Eve McConnachie is a graphic designer based in Glasgow. She trained as an animator at Duncan of Jordanstone Dundee and has been in-house designer and filmmaker for Scottish Ballet since 2009. The Bird is the first piece created under ‘Scottish Ballet Creative’  – an ongoing project in which the Company collaborates with contemporary artists, filmmakers and musicians. This short film for Scottish Album of the Year Award-winner Kathryn Joseph, directed, filmed and edited by Eve. Here she tells us more about the making of this film.

Scottish Ballet’s online audience has been growing steadily for the past few years, with our online videos receiving hundreds of thousands of views per year. The films I create are mainly behind-the-scenes documentaries and trailers that promote productions, but Scottish Ballet have been looking to produce more creative content that would not be for promotional purposes. This led to the idea of ‘Scottish Ballet Creative’, an initiative that would see the company produce creative digital projects and collaborate with other artists.

Kathryn Joseph’s involvement came about very organically; we were listening to her music in the office and were awestruck by her haunting vocals and her raw and emotive lyrics. When we approached Kathryn for this project she was pleased and, I think surprised, to hear from us. She is a big fan of dance already so she was very enthusiastic from the start. When I asked if she’d like anything in particular for the film, she said she’d be happy whatever we came up with. It was a completely open brief and you can’t really ask for anything more generous.

The first thing I did was to listen to the track on loop. I also collected a ton of visuals that fit with my emotional response to the song. I showed these images to Kathryn and she confirmed that I was on the right track. I wanted to create something that would do justice to her beautiful song – and then Kathryn won the SAY award and I really knew the pressure was on!

Image by Christina Riley

The film features Sophie Laplane (pictured above), who is not only a wonderful dancer, but also a talented choreographer. I knew that she would bring something special to the film. Sophie decided not to choreograph a complete dance piece; instead we workshopped some key movements and then Sophie improvised to the track on the day.

Kathryn already had a short video for The Bird – of a murmuration of starlings. I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to find a similar flock of birds, but I wanted to echo Sophie’s choreography with the natural movements found in a wild landscape. So I knew I was looking for a location with long grass and water, and I was hoping to film at sunset.

I spent the next week combing the west coast for a suitable location, accompanied by my dad and his bearded collie, Ben (pictured below). Eventually we found a great spot at the edge of an Irvine golf course: secluded, with a nice view of Arran, even a gorgeously silvered driftwood tree on the beach nearby. It was a typically dreich evening – grey, windy and wet – so I couldn’t get an idea of the sunset, but Ben (the dog) unearthed the bird wing which you see at the start of the video.

On the day of the shoot the sky wasn’t the atmospheric grey that I’d expected – instead we got the best day of the summer! We packed my gear into the car along with sandwiches, biscuits, chocolate and gallons of hot tea – all the essentials. When we arrived the coast was bathed in the beautiful warmth of a low evening sun so we quickly got to work.

I was shooting on a Canon DSLR with 50mm and 28mm prime lenses; shooting on a DSLR lets me get the shallow depth of field that I love. It’s also lightweight enough that I can shoot without a tripod – which meant that I could adapt quickly to Sophie’s movements.

After years of filming dance at Scottish Ballet, I’ve found that it’s best to keep the camera loose and responsive. You can plan your shots to a certain extent, but often on the day it’s the happy accidents that are the bits I like the best. I use my own (cheaper!) version of steadicam, using the camera strap stretched tightly against my neck to steady the shot. I think if the camera is free to move then you can respond better to the dancer – perhaps your shots aren’t as perfectly composed but it makes the performance more alive. Personally, my favourite shots are often technically imperfect; out of focus or only catching a small part of the dancer onscreen, but I think that imperfection makes you focus on the detail in a way that isn’t possible in a live performance.

We shot from 7pm till just before midnight. Fortunately I had good light for a long time because it was just after the longest day of the year. However, that also meant that poor Sophie spent hours in the wind in nothing more than a light dress. You’d never guess from the footage, but when the camera stopped filming her teeth would immediately begin to chatter. You can’t see, but there was always someone standing ready just off-camera armed with a blanket and a hot cup of tea! She still looked amazing though and never complained once.

Image by Christina Riley

Image by Christina Riley

My favourite part of the video is the last third, where the sun is low and the sky was especially vivid. By this point Sophie was freezing so we only had time for two shots – one ultra wide to get the sky and a second in close up. The colours were absolutely beautiful, so I’m glad she toughed it out.

Sophie then escaped to sit in the car with the heating on, while I stayed to get some final shots of the deserted beach. I ended up leaving the camera balanced carefully on the sand while I ran at a group of seagulls waving my arms frantically to scare them into flying into shot. (I’m glad the beach was empty at this point.)

The shoot only lasted one evening but the edit took far longer. I probably listened to the song another hundred times over this period. My first step when editing is to re-watch all the footage, picking out my favourite moments. Then I’ll piece together a rough edit. We’d thought we might need to do a second day of shooting but I could tell immediately that I had enough footage to tell a complete story. Just as well, as that sunset was never to be repeated!

The first edit came together fairly quickly, but then I spent days chopping, changing, and rearranging – trying to get the overall flow of the film right. I’ve learned that, with dance on film, perfect continuity isn’t as important as visual flow. Rather than piecing together movements that match up perfectly in a linear progression, I think it is much more effective to combine shots which have the same feeling, or contrast in an interesting way.

The end result was really well received, and bringing us to the attention a lot of people who might not have noticed us before. Everything worked for us on the day – that freakishly beautiful sunset and Sophie’s amazing improvisation. I can’t wait for my next Scottish Ballet Creative project!

Sophie Laplane’s new work Maze will be performed in September and October as part of Scottish Ballet’s Autumn Season 2015. Find out more information here.

See Eve’s showcased work on Central Station here.

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Award-winning broadcaster and director David Street (pictured above) made programmes for all the main UK’s TV channels before he turned to feature documentaries. A lover of life in all its complexities, he’s on a constant quest to find out why we do what we do and why we are who we are. The 40 year Film & TV veteran has just premiered Battle Mountain at Edinburgh International Film Festival. Here he explains just what went into creating this epic documentary where he followed “The Flying Scotsman” (Graeme Obree) for two years as he prepared for the human-powered vehicle land speed record attempt in Nevada.

two .. tick.. name .. check.. thank you note.. done. one .. tick name.. check and on it went, 76 tickets and thank you notes put into addressed envelopes on the morning of 24 June 2015.

If I’d known three and a half years earlier I would be doing this on the morning of the world premiere of my film Battle Mountain: Graeme Obree’s Story, would I ever have started filming?

The project started as a simple taster tape but when the production company couldn’t sell it to a broadcaster, I felt it was a a story too good not to be told.

I decided to go along with this Ayrshire cyclist who had broken world records and twice been a world champion in the 1990s as he set out two decades later to try and break another world record. Even if it didn’t work, I told myself, it would be a fun ride.

Over the years I’d gone from being a film editor to a producer, director and then as the industry changed found myself as a self-shooting director/producer, along the way I’d built up my own camera and sound kit so I had the freedom to jump in the car and go down to Graeme’s tiny 1st floor flat in Saltcoats and shoot whenever he felt like building.

This man who rose to fame by breaking world records on “Old Faithful” – a bike he built himself with bits from a washing machine, was now going to build a new machine to try and break the Human Powered Land Speed record. He no longer had a bike shop so he was going to build it in his kitchen.

When I got there an engineer’s vice had been bolted onto the dining table, the washing machine was still in one piece, but with a cooker and fridge freezer as well as sink and kitchen units there wasn’t room to swing a cat, so getting in there to film was going to be fun. Thankfully I’m used to working on my own, doing sound as well as camera, it proved a really useful skill in such cramped conditions, especially when Graeme’s family turned up. The room had a big window which was both a blessing and a curse. It meant that there was plenty of natural light, no bad thing when there was hardly room for me and the camera, so definitely no space for lighting stands. Graeme’s natural working position when he was building “The Beastie” was with his back to the window, so without lighting to balance the outside, getting a big wide of him meant he was either in silhouette or the background was grotesquely burnt out.

Part of the deal I made with Graeme when I was negotiating the access, was that I would never ask him to do anything specifically for the camera, nor would I ask him to repeat anything. He didn’t want a filmmaker stopping him in the middle of his thought pattern and creative flow. His building method is incredibly tactile and in a sense evolutionary. While the agreement worked for Graeme it meant I had a challenge on my hands every time I went to film. I started by asking him to talk me through what he was planning on doing so I would have some idea of where I could be to get the best shots to tell the story. However, after the first couple of minutes I realised this wasn’t going to work. As with many geniuses, his brain is always working and trying to find new and better ways of doing things, so even if he said he’d be doing x and y, 30 seconds later he’d be doing ax and cz. From then on I was trying to cut it in my head whilst filming and making sure the sound was right. I didn’t want to miss any of Graeme’s pearls of wisdom, so the sound had to be continuous. My thinking was that in any given period I would get non-sync action of Graeme brazing, sawing, filing  and making tea – he made a lot of tea – to help the editor get round some of the problems, mostly it worked.

I was shooting on a Canon XF305 with a radio mic and a top mic, occasionally I would use 2 radio mics. Most of the time I was using a Manfrotto monopod, it meant I could scoot round Graeme and his kitchen while still being able to use the long end of the lens to get in for covering close-ups. There was hardly room to put a tripod up, but even if there had been, Graeme is so fast on his feet when he’s creating, that within seconds that shot wouldn’t work, the monopod is a boon for flexibility and I wouldn’t be without one.

To balance the developing sense of claustrophobia the film was acquiring by filming in the small kitchen, I wanted to film Graeme out training on his bike, ideally riding round the beautiful Ayrshire countryside. I still find it staggering that some of the locations where we shot are less than 30 minutes from the centre of Glasgow. At this point the film was still self-funded so I couldn’t afford to bring in a cameraman or a driver. I had to do it myself. Two years working on Top Gear and watching how some of the top DoP’s rigged cars for filming car-to-car and cars-on-the-move helped me get round these problems, that and the fact the roads were incredibly quiet. It’s one of those things though that you really shouldn’t try at home. One problem that did surprise me was how fast Graeme could go downhill and how well he could corner. I quickly realised I had to pull over and let him go ahead on the big downhills as he could go faster round the corners on two wheels than I was prepared to go in a four wheel Qashqai.

This is just a small part and some of the experiences that I enjoyed as I spent nearly two years filming a Scottish icon and another 18 months getting it to the stage where I was putting tickets in envelopes. And NO I wouldn’t have started if I’d known what it entailed but I am so glad I did and I know that I can’t wait for the next opportunity to come along. It’s been a blast.

A kickstarter project helped get David the initial funding he needed to bring this project to life with additional funding from Creative Scotland’s Film Fund.

Sign up for updates on when David’s documentary will be screened near you on www.gobattlemountain.com.

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Lee Davidson Connor is a documentary photographer based in Glasgow. His passion for photography drives him to produce personal work that tells a story, creating stories and memories for people. Here he explains his ongoing Makers Photographic Project.

Bakery 47

Trakke

Makers began at the beginning of 2015 as a personal photographic project. The project evolved from my interest in documenting the personality of crafts people within their studio environment. I began producing similar work while studying at University in 2013. I loved the process of meeting these people who are passionate about their craft, chatting about the industry and what makes them love their discipline. Through out university I produced similar works to this, one being Artists’, a series that is ongoing to date. When you involve yourself in an industry you realise how much creativity is alive and growing in Glasgow.

Misa Kanno

Misa Kanno

Apo Design

For me photography is finding a subject that is full of potential, the environment is just as important as the person. I found that the maker fits with their personal surroundings. When I create images I look for a story, I walk into an opportunity and within a few seconds I will know if the photos will be a success or not. Photography is a very personal discipline, from what equipment you use to how you approach your subject. During my further education I was taught to produce each image like it was the last one, so getting it right on the camera was crucial. The story aspect relates back to the photographers I research and the documentary books that I have today. After university I evolved my skills to cover wedding photography, carrying over what I had learned and applying to a very different client. The pace of conducting a wedding is a real contrast to working on the Makers project. I always aim to have a personal project running while working on wedding photography. Personal work allows me to evolve my skills, to later apply them to other work for clients.

Alison Mcleod

Wingnut Art

My Makers project is ongoing and I am keen to add work to the current series. I aim to hold an exhibition for the final set of images, I will also create a magazine styled photobook for my portfolio. All of my work from Makers can be viewed through my Tumblr Blog.

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Brickwork A, 2013

Here she talks about her process and upcoming solo exhibition From A Horizontal Line at St Margaret’s House, Edinburgh.

Often evolving from diagrams and technical drawings, my work seems to come from a fascination in the relationship between principle geometric forms and reoccurring systems of support. The diagrams act as propositions, exploring how one shape defines another, creating parameters within the drawings that are transposed into the physical constructions through the introduction of load and/or directional forces.

Spiral Diagram, 2015

Spheroid Diagram 1, 2015

The Transition from diagram to actual structure is reliant on engaging material properties of mass, flexibility, elasticity and strength, composing each structure from the minimum material components possible keeping every element necessary to the overall stability. Most of the time the works are constructed consecutively; the act of making one will lead to another. So there is a constant process of dismantling and reconstruction in which materials get repurposed as the idea moves on. However, the use of repeating identical elements (i.e brick) is purposeful and intended to construct visible units of measure within the structures that can be compared throughout the body of work.

Load at A (Spheroid), 2015

From A Horizontal Line collates an ongoing series of work that focuses on capturing the material tension produced when creating a curve from a linear form. The work is based on the idea that condensing a straight line between two opposing points, usually positioned at either end, will produce a curve. Therefore all the works in the show originate ‘from a horizontal line’ and through an addition of load/force a curve is formed. The material tension of the curve itself supports the load/force, creating a continuous reactionary process between the components that is perfectly, but tenuously, balanced.

This notion of constructing a curve has always been of significant interest and particularly present in the drawings. Usually beginning with the cube structure, the curve is drawn freehand according to points mapped out from the surrounding cube/square, identifying the key points on the curve that create its shape. Acting as diagrams, the drawings all aim towards demonstrating some form of physical construction that may or may not be realised directly, but aspects are explored in the sculptures.

Untitled, 2015

Utilising the curve within the sculptures has always been more difficult than other works. The tensions can change over time making something that was initially balanced suddenly spring outwards, or curl up and collapse. A small amount of trial and error is needed to find the right amount of force and where exactly to apply it. Often it is just a case of adjusting angles and placements or simply using two bricks instead of one. Eventually, the equilibrium is found and the structural stability within a kinetic interaction is achieved, perpetually paused in motion.

Robyn’s exhibition From A Horizontal Line will be on at St Margaret’s House, Edinburgh from Saturday 27 June – Sunday 12 July with the preview happening tomorrow, Friday 26 June. Find out more information here.

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Peter Holliday is a recent Glasgow School of Art graduate. He got in touch to tell us more about creating his Icelandic photographic series.

Where the Land Rises is a photographic series documenting the relationship between the landscape and people of Heimaey, the only inhabited island of Vestmannaeyjar, a volcanically active archipelago in southern Iceland.

I first visited Heimaey during a trip to Iceland in the summer of 2014 and became fascinated by the island’s dramatic landscape and the stories surrounding the 1973 eruption of Eldfell. I felt compelled to investigate this event further as I was interested to learn more about the islander’s efforts to save their town and harbour from the lava flow, influencing the shape of the landscape visible on Heimaey today. I was already familiar with the theory and aesthetic of photographers associated with the New Topographics movement such as Stephen Shore, Joel Sternfeld, and Robert Adams. These photographers have long documented the intricate relationship between man and the landscape, and in particular, the way in which humans have shaped and developed the American landscape. This interested me and I felt compelled to produce a series of photographs depicting similar themes within the context of the lava cooling operations on Heimaey.

Isolated from the Icelandic mainland by the North Atlantic Ocean, Vestmannaeyjar is a dramatic fleet of around 15 islands. Heimaey, which literally means Home Island, is the largest of these islands with an area of approximately five square miles and home to a population of 4,300 people. Two cindery domes dominate the island’s horizon, sitting like residual slag heaps from a heavy industry long abandoned. These volcanoes, known as Eldfell and Helgafell, reveal the temporal nature of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.

In the early hours of 23 January 1973 the island of Heimaey suddenly split open, sending columns of lava into the sky from a mile-long fissure. The eruption of Eldfell – as the 42 year old volcano is now known – led to the immediate evacuation of the island, destroying many homes and violently altering the geography of Heimaey. As the lava flow slowly crept towards the fishing harbour threatening to destroy the island’s economic lifeline, interventions were made to divert the drifting magma. A dam of solidified basalt was successfully created by spraying the flow with billions of litres of seawater. In early July 1973 the eruption was officially declared over and many of the inhabitants began to return, although some would never come back. The island had been saved but the landscape would never be the same again.

Miraculously, nobody was killed by the eruption of Eldfell, and efforts to divert the lava flow had proved successful. The island had been reclaimed from the forces of nature but a pastoral landscape once admired by the island’s inhabitants had been lost forever under a layer of black lava and ash. As I investigated the eruption and its aftermath, I began to contemplate how it must feel to witness the geography of your homeland change so quickly and what these emotions reveal about our relationship with the landscapes we dwell in. I started to investigate the work of contemporary photographers such as Dana Lixenberg, Bryan Schutmaat, and Ville Lenkkeri, who explore isolated communities undergoing social, political, and/or geographical change.

As my research developed further, I came upon The Language of Landscape by Anne Whiston Spirn and Space and Place by Yi-Fu Tuan. I found these texts to be invaluable sources of critical theory exploring the cultural significance of landscape and our emotional response to the changing world environment.

Where the Land Rises is a collection of images combining both landscapes and portraits taken during three visits to Heimaey during 2014 and early 2015. The majority of the images included in this project were shot on medium format negative film which prompted me to adopt a much more considered approach in my image making process. My aim was to create imagery that revealed the close human-landscape relationship of an isolated coastal community exposed to constant geophysical forces. I wanted to reflect this mood of change in my portraits, which document the witnesses of Heimaey’s ephemeral terrain, several of whom experienced the eruption of 1973. Finally, I wanted to emphasise the idea of landscape as an eternal process, an ever-changing feature of our daily lives that can change violently and suddenly due to forces out of our control.

Where the Land Rises captures the stark coastal terrain of Vestmannaeyjar, a restless landscape forged by an intense geological violence that originates deep within our planet. Nevertheless, the landscape of Heimaey is revered by its inhabitants as a home; an island refuge in an often unforgiving environment. My portraits document some of the people who live there; the permanent occupants of a landscape exposed to ongoing forces of destruction and creation; the everyday witnesses of a terrain intricately textured by an ever-changing climate. A people who exist between a landscape gone and a landscape to come.

Peter’s work is on display at The Glasgow School of Art degree show until Saturday 20 June. Find out more here.

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Clyde Reflections is a 33-minute film and audio-visual installation based around interviews with seven people that explore their perceptions of the marine environment in the Firth of Clyde. It has been selected to run at Glasgow’s Gallery of Modern Art (GoMA), from 29 May to 5 July, as part of the gallery’s Moving Image Season. The project was devised by Glasgow-based artist filmmaker Stephen Hurrel and social ecologist Ruth Brennan, a research associate at the Scottish Association for Marine Science (SAMS). They got in touch to tell us a bit more about their creative work process.

Stephen Hurrel & Ruth Brennan at GoMA, photo by Katie Bruce

Clyde Reflections grew out of ideas and working methods employed within recent marine-based film, digital media and social science projects that Hurrel and Brennan have undertaken, both as a collaborative art-science team, since 2011, and independently. Clyde Reflections was commissioned by Imaging Natural Scotland/Creative Scotland and is currently installed in the grand, main space of GoMA as part of their Moving Image Season.

Still from Clyde Reflections (featuring underwater footage by Howard Wood) by Hurrel and Brennan

Hurrel and Brennan’s collaborative activity began after meeting on a Cape Farewell (art-science) expedition, which involved sailing to several islands in the Outer Hebrides to explore ideas around sustainability. Following that trip Hurrel was offered a Cape Farewell commission to produce a short film on the island of Barra. He had also become aware that the research methods that Brennan was using as a social ecologist on Barra were similar to approaches that he, and other artists involved in socially-engaged art practice, had used.

So it seemed a good opportunity to explore possible crossovers within the same environment. Brennan’s doctoral research aimed to gain insights into the roots of a conflict over the creation of two marine protected areas off the coast of Barra through exploring the cultural, social and historical context of the local community. She used this cultural groundwork to shed light on how, in Barra, people and place function together within, and as, an ecosystem.

Stephen & Ruth, Barra outdoors studio by Stephen Hurrel

It became evident that there were meeting points in terms of working methods and areas of interest, and that the sharing of information, ideas and skills would be beneficial. One such interest lay in exploring different people’s perceptions of the same landscape as a way to reveal hidden relationships within natural and man-made environments.

The first art-science collaboration (that also involved social ecologist Iain MacKinnon) resulted in the publication Dùthchas na Mara/Belonging to the Sea*. Following this, Hurrel and Brennan developed a proposal that expanded on the research for the publication, and that engaged further with the people of Barra. That year-long project resulted in the online cultural map of the sea Sgeulachdan na Mara/Sea Stories: Barra.*

Barra Map by Stephen Hurrel

By 2013, Hurrel and Brennan had worked on a combination of independent and collaborative marine-based projects, and had a good foundation on which to develop a new project.

Work in Progress: text edit on wall and video edit by Stephen Hurrel

With Clyde Reflections, their initial idea was to engage in an exploratory process to reveal the complexity of an area of sea that is not normally evident when looked at by an outsider. By engaging with people who connect deeply with their environment, they wanted to create a multi-perspective representation of a particular marine area that would challenge a simplistic representation of a familiar environment. They believed this could provide a creative example of how ‘landscape’ is not a fixed entity, or separate from people, but is dynamic in terms of its socio-ecological properties as well as how it can be perceived. They were more interested in revealing a multi-layered reading of place than presenting a negative perspective and in creating an immersive experience that takes the viewer on a journey by creating a specific mood and pace.

Ruth said: “The aim of the film is not to deliver a specific message, but rather to provoke thought and reflection. How are people’s perceptions of the Clyde formed and how can the same body of water be perceived so differently by so many people?

“We also want people to consider and contemplate the bigger picture: How can we live sustainably? How do we deal with climate change? What is our relationship to the sea?”

Still from Clyde Reflections by Stephen Hurrel

Hurrel and Brennan’s grounded as well as creative approach is recognised as an important contribution to research being undertaken within the wider policy environment. They are currently collaborating as an art-science partnership alongside a multidisciplinary research team developing new marine spatial planning approaches in Sweden. This allows them to continue to explore complexities of relationships between nature and culture, and to devise new ways of employing visual, audio and digital art within a scientific context.

* www.mappingthesea.net – to download a PDF copy of the publication (Dùthchas na Mara/Belonging to the Sea) and to access the online cultural map of the sea (Sgeulachdan na Mara/Sea Stories: Barra)

There will be a free seminar tomorrow afternoon 13 June at GoMA with artist Stephen Hurrel, social ecologist Ruth Brennan, Prof Andrew Patrizio (Professor of Scottish Visual Culture, University of Edinburgh), Prof Sian Sullivan (Professor of Environment & Culture, Bath Spa University) and Chris Fremantle (independent researcher and producer, writer and initiator of ecoartscotland). For more information, visit here.

Clyde Reflections continues at Glasgow’s Gallery of Modern Art until 5 July.

Hurrel and Brennan would like to thank their interviewees for their generous participation:
Howard McCrindle (retired fisherman) | Prof Paul Tett (Reader in Coastal Systems and Biological Ocenaographer) | Ven. Lama Yeshe Losal Rinpoche (Abbot of Kagyu Samye Ling and Executive Director of the Holy Isle Project) | Dr Fiona Hanna (Former Acting Director and Senior Lecturer at University Marine Biology Station Millport. Honorary Lecturer at University of Glasgow) | Howard Wood (Diver and Chair of Community of Arran Seabed Trust (COAST)) | Andrew Binnie (Executive Director, Community of Arran Seabed Trust (COAST)) | Adam Rose (Holy Isle Project Volunteer)

More: Stephen Hurrel | Ruth Brennan | Clyde Reflections

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The Last Days of Art School came about in quite chaotic circumstances. With just over a week to go before the final degree submission deadline my tutor suggested that it might be a good idea for me to produce another piece of work for my submission portfolio. At first I thought he wasn’t serious; but he was.

My major project was photographic, so I thought a contrast to that would be good. I had dabbled in film on and off over my degree and it was actually his preference that I make a film. In a week! Normally I ponder, deliberate and procrastinate quite a bit, but there was no time so a film it was, and a film about what was going on all around me was the obvious/only choice. I did briefly worry that it might not be that interesting, but little was I to know about the events that were about to strike the Art School.

Looking back I think the time pressure really helped, as I couldn’t afford to worry too much about what I was doing, I just had to go and do it. The structure of the film – the fact that there is no synced sound i.e. that what is being said does not match what you see, is the direct result of the technical restraints I encountered. It was just impossible for one person to film and record usable sound at the same time. I’d go in the morning and shoot for a couple of hours, record sound for an hour, edit for a couple, then shoot for a couple more in the afternoon, more sound and then edit again into the night. As I would be shooting right up until hand-in day, there was no time to edit after all the shooting was complete – I had to edit as I went. So the structure of the film developed as it went, one day at a time. Once one day was done that was it. There was no going back. And no knowing what would come next.

As well as this there was the ordering of frames for the degree show, the finishing of the making of my photobook (my main project), the incessant palaver of trying to book time on the digital photo printers, all to be done. I’d managed to get the bulk of the book done and kicked the frames off before the film started, so that was a massive help. Luckily, and I mean that sincerely, I hit no major snags in any of this which meant I was able to get those things underway as planned and complete the film on time. Not everyone had such a relatively smooth ride.

The other benefit of this was that I couldn’t really worry about the show and what was coming. There was no time. And then once we hit the deadline it’s all out of your hands and you can’t worry anymore. Then it’s the fun bit – putting up the work and stepping back and letting it exist for others to see. Apart from the actual putting up of the work which inevitably ends up with 50 people chasing one screwdriver round a gallery space. After that though, step back and relax.

For anyone about to go through this experience, I would offer some words of advice which may or may not help. It sounds obvious but the first thing is to plan what you need to do in advance. Write all the steps down and don’t underplay anything. Think realistically about how long things are going to take. One mistake we made early on is to think, ‘oh, I need to print X number of A3 prints, that should only take a morning’. It may well only take a morning under normal circumstances, but if you have 20 people trying to do the same thing on one printer, it could well end up taking the best part of a week. So plan early, talk to the other people who are likely to be in that queue with you (you quickly find out who they are) and negotiate and plan with them. And most importantly, figure out how long something will realistically take, and then double it. This is especially true of anything involving technology. Computers love to through up errors, printers love to throw a strop and refuse to print and exporting a film from an edit is never incident free. The second thing I would suggest is make sure you have access to your own spirit level, drill and screws – this will make the hang a lot less stressful.

To read more from Cliff and see some of his photography, check out his Life After Art School feature on Central Station.

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The two videos were created in response to a commissioning brief from the artist’s management. They wanted “deep, dark visuals” and two videos linked by the same aesthetic style and story, but with the narrative kept fairly loose and abstract.

At the time, I was submitting quite a lot of pitches for a fairly wide variety of acts – from radio-friendly dance music, to guitar-based rock. Once I’m sent a brief, I’ll have only a couple of days after first hearing the track to come up with an idea and draft up a pitching document to send to the label. It can be tricky jumping between different musical styles and trying to generate strong ideas that I’m committed to making, and that have a decent chance of securing the job. For me, when I’m at the basic ideas stage, there’s no point sitting at a desk with a pen just trying to force something out – and it’s a hundred times worse in front of a computer. What I usually do instead is listen to the track loads of times on a loop while concentrating on any kind of visual or emotional response I feel to it. Usually I don’t really get anything, and just find myself getting sleepy. At this point I kneel on the floor with my head resting on a chair in a really uncomfortable position, and drift off to sleep. Ten minutes, I tend to wake up with sore knees and the beginnings of an idea.

For this project, the initial idea involved a mysterious night time journey through an alien and deserted cityscape. I imagined the ‘walker’ being small within the frame, and swamped by darkness – always kind of frightened by what was around the next corner, but somehow compelled to keep going; inexorably, rhythmically, as though in a dream.

After kneeling on the floor, the next stage of my process involves getting out the pen and paper and approaching the initial idea with a critical eye and some discipline – thinking about how any specific effects or visuals can be achieved; taking the brief, budget and deadline into consideration; and starting to work out how the idea might be structured over the duration of the track. At this stage, it sometimes helps if I think of the idea as someone else’s crap brainwave that I’ve been tasked with whipping into shape – it makes it easier to leave the first type of woolly thinking behind, and get on with preparing a developed idea. (I should mention that I’m sometimes helped out at this stage by Halcyon directors Jack and Alex – for them it really is someone else’s crap brainwave). The outcome of this stage should be the creation of a pitching document to send to the label. This should give a good sense of the idea – the look, the atmosphere, the narrative trajectory. It has to be appealing to try and win the job, but also achievable, in case I do.

On this occasion, my pitch was successful, and the project rolled into motion. Beth Allan from Forest of Black came on board early on as the Producer, and we worked together closely during pre-production. She brought together all the logistical side of things – organising the crew, the scheduling, the budget, the equipment, the contracts, and probably a hundred other things I never even knew about. Meanwhile, I was working on the storyboard and shot list during the day, and at night, cycling around Glasgow taking pictures of potential locations.

As Beth brought new crew members on board, I would discuss with them what I was looking for. It was my first time working with a professional Production Designer (Moley Campbell), Make-Up Artist (Nicole Stafford), and Costume Designer (Louise Allen), and they really brought the project to life.

The filming technique employed was slightly unusual, and involved the performers having to move extremely slowly while we took a series of photographs. Having tried the required movement myself in the creation of the test footage, I was aware how physically demanding it was. Consequently, I decided that it would be best to cast dancers rather than actors, to ensure that they had the necessary physical control and stamina to create the desired aesthetic. Jen Farmer and Rob Heaslip took the leading roles, with Sarah Swires and Julian Capolei doing an amazing job on the ‘dancing couple sequence’.

The shoot itself was a slog, but by that point, the vast majority of my contribution was already complete. The real hard work at this point fell to Michael Sherrington (Director of Photography), Rory Stewart (Assistant Director), and of course, the actors. The process of filming can be fairly stressful, so I like to have made my creative decisions in advance – I just turn up on the day with a clipboard and stick to the plan.

For more work by Ciaran, see his showcase on Central Station here or visit the links below.

More: Website | Vimeo | Twitter

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Model for Ideology VI, Nicola Dale, 2015

In 2013 I was awarded a month-long residency in Shanghai, China, courtesy of Metal Liverpool and Shanghai College of Fine Arts. I undertook a research and development trip that would inspire new artworks around the theme of knowledge and how our relationship to it is changing. As the ancient birthplace of paper, ink and books, and as the supreme manufacturer of electronic devices, China seemed the perfect place to go for someone wishing to learn more about the shift from the former to the latter.

Untitled, Nicola Dale, 2013

My overriding and lasting impression is that China is a double-edged place, simultaneously full of constraint and potential. There is a ferocious drive to tear down, start again, build and expand. The state channels the energy of millions of Chinese citizens into a devastatingly effective work ethic, but this comes at a cost: the unbelievably heavy burden of top-down work crushes creativity. Over there, perspiration is not inspiration. “Ideas” are not encouraged. “Imagination” is not in evidence. What a different world to ours – we Westerners wouldn’t know hard work if it booted us in the jaw, but we’re up to our necks in blue-sky thinking…

Photograph taken in Shanghai, Nicola Dale, 2013

My experience of China encouraged me to reflect on the path that my work takes. When I think about my process, I see that it can be broken down into three parts: the first is the most exciting – the ping of an unexpected connection, the thrill of the idea; the second is the most draining – making the work, dealing with its physicality; and the third is the most mysterious – the moment of understanding that comes once you see your work reflected in the eyes of others. With luck, the first and second parts of this process do a little dance together: they wiggle back and forth happily between idea and practical decision-making. However, this dance is easily destabilised: wallowing in ideas without realising them is an insult to your practical skills; becoming slave to a technique is offensive to your imagination and both are forms of cowardice. Being in China helped me to understand that my practice feeds off a BALANCE between constraint and potential, between letting my mind wander and hard work, between imagination and technique and that this balance is, above all else, what I should aim for with my process.

Kexy, Nicola Dale, 2014

Nicola Dale will be showing new work inspired by her residency in Shanghai as part of her forthcoming touring solo exhibition, Not so firm as faded ink. Commissioned and curated by Mark Devereux Projects, the exhibition will visit Centrespace Gallery (Bristol) from 11 – 22 April before moving on to Arcadecardiff (Cardiff) 15 – 23 May.

More: Website

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Tess Williams is a London based artist specialising in painting and painting installation. She is currently at Central Saint Martins where she will complete her MA Fine Art in June 2015. She has exhibited widely across London at galleries including The Griffin Gallery, Studio 1.1, Schwartz Gallery and recently had a solo show at Chelsea College of Art. In 2014 Tess was chosen to be part of UK Young Artists where she exhibited in Leicester at Two Queens Gallery. Here she delves into her work process…

M.M.B., 2015

At the moment my work exists within the boundaries of traditional / deconstructed painting, installation and large-scale collage; exploring where one discipline ends and the next begins.

I am first and foremost concerned with the sensual immediacy of paint and its interaction with the porous materials that I chose to apply it to. My work explores the unprimed materiality of these textiles and how they can be enhanced, altered or adapted by paint. I never prime my materials in order to leave as much amount of absorption as possible. Meaning that the material and the paint become one, rather than the paint just lying on top of a surface, as with many primed paintings. The materiality of the work as a whole is important to me, allowing its evocative power to resonate.

I am also engaging with how folds, creases and movement within the materials can act as a form of mark making, creating shadows, lines and shapes, whilst adding new tones to the colours of the paint. I also explore the way folds introduce both inside and outside, in front and behind, what this evokes, compared with the emphasis on surface alone of traditional painting. Much of my work is questioning the role of the wooden stretcher within my work and what importance it plays. It adds a familiar structure for me to work with but can also hinder my freedom when making.

Outside In, 2015

Now you see me, 2015

I prefer to be surrounded by rich and absorbent visual stimuli in order to add depth and balance to what I perceive to be a world saturated with screen-based imagery.  I tend to disconnect from flat shiny impenetrable metals/plastic surfaces, and highly photoshopped or screen-based imagery. It is also because I cannot sense the physical touch that I veer away from this type of work. For me, the physical link between artist and viewer is important.

My reason for making the work I do is my reaction to the constant desire I have to produce things that don’t already exist. It is my way of working through everything I see and experience in daily life. It is how I process my ‘thinking’ and get the inside out. I want to make things that feel ‘right’ to me, in order to counteract all the things I see around me every day that seem so aesthetically wrong. ‘Right’ meaning imperfectly perfect and visually satisfying, not just ‘correct’.

Pocket, 2015

T.T.W., 2014

Collections of my visual memories and imprints coalesce into single paintings. These visual memories are documented by my support work of collage, photography and print. This is becoming an increasingly important way of sustaining the visual input into my practice and solidifying the feed of information, which I then translate into the final pieces.

I aim to create work that engages with the space it is placed in. Creating a dialogue between the install space and the work; the wall and the materiality of the painting.
Total immersion in a space/artwork is enveloping and grounding, and I find this to be one of the most engaging physical experiences as a viewer.

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