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Kinetica 2 Catalog, 2000
Artists' Testimonials for Oskar Fischinger Various ArtistsJOHN CAGE (1974/1980) forgive me HARRY SMITH (1977) You can tell how much I admire Fischinger: the only film of mine that I ever gave a real title to was "Homage to Oskar Fischinger" (FILM No. 5, in the current scheme of things). I learned concentration from him-- visiting his home and seeing how he could sit serenely in that small house, crawling with what seemed like a dozen children, and still paint those stunning pictures. That great film MOTION PAINTING makes the process seem deceptively simple-- and it was simple for him: the images really did just flow from his brush, never a ruler or compass, all free-hand-- but you can't see all the obstacles he had to overcome in order to even work at all. Something so wonderful happened in that film, and in those paintings, something so much better than all the Pollocks and other stuff that the museums fight to get hold of. Did anyone ever fight to save Fischinger's things? MARY ELLEN BUTE (1969) I wanted to make some kind of Visual Music, so I was studying with Mr. Joseph Schillinger, actually struggling along, because he had very complex mathematical ideas about the correspondences of musical and visual structures. One day, worn out by this hard concentration, I decided to just go to the movies and relax. I’ve forgotten what the feature was, but in those days, the early thirties, it was probably full of songs and dances-- but I don’t remember because first came a short subject, a little animation by Fischinger set to a jazz song “I’ve Never Seen a Smile Like Yours”. It was the simplest thing, drawn lines fluttering about in graceful swirls in perfect time to the music. Suddenly it all made sense for me. That was how to do it, not by mathematical theories, but rather an intuitive choreography. I was happy to meet Mr. Oskar Fischinger half-a-dozen years later when he visited New York. He was a very sweet man, modest, with a good sense of humor. I suggested we might work together on something, but it never worked out... LEN LYE (1977) My first film, TUSALAVA, was based on aboriginal Dreamtime imagery, and it took two years to make. It was black and white, and very slow, since I wanted that slow-motion quality of dreams, but maybe too slow. Jack Ellit composed a nice score for it, but we could not afford to record it and put a soundtrack on the film. Anyway, it was shown once at the London Film Society in 1929, and that was it. I was a bit discouraged that so much work would have such tiny yield-- of course, the ten-minute film still exists and we can still see it now, but at that time the situation seemed pretty depressing, and I didn't consider making any more films for several years. Then I saw Fischinger's STUDY No. 7 as a short at a regular cinema, and the dynamic dance of abstract light wouldn't go out of my mind. I knew I had to try again, and since I didn't have any money for cameras and cels, I started drawing directly on film, in experiments that led to COLOUR BOX. Whenever I had a chance, I would go out of my way to see Fischinger films. He was a true, natural genius. He ought to be sainted, but I guess they don't have Art Saints. JORDAN BELSON (1971) I was just graduating from college in painting when I saw Fischinger's films at the 1946 ART IN CINEMA festival at the San Francisco Museum of Art, and that inspired me to start making films instead of just painting canvases. He was very supportive of my work, and recommended me for a Guggenheim Fellowship on the basis of my first film. My most impressive memory of him is the lingering imagery of the Lumigraph show he performed, also at the San Francisco Museum of Art, in 1953. His films had been shown in the auditorium, which was treat enough, and then the curtains were closed for a brief intermission. Then the lights faded out slowly, and the hall was completely black for several minutes, so your eyes began to adjust. Some music-- I think Sibelius' "Valse Triste"-- arose out of the darkness, and in mysterious synchronization with the sounds appeared soft, glowing images where the movie screen had been. I could tell that this was not a film: the luminous presence of these lithe colors was quite different even from the illusions of the high-contrast black-and-white films we had just seen. These irregular, always-changing shapes could flicker and pulsate, and when they swirled around, they could leave a vague trail like a comet's tail. The bright, saturated colors had a ghostly three-dimensional presence. The shapes changed so easily-- occasionally resembling some hard, complex object, but most often amorphous clusters or discrete points of light-- however they seemed so dimensional, so solid. Sometimes the lights would disappear and appear suddenly, but other times they would fade in and out extremely slowly-- just as one color might glow exquisitely in saturated duration or suddenly jumped to another hue, with brilliant, tasteful timing. When the music was over, we were plunged into total darkness again. The audience erupted with wild applause. Fischinger wouldn't let anyone backstage to inspect the Lumigraph because it would have destroyed the magic (just as he didn't like to tell about his filmic techniques-- and I have followed his wisdom in that). Actually, the mechanism of the Lumigraph was rather primitive, hand-made, but the way he performed proved his innate artistry, his natural sensitivity, that could turn even the simplest things into a luxurious, magical illusion of cosmic elegance. That was very inspirational to me: Much of my work after that had more of the quality of Lumia, and relied more on simple, hand-made devices. JAMES WHITNEY (1970) I was still a painter and my brother John was photographing real objects in the BALLET MÉCANIQUE tradition when we first saw Fischinger's films at the Stendhal Gallery in 1939 or early 1940. Only four or five films were shown-- a few black-and-white STUDIES, CIRCLES and COMPOSITION IN BLUE. John, who was mad for Schönberg then, hated the traditional classical music tracks, but I hardly heard the music at all. I only saw the pure moving light, and after that, still painting would never be enough for me: I had to make real non-objective imagery in motion. And I was strengthened in my resolve by a certain tragic grandeur about Fischinger himself: how brave he seemed, to defy the artistic conventions of the 1920s, the political restrictions of the Nazi era, and now the mediocrity of Hollywood, to insist on the quality of his absolute films, of the ideals he believed in. Subsequently I visited him several times at his studio, and we had some wonderful and profound conversations-- about the primal geometry of organic forms like seashells, for example-- but I regret not speaking to him more about spiritual matters. In those days, a devotion to mysticism or some spiritual discipline was frowned upon by society at large, so you got in the habit of hiding it-- and I never dreamed that poor Fischinger, surrounded by a swarm of children, would have time or peace to practice meditation or philosophical contemplations. NORMAN McLAREN (1975/1980) Fischinger was one of the great formative influences in my life. Around 1935, when I was about 20, in my student days at the Glasgow School of Art in Scotland, I saw for the first time an "abstract" movie. It was Oscar Fischinger's film done to Brahms' "Hungarian Dance No. 5". It is difficult to describe adequately the impact it had on me: I was thrilled and euphoric by the film's fluent kinesthesia, which so potently portrayed the movement and spirit of the music. The experience made an indelible impression on me, excited a yearning in me, and was to have a profound, long-lasting influence on many of my films. Several years later, at the Guggenheim Museum of Art in New York, I was further enriched by the experience of seeing many more of Fischinger's works. Each impressed me by his mastery of motion, and all intensified my desire to make this kind of abstract film. In the early 1950s, I had the opportunity and great pleasure of visiting Fischinger and his wife at their home in California. That was a most memorable day for me, when I became aware of the many-faceted nature of his genius and artistry. I discovered that Oscar was interested not just in filmmaking, but was into all kinds of other experiments, the most intriguing of which for me was his stereoscopic paintings, for I myself had been dabbling in binocular drawings. On leaving their house, I felt I had met someone with a truly inventive and exploratory spirit, and an artist who had pioneered a new path in the history of cinema. JULES ENGEL (1976) I first met Fischinger in 1939 at the Walt Disney Studios, while we were both working on FANTASIA... Fischinger was designing the Bach "Toccata and Fugue" as a totally non-objective piece, but all of his work was being changed because the Director wanted something softer and more representational. No one had the least sympathy for his ideals or his concepts of how to make a Visual Music, and least of all his desire to use animation as a medium for absolute art. I arranged to meet him at lunch, since I was already making small abstract paintings, and I wanted to show them to him to find out what he thought about them. He was practically the only person in this milieu with a passion for abstract art. He strongly encouraged me, urged me to pursue my career as a painter or abstract animator, and so he became, as they say, my mentor. Fischinger was a very nice and sensitive man. He believed in the highest ideals, but at that time he still had some difficulty with the English language, and he could not argue well enough to combat the other animators at the studio. And his integrity made it hard for him to remain in this environment. He believed that creativity was an act of intense belief, almost an act of religious faith in the true sense. PAUL GLABICKI (2000) Seeing Fischinger’s work for the first time was a revelation. OPTICAL POEM, RADIO DYNAMICS, MOTION PAINTING NO. 1, and COMPOSITION IN BLUE had a life and energy that I hadn’t seen before in an animated film. They seemed to embody the music that accompanied them, creating the impression that the moving abstract shapes and forms were creating the music as you watched. They also created their own visual language which synthesized the contemporary experiments in abstract painting that surrounded Fischinger with his own idiosyncratic style and vivid imagination. His films seemed at once new, modern, pure, eccentric, innocent, and visionary. The unusual and inventive techniques employed by Fischinger to create his lyrical works displayed an intimate knowledge of the mechanics of cinema, motion, rhythm, and how camera and viewpoint could transform our perception of scale and space. I was once treated to the privilege of visiting the home of the late Oskar Fischinger and his dedicated wife Elfriede. I was completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work that inhabited that house. Remnants of experimental light machines, artifacts of his classic films, and what seemed to be hundreds of paintings, filled every available space. Beautiful paintings that I had never seen or even thought had existed were stacked in hallways, closets, and even under the dinner table. The legacy of Fischinger’s career literally inhabited the space. This legacy continues to resonate with the sense of joyous discovery and creative exploration that characterized early 20th century cinematic form and, in many ways, parallels the excitement and experimentation now emerging in digital media. LARRY CUBA (1986) I first became interested in abstract film art when I was struck by the spiritual beauty of a film by Jordan Belson, and I definitely decided to start making films myself when I was challenged by the idea of John Whitney programming computers with mathematics to animate dancing points of light. But my vague notions about what I was going to do with my new medium didn't begin to crystallize until I saw the films of Oskar Fischinger. Fischinger's works, especially the black-and-white STUDIES, inspired me to focus my attention on choreographing complex movements for simple forms, and to consider the problems of creating that special balance between randomness and order. My experiments in computer animation have been based on these concerns, in addition to mathematical ones. While my own visual vocabulary has continued to evolve over the years, I have never tired of watching Oskar Fischinger's films, both for inspiration and sheer pleasure-- and I am sure I never will. SARA PETTY (1986) I came to film from painting, much influenced by the abstract canvases of Lorser Feitelson and Helen Lundeberg. I saw animation as an opportunity to present a sequence of images transforming from one to the next in a continuous metamorphosis. When I was first shown Oskar Fischinger's films, I was deceived by their apparent simplicity, but I found that the imagery stayed with me. Rather than overall transformations from one form to the next, he used simple shapes to manifest patterns of complex movement. This concept afforded new possibilities when combined with my original approach. I cannot describe the impact of Oskar's films on my life without considering the larger context in which I experienced them. This consists of his wife Elfriede Fischinger, his biographer William Moritz, and his home environment. Elfriede's enthusiasm for abstract film and art makes her house a haven for like-minded artists. Some of my happiest moments are those spent in the Fischinger home surrounded by Oskar's paintings, Elfriede's buoyant energy, and the company of visiting filmmakers who share my appreciation of Oskar's work. This embracing Fischinger environment has provided me with an aesthetic home. ROBERT DARROLL (2000) I have always considered Oskar Fischinger to be one of my principal artistic sources. Oskar was not merely a formalist, playfully juggling with forms and colours. There is also a profounder aspect to his work, in which his inner vision of the real nature of the world is expressed through his personal visual language. It was his striving towards a visual expression of his existential perspective which enabled me to identify so strongly with his work. Here, I am referring to Oskar's formulation in visual terms, of archetypal relationships and processes. He was amongst the first animators to set real aesthetic standards in the field of abstract cinema. He achieved this firstly, through his extraordinary abilities in both musical as well as visual fields and secondly, through a sovereign command over the technical possibilities of his time. Now I look at his work, many decades after it was produced, and am still deeply impressed by its convincing liveliness and expressiveness. VIBEKE SORENSEN (1992) Oskar Fischinger's work continues to inspire me. His brilliance and inventiveness, the magic and poetry of his works, the range and reach of his vision, and the timelessness and passion of his works attest to the realization of his dream: the creation of a purely visual music. His abstract animation resonates so deeply in my heart. Upon repeated viewings, I see each piece differently each time, with an increasingly deeper understanding and affection for his work. A part of my attraction to it lies in its mystery, where his soul dances in color and light, a soul that is entwined amid, embodied in, and transcendent of the craft he both mastered and invented. Each gesture, each shape, each transformation simultaneously maintains and reveals the mystery of his spirit, becoming both elusive (as it is temporal) and tangible (in that it is visual). Oskar's work is intellectual, emotional, philosophical and spiritual. The sheer range and variety of the ways he translates musical ideas into visual form (and vice versa: he early created synthesized sound by filming abstract shapes onto the optical soundtrack of film) has spawned countless admirers and followers, generation after generation, thus transcending his own time-- a sure sign of greatness. His spirit continues to live in his works and in the hearts and minds of those he continues to touch. I am one of his many children, nurtured by his passion. MICHAEL SCROGGINS (1984) When I worked with SINGLE WING TURQUOISE BIRD light show for rock concerts in the late 1960s, we used to rent Fischinger films to use in our performances, so I would see them over and over again. Miraculously, their integrity was such that they survived in almost every context in which they were shown. Those films had a lot to do with inspiring me to continue my career as an artist in moving non-objective art and performance, rather than painting. I suppose even the series of STUDIES I am now working on in video synthesis reflects the serial structure of Fischinger's black-and-white film STUDIES. Fischinger is truly the first master of Visual Music. |
