludselig til et hav af blåt. Og du forundres. Enormt. Det er ufatteligt. Så opdager du at du har åbne øjne, og at du kigger op i himlen. Et sug af højdeskræk, for alt er vendt på hovedet, og det blå hav er et uendeligt tomrum der ligger under dig. Omkranser dig. Det suger dig.
Snurrende violet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)