Chapter 1. Working in a space between

Chapter 1. Working in a space between

1.1 Introduction

This thesis constitutes a working process, a story being written though the act of its telling. It involves processes of prophecy and memory, of a simultaneous looking forward and backward, while being situated in the transitory present. The thesis itself is a working document, a place to draw together the strands of my practice, to articulate the methodologies of both making and reading that commenced prior to, and further developed during the PhD. This PhD started with an intention to establish a new form of practice output, which I was terming the “architectural moving drawing”. In the later stages of the PhD it became clear that I was developing processes or methodologies, rather than artefacts (although completed and uncompleted artefacts result from these processes), and that the architectural moving drawing was a practice, rather than an object, a verb, rather than a noun.

The concept of and the term architectural moving drawing threads through my evolving practice over the last twenty-five years, deflecting and deforming in response to my own transdisciplinary journey from artist, to architect, to my current hybrid critical creative practice. What I term architectural moving drawing is a purely hypothetical construction – this thesis intends to institute it as a theoretical proposition, to manifest it as forms of practice of both making and reading, and to indicate how the new methodologies of these practices may contribute to the disciplines from which they have evolved and between which they are situated.

The thesis therefore emerges as a response to the following two research questions:

  • How can a transdisciplinary perspective, grounded in both artists’ film and architectural representation, be used to develop new methodologies for analysing time-based artefacts to undertake readings which focus on an architectural subject?
  • How can disciplinary practices from artists’ film and architectural representation be combined through a transdisciplinary practice to form new hybrid methodologies for architecturally focussed moving image production?

The work presented in this thesis, and the various strands of making and reading[1] that constitute my practice, fundamentally originates from my own disciplinary background and journey. As I reflect upon my current disciplinary position as this PhD concludes I find myself in a different disciplinary place to when I started. I am an artist and architect; the research that I have undertaken before, through, alongside, (and after[2]) this thesis is intrinsically linked to my disciplinary position and biography. I studied fine art in an architecture school, going on to produce film and installation artwork as part of my subsequent architectural studies. I now teach within a school of architecture and am undertaking a PhD in an art school. Working and being grounded (Foster 1998, 162) in the disciplines of art and architecture allows my work to learn from, and in turn inform each discipline. My critical practice operates in what Elizabeth Grosz terms a “third space […] a position or place outside of both [disciplines], that they can be explored beside each other, as equivalent and interconnected discourses and practices” (2001, xv-xvi). However, from within this transdisciplinary[3] space (as both artist and architect) I work in the subject of architecture.[4]

Through my practice I coined the term “architectural moving drawing”, initially to describe my architecturally focussed artists’ film work, a practice which I am now developing further through this thesis, which in turn consolidates the definition of the term. My practice has long been a hybrid one, employing techniques, media, theory and contexts from both art and architecture. Even as an undergraduate fine art student, I had access to architectural processes and ideas, learnt through the architectural design studio which we undertook alongside our fine art studio.[5] I began (in 2000) using the term “moving drawing” [6] in my own postgraduate architecture studies to refer to my architectural time-based work, which was itself informed by my own previous artists’ film practice. Since 2005 I have used this term in my teaching, introducing architecture students to methods for producing time-based representational artefacts. The word “architectural” was included to tie it more explicitly to its architectural subject, particularly in my academic papers, and also in my work with students.

My deliberate and considered use of the term architectural moving drawing for moving image artefacts is a twofold act and marks a disciplinary shift. Firstly, the term “drawing” obviates the use of the terms “film” or “video”, which are connected to forms of production within art practice or the entertainment industry. This reduces the necessity to constrain an architecturally oriented moving image practice to the norms of existing practices in these other disciplines. Secondly, it locates the practice within the scope of architectural representation and suggests the application of (some) of the constraints and norms of that disciplinary practice. In the use of the word “drawing”, this separation of form from use,[7] is paramount – without adopting the title “filmmaker”, the architect can use a new form of representational practice that expands their already wide toolkit of “drawing” techniques, for the investigative, developmental, and integrative processes they employ as methodologies in architectural thinking and making. The media itself does not necessarily determine the discipline – wide varieties of media are used across a range of disciplinary practices, and it is the manner and purpose in which they are used that situates them in terms of disciplinarity. However, I acknowledge the potentially provocative/contentious nature of using the word “drawing” in such a way, and I will explore this term, particularly in relation to architectural drawing and thinking, a little later. The other advantage of the word “drawing” is that it can be used as a noun or a verb, and the practise of drawing is inherently instilled within the artefact of a drawing. But while a drawing artefact requires a process of drawing to be formed, a process of drawing does not always result in an artefact, although it does usually result in something – drawing out, drawing upon, drawing a distinction, drawing attention, drawing inference – nonetheless creates something, even if it is something intangible. It is in these uses of drawing as a verb that my thesis ultimately resides – perhaps fittingly for a practice based PhD, the “construction” of architectural moving drawing that this thesis therefore takes as its driving objective, is the construction of processes of practice, of methodologies of making – making meditating artefacts and making interpretations.

1.2 Methodology

The work of the thesis is to “construct” architectural moving drawing practices through a series of written and made artefacts, to use textual and practice discourses to set forth, found, and facture these categories of process. In this endeavour, I use an iterative and reflective design methodology, within a critical practice combining practice and theory. This methodology uses aspects of disciplinary practice, of both making and writing, which are combined to form new transdisciplinary methodologies, and which have the potential to extend beyond my own work.

Commencing with an analysis of textual and past practice references, both my own work alongside key precedents which have, and which continue to inform my practice, the thesis will go on to define architectural moving drawing through new practice processes undertaken through the duration of the thesis. It will propose ways that architectural moving drawing might contribute to and impact the disciplines from which these new methodologies arise – artists’ film and architectural representation.

The methodology of my practice of architectural moving drawing parallels the architectural design process of testing, reflection, iteration, drawing upon external references, responding to existing conditions, culminating in synthesis. Filmmaking and architectural design both involve processes of addition, subtraction, altering, layering, and juxtaposition. They take from and react to what is existing, and conclude with the creation of something new, something which is situated and responds to existing physical, social, material, theoretical and historical contexts.

While I will discuss in detail the methods used for each film/project as I present them, my process frequently commences with a response to context, through the use of recorded footage of existing buildings, spaces, and found objects, which then informs the direction of the film, and from which specific architectural content and corresponding film structure are formulated. When working with existing buildings and spaces the recording of the original footage is a response to an existing context or condition, and at the time of filming, the structure and ultimate intention for the film is not pre-conceived. Techniques of image composition derive from architectural photography and drawing – camera shots are carefully framed, with attention paid to alignment of verticals and horizontals. Where possible the camera is positioned orthographically to the space: walls filmed in elevation, floors in plan. A range of scales are used from the close-up or detail, to middle, and wide views: this strategy of scale is one derived not only from architectural drawing but also film. Scale is also used in relation to time, with time-lapse and slow-motion techniques contrasting with real-time imagery.

The recorded footage then informs the direction of the film, and its specific architectural content and corresponding film structure. The editing process that I employ is a form of adjusting; this is akin to the process of architectural design, of working through a number of iterations, which could also be described as a form of editing. As with the process of editing a piece of written work, a first draft is rarely perfect, and needs revising, reordering, removing and adding, and redrafting. These editing processes are necessarily reflective, requiring review and then action (Schön 1984). This “experimental”, iterative process of working with media also resonates with practices of artist filmmakers: “my inclination is to work-things-out, or work-things-through by making films” (Le Grice 2001a, 164); “[Snow’s] method is often one of taking an idea like a hypothesis and then testing it out in the artifact” (O’Pray 2003, 94); “The edit, the cut and the process of cutting, the manipulation of times from a pool of possible moments, reveals itself as the art of the film itself.” (Cubitt 2001, xii).

Within my practice, process work is at least as significant (if not more significant in some cases) as the final artefact of the edited film. Artefacts generated through the process, which may or may not find their place within a final work, constitute a form of “sketch”. The physical act of filming, of negotiating my body in a real space, with a camera’s body (Sobchack 1992, 168), of orchestrating the relationship between camera and building, or camera and object, is a performative act. This performance of the recording is a form of work in its own right, which structures and adjusts my relationship with the space or object that I am filming. The processes of filming involve a level of reflection in action (Schön 1984), and as such contribute greatly to my own knowledge both of the subjects of the filming, but this reflection also contributes to the development of the processes themselves, and are therefore critical in the development of my practice.

Writing about my work, yet another form of process, as I am doing through the textual element of this thesis, is also a fundamental component to my wider methodology. The relationship between practice and theory, is central to my intertwined practice and writing. Gilles Deleuze’s (Foucault and Deleuze 1977, 206) notion of “relays” between practice and theory, extended by Jane Rendell (2006, 9-10) to emphasise a symmetrical, reciprocal relationship, describes my integrated, iterative model of critical practice. Critical practice requires an interdependent, non-hierarchical relationship between theory and practice, each informing and influencing the other (Rendell 2006): my self-reflective practices of making and writing therefore collectively constitute a form of critical research. Through the writing, I perform a “reading”, itself a strand of architectural moving drawing (as verb). The interpretation of artists’ film work by others through an architectural lens, as well as a filmic one, generates new insights into these works, and in presenting them though this transdisciplinary lens, suggests how they could inform practices in both disciplines.

1.3 Structure and Chapter Summaries

The chapters of the thesis will be structured as a series of themed discussions, continually drawing together practice (both my own and that of my key precedents), and the theory which both underpins the practice, and which is developed and enriched by the practice. While a preliminary contextual review is contained within the contexts section of this introductory chapter, the majority of the contextual foundation for the thesis will be presented within the body of the thesis, drawn into the discussions of each chapter as appropriate.

Chapter 1: Working in a Space Between

This introductory chapter presents the research questions and methodology of the thesis, with a series of sections providing an overview of the key themes and contexts. The chapter articulates my disciplinary position and provides an overview of my historical practice, expounding the developing themes and techniques in the work, and identifying the disciplinary influence in the work. I will use this work to demonstrate that processes of architectural moving drawing have existed already within my own practice for quite some time.

Chapter 2: Projective, Analogous Artefacts

This chapter demonstrates that processes of perceptual construction are inherent to the functioning of both structural film and architectural representation. In doing so, it takes forms of constructive reading from both disciplinary practices, to establish a hybrid mode of reading of time-based artefacts that have the potential for an architectural interpretation. The chapter serves to show how this transdisciplinary reading is a form of practising of the architectural moving drawing. The chapter explores the relationship between referent and representational artefact in both structural film and architectural representation, considering how the apparently opposing conditions of absence and presence, analogical and actual, relate to both. The chapter will posit that in architectural representation there is a fundamentally analogical relationship between drawing and building, both imagined and materialised. In considering the place of the referent in structural film, this chapter reflects upon the frequent use of everyday spaces, devoid of human occupants, for the filming of footage, in a desire to eliminate narrative and illusory content. Using the strategy of practising the architectural moving drawing through a process of reading, I undertake an interpretation of Michael Snow’s seminal 1967 film, Wavelength, drawing upon its architectural content, to transform the “empty” room from a container in which other, filmic, subjects can be explored, into the subject of enquiry. In a shift from reading to making, the chapter concludes with two case study presentations of some of my more recent practice, which have resulted in complete “artefacts” of films and installation.

Chapter 3: Light Matter: Sunhouse and Leading Light – case studies

This chapter explores how Walter Benjamin’s concepts of distraction and tactility in architectural experience, and Juhani Pallasmaa’s ideas of peripheral vision and the hapticity of the gaze, can be used to further explore analogical relationships between the time/space of the filming event and spatial dwelling, the experience of viewing the moving image artefact (film or architectural moving drawing), and the perceptual contraction of a “new” space through the agency of an active viewer or reader. The chapter will explore how particular structural film-making techniques, such as extended duration, facilitate these analogical relationships and allow for the exploration of the qualities of dwelling, of distracted architectural experience. The chapter uses two case study analyses to test these ideas – John Smith’s Leading Light (1975) and my own Sunhouse Elevation / Sunhouse Azimuth (2013). The comparison of Smith’s film to my own Sunhouse film, demonstrates how similar techniques of artists’ filmmaking can be employed in what was explicitly made to be an architecturally focussed work – a work made through the practise of architectural moving drawing.

Chapter 4: Practising Models/Modelling Practice

This extended chapter focuses on a particular trajectory of new work undertaken though the duration of the thesis, showing the filming of architectural models, and presenting a series of processes that I have developed through the practice. The chapter extends Sobchack’s concept of “film’s body” (Sobchack 1992), considering and how and where the “film’s body” is constituted in this practice of using miniature cameras to film architectural models. The chapter builds upon notions of construction in the reading of architectural representation as developed earlier, to extend to the interpretation of imagery generated from photographs and films of architectural models. Questions of resemblance – verisimilitude versus abstraction – will connect with ideas about the “uncanny” (Foster 1983, Freud 1985, 9-10, 17). The visibility of the photographed subject as a model (Kolb 2009), a construction, rather than from life, and the lack of an original referent embedded in the photographic image (Manchanda 2007, 66) engages the viewer in a process of construction.

Chapter 5: Conclusion

1.4 Contexts

The subject of this thesis emerges out of the long-standing resonances that I have felt exist between architectural representation and structural film practices. These resonances have been fundamental in informing my practices of making and writing, and in the transdisciplinary space in which I work, between the disciplines of art and architecture, can most strongly inform these practices. I aim, in the brief contextual overview that I will provide in this introductory chapter, to introduce each discipline sufficiently to allow a glimpse of these correspondences. The nature of this in-betweenness is a third critical context for the thesis, which demonstrates how practising in a space between allows for disciplinary correspondences to be sought and found, and techniques used and combined in the making of hybrid artefacts which can speak to and be recognised by both disciplines simultaneously.

Architectural representation

Architecture and architects have a very particular relationship with representational “mediating artefacts” (Pérez Gómez and Pelletier 1997, 7), a relationship which is intertwined with the projection of ideas and propositions between past, present and future.[8] Architectural theorists Alberto Pérez Gómez and Louise Pelletier (1997, 7) and Robin Evans (1995) explain that since the Renaissance architectural drawings have been essential tools in the development and communication of spatial propositions, prior to their physical construction. Architects’ primary medium is drawing, rather than building, and architecture is “dependant on pictures for purposes of construction and dissemination” (Evans 1989, 21). Drawing techniques employing orthographic architectural projection, where a scheme for a built structure is described using a set of plan, section and elevation drawings, first appeared early in the sixteenth century (Evans 1989, 1995, 107-08). Before this “plan, section, and elevation, considered independently … can exist, even coexist, without invoking projection at all” (Evans 1995, 113).

Pérez-Gómez and Pelletier (1992) critique the instrumentalised use of architectural drawing, identifying a loss in the movement from perspective as a symbolic tool[9] to a scientific one. They challenge the dominance of perspective in architectural representation, just as it has previously been challenged in modern and contemporary art (Goodman 1969), and argue for more poetic strategies to express beyond the precise and accurate locations of material objects. They claim that the scientific use of projection removes the body from space, and suggest that instead, architecture should reflect something of the human condition, to act symbolically, as poetic translation. Similar to Goodman, Pérez-Gómez and Pelletier imply that projective drawing is a reductive form, which nonetheless purports to “represent” the whole building. Architectural historian and theorist Dalibor Vesely suggested that “that the goal of architecture is human life, while its techniques and instrumental thinking are only means” (Vesely 2004, 5). Vesely argues that in order to achieve this goal, architecture “must integrate and subordinate the instrumental knowledge and the technical potential of human beings to their praxis” (Vesely 2004, 5).

Architectural theorist Juhani Pallasmaa’s ideas of focused vision versus peripheral vision propose that the latter provides greater spatial immersion (Pallasmaa 2012). Pallasmaa’s notion of haptic, tactile quality of vision supports an engagement with the material qualities of the physical world, and that shadows and darkness provide greater peripheral and tactile experience. These ideas resonate with Walter Benjamin’s assertion that architecture is experienced “in a state of distraction” (Benjamin 1992, 232), and that “tactile appropriation is accomplished … by noticing the object in incidental fashion” Benjamin, 1992 #6@233}. Pallasmaa also identifies that “lived space” is formed from experience of physical space in combination with a “mental space”, claiming this as a commonality in architecture and film (Pallasmaa 2001, 18-21), asserting that a film director “creates architecture”.

Architect and architectural historian Jonathan Hill suggests that a great many architectural qualities are not recorded in conventional methods of architectural representation and so “they are not designed by the architect” (Hill 1998b, 137). To expand architecture’s range of representational techniques, Hill proposes appropriation of other disciplinary representational practices. Processes of architectural moving drawing provide a methodology for just such a new representational practice.

Artists’ film/Structural film

The majority of research on film and architecture deals with the role of architecture as a dramatic element in narrative cinema, or with the emergence “of architecture that is ‘cinematic’ – that is, theatrical in effect and thematic in nature” (Lamster 2000, 2). However architectural space usually acts subserviently[10] in dramatic cinema’s focus on human narrative (particularly in mainstream commercial films). Gilles Deleuze explains that “cinema was constituted as such by becoming narrative, by presenting a story, and by rejecting its other possible directions … the ‘cinematograph’ became ‘cinema’ by committing itself to a narrative direction” (Deleuze 1989, 25, 293), but I argue that it is the alternative direction of cinematographic practice, that of artists’ film[11], that may offer techniques to allow architecture to be foregrounded.

Early forms of cinema evolved into either entertainment or avant-garde art forms (Rees 1999, 15-29). The former embraced the illusionistic nature of the medium, finding it a powerful form for storytelling. Out of the latter, artists’ film and video developed, engaging with time-based media for forms of art, rather than cinematic, practice. While “cinema” was developing into a form of entertainment, of storytelling, early experimental films “were rooted in the cubist revolution pioneered by Braque and Picasso [… and] New theories of time and perception in art … led artists to try to put “paintings in motion” through the film medium” (Rees 1999, 10). By the late 1960s in Europe and North America, artists’ film, in the genre of structural film, offered a challenge to cinematic representational processes (Rees 1999). Structural film questioned uses of film to: represent a subjective, first person experience; construct fictional narratives; or offer supposedly transparent “documentation” (O’Pray 2003, 96-106). Structural film addressed the processes of film’s creation – the machines of camera and projector, the material of the film media, the act of editing, the relationship between the spaces of filming and screening, and critically for this thesis and as I will discuss further, the construction of meaning by an active viewer (Hamlyn 1996, 220).

The term “structural film” was coined by the American critic of avant-garde film, P. Adams Sitney. Describing North American work, Sitney defined this as “a cinema of structure … and it is that shape which is the primal impression of the film… what content it has is minimal and subsidiary to the outline”, and highlighted four characteristics: “fixed camera position …, the flicker effect, loop printing, and rephotography off the screen” (Sitney 1974, 407-08). Countering and extending Sitney’s reductive definition and term, London based experimental film-makers Peter Gidal and Malcolm Le Grice placed emphasis on the concerns of the material presence of the medium, introducing the word “materialist” to the form’s title. Gidal problematises the narrative and illusionism central to conventional cinema, seeing them both as being about a passive, unchallenged viewer, with Le Grice identifying that the viewer’s awareness of the processes of making and screening the film are suppressed in order to prioritise their passive absorption of a supposed “‘representation’ of reality” (Le Grice 2001b, 156), preventing their personal construction of meaning (Gidal 1976, 4). Gidal and Le Grice saw structural/materialist film as challenging this passivity of the audience in narrative, commercial cinema: “The mental activation of the viewer is necessary for the procedure of the film’s existence” (Gidal 1976, 2-3), similar to Sitney’s emphasis of this active role for the viewer: “It is cinema of the mind rather than the eye” (Sitney 1974, 408). Through the minimal use of human protagonists, an attempt to be “non-illusionist” (Gidal 1976, 1), and use of extended duration (Sitney 1974, 412), the viewer is provided with the time to look carefully, to see details and make connections and meaning that are often lost in the pace of narrative cinema.

A number of film artists produce work which could be considered to have developed from structural film, and which use footage of built works of architecture, the city, and landscape. Owen Lyons discusses the several ways in which Heinz Emigholz’s Architecture as Autobiography films act in a representational manner, both for the spaces depicted, and also as a form of archiving of the architect’s portfolio of work (Lyons 2008, 298-99). Lyons frames this body of work as an extension of Emigholz’s earlier work in structural film (Lyons 2008, 291), suggesting that “we consider his architectural films as not simply recordings of existing spaces but rather as ‘expressions’ of new spaces themselves” (Lyons 2008, 292). Ila Bêka & Louise Lemoine’s Living Architectures project aims to use the medium to produce portraits of “icons of contemporary architecture” (Bêka and Lemoine) that focus on their “human stories” (TAMUarchitecture 2011), challenging the common portrayal of so called “iconic” buildings. Mark Lewis is interested in foreground and background relationships in film (and painting and cities), particularly where the background is separated from and framed by an architectural element. Lewis sees windows as “films within films” and that “the cinema just learns from the city, it copies it, it copies the world” (Lewis and Mulvey 2014, 37:00, 50:25). Laura Mulvey suggests that the early films of the Lumiere brothers are direct references for Lewis, which can be seen in a number of his film works (Lewis and Mulvey 2014, 7:30). Emily Richardson frequently uses time-lapse imagery where still spaces are made active through constantly changing light, visible only through this increased temporal scale. Night-time urban streets have their stillness exaggerated through the minimal movement in these scenes. Block (2005), for example, uses footage at a range of speeds, with mostly orthographically framed camera angles. Suki Chan also works with time-lapse, usually with an explicit intention to film light. Chan identifies that she “is drawn to light as a physical phenomenon, and the role it plays in our constantly shifting daily experience of our environment, be it urban or rural” (Chan).

A number of contemporary architectural photographers are producing moving image work, making commissioned pieces about significant works of architecture, such as the Architects’ Journal’s series of short films for the 2019 Stirling Prize,[12] made by architectural photographer Jim Stephenson (Stephenson / Bishop). Their background in still photography may enable these “filmmakers” to employ static (or nearly static) camera shots, to allow their imagery to be a form of moving photograph. If the filmmaker’s previous experience is with architectural photography, particularly in the documentation of a finished building for its architects, the cinematography may owe something to the conventions of architectural photography, such as orthographic views (with drone footage now also providing “plan” views), two-point rather than three-point perspective, and (as in more recent architectural photography) to include examples of human inhabitation. In these “documentary” pieces, the architects’ talking heads and voice over dictates how the imagery is read, and is an overly dominant (if none-the-less informative) element – viewed without sound, and skipping over the talking heads (thereby also omitting the cult of the architectural celebrity), the films are stronger in their architectural expression, the slow pace of the imagery beginning to function more like that of structural film, affording the viewer a more active reading process.

1.5 A transdisciplinary practice

Practising/performing practice in a place in-between disciplines

My dual disciplinary grounding[13] in art and architecture, aligns with Bremner and Rodgers’s definition of transdisciplinary practice as that in which no single discipline is primary, enabling practitioners to “work in and contribute to both [disciplines] and generate unique conceptions and artifacts as a result of an emergent transdisciplinary perspective” (Bremner and Rodgers 2013, 11)[14]. As both artist and architect I work from within the subject of architecture, acknowledging architectural and interdisciplinary theorist Jane Rendell’s positioning of architecture as subject as well as discipline (Rendell 2004, 143). Through the course of my developing practice my disciplinary position has shifted emphasis, with at times a greater focus on one of the two disciplines, but the work has continuously engaged with the subject of architecture, in particular, forming an exploration of the temporal qualities of architecture through the use of artists’ film and video. In the undertaking of the practice, in the processes of making that I employ and in the positioning of myself as practitioner, the concept of transdisciplinarity allows me to operate between disciplines, from a position which mitigates the discomfort I feel when trying to situate my practice within a single discipline. Within this practice I use strategies from my grounding in two disciplines – I operate in-part as both architect and film artist. However, it may be more appropriate to suggest that in the undertaking of this hybrid practice, I am neither operating as architect nor as artist, but as a hybrid practitioner, in a “third space” (Grosz 2001, xv-xvi) space between disciplines.

In my practice, two forms of disciplinary shift occur – artists’ film steps towards architecture, and architectural representation steps towards artists’ film. Residing between the disciplines of artists’ film and architectural representation allows the practice to remain exploratory, to take from and offer to practices of artists’ film and architectural representation, without being required to serve either, but also being allowed to contribute to both. The artefacts of this practice can be located in either discipline, occupy both simultaneously, or can remain in that “third space” in unique undisciplined (Linder 2005, 13, 15), (Bremner and Rodgers 2013, 12) forms. Where the outputs of the practice and research in different media is situated at any given moment, in relation to these separate disciplines, depends towards to whom the research is framed or directed. To disseminate my research, I reframe the outputs to suit the contexts and discourses of each discipline. When my writing is disseminated through architectural publications, it is framed (and contained) as being within architecture. My practice work is screened at experimental film festivals, and so is framed (and contained) as art practice. Occasionally, the work is shown at architecturally focussed screening events[15] alongside work of architects and artist filmmakers alike. In this space, the hybrid nature of the work is preserved.

Within my practice, I am concerned with the qualities and mechanics of space, and with methods for its recording and production. Indeed, the position of the film as mediating artefact, which both records and relates to the other mediating artefacts of architecture, such as room, window, drawing, has always been central to my work. The making of a “drawing” is never, for me, a neutral, objective act, just as the making of a space is always personal, subjective and mediated, both for the architect who designed it, and for the “illegal architects” (Hill 1998a) who make the space through use and experience. Over the course of my artists’ film practice, my work has addressed: architectural representations of the user: Transparency 3 (1993), Arlene (1994), utilitarian drawing translated into filmic space: Map 2b (1996) and Standard 3.35 (1999-2000); doors/windows as mediating devices: Carriage (2017)[16]12 Frames (2012) and Transparency 7 (1994); diurnal and seasonal change 60+62 [SunFrostWindRainSnow] (2010); and the temporality of light Sunhouse Elevation/Sunhouse Azimuth (2013)[17].

Memory – reflecting on past practice

The following overview of my past practice is selective, focussing on a number of works that are clearly situated in the space between art and architectural representation, and were made with an explicit architectural subject.

Transparency 3 (1993)

Figure XX: Transparency 3 (1993)

This film was possibly the first one I ever made, and was undertaken in my second year of art school, the year in which we were introduced to artists’ film as a medium and technique for art practice. Peter Mudie had arrived at UWA that year and introduced us to avant-garde cinema though ”Dusting Off the Other … a historical survey that summarised an aggregated chronology of the film avant-garde … a 14-week program of films in 1993 at the Film and Television Institute (FTI) in Fremantle” (Mudie 2013), and the accompanying “Dusting Off the Other” (Mudie 1993) book and seminars at the university.

With my work already taking an architectural direction, I wanted to make a film that expressed something of the transience of the human occupation of space, in particular the lobbies and corridors of the institutional space of the university. I had been working with long exposure photographs of people in space, where the static architecture remains solid and the people become blurred, depending on their level of movement. I was keen to make a filmic version of this work, and I was familiar with making multiple exposures in the darkroom, with black and white photography. I shot a length of footage in the lobby of the old UWA Architecture School building, recording the flow of people through the space, and also the activities of removing and installing artwork on one of the walls. Using an analogue S-VHS editing suite I overlaid three sections of this footage[18] and cut the sound in and out, so that the noise of this interstitial space fills the image, but then is palpable by its absence.

On re-watching the film more than 25 years after I made it, I was unable to separate my knowledge of the identities of the people who occupy the lobby and the film frame, from the structural nature of the work. While the film was intended to be about the relationship of the space to its users, it reads much more strongly of the performative nature of their inhabitation, and something of the culture of an art school. Through its act of multiple superimposition, it overlays members of the first two cohorts of the BFA course, along with our friends within the architecture course. There is a playfulness in the interaction of the people (students and staff) with one another and with the camera (which as a large S-VHS camera was anything but discrete!), and a collegiate atmosphere, legible still though the layers of source footage. My own occupation of the image is more peripheral – rather than engaging in the activities, or merely passing though, I can be seen hanging around near the edges of the frame, leaning against walls, keeping an eye on the camera.

Arlene (1994)

Figure XX: Arlene (1994)

This film was made after Transparency 3, using footage taken for that film. Of all of the people who had passed through the lobby of the old UWA Architecture School building, it was Arlene’s passage as captured in the footage that was most individually striking. Arlene has a powerful visual appearance – from their dress sense, to their ethnicity (in a cohort of largely white students), and their way of moving their body.[19] It is the latter that has a particular resonance with the architectural situation of the framed space. In the original footage there were two sections with Arlene – in one they start to cross from right to left (from the entrance of the building[20] into its interior), then turns around mid-crossing and heads back toward the exit; in the other Arlene completes their journey from right to left, from exterior to interior. These pieces of footage are used to make a one-minute edit where Arlene’s crossing of the lobby is disrupted, they are held in this transitionary space, flicking back and forth in her direction, which is reinforced by their actual change in direction in the footage. At the end of the minute Arlene exits the frame and the space to the left. The edit uses techniques from structural film such as repetition, rapid cutting, and the lack of an identifiable and coherent (human) narrative. It serves to disrupt the continuity of filmed time and space, clearly acknowledging the image and its temporal sequencing as a construction. The viewer must work to apprehend and “read” the film.

The use of the single figure in this otherwise unoccupied space draws attention to the relationship between the “inhabitant” and the space. As the character’s only “action” is to walk (albeit in a very personal and particular way!) reference is made to the use of “staffage” in architectural representation. While the term “staffage” comes from painting (Ling 1977), and is not used within architectural representation, the function of the human figure in architectural representation is a complex and politically charged one, and the history of staffage in painting has an appropriate recognition of this complexity. I will therefore use the term “staffage” to refer to the population of architectural representation, while acknowledging that this is not the unusual disciplinary term.[21] … discuss “staffage” and the use of the figure in architectural representation, including notions of propaganda.

In Arlene, the camera angle is set up so that it is almost[22] at a right angle to the wall opposite. The spaces on either side of this lobby are not visible, but the doorway in the facing wall reveals a deep view, bookshelves and filing cabinets showing the space as office.[23] The side walls and down-stand of the ceiling create a simple proscenium “arch”, turning the lobby area into a form of stage, upon which Arlene’s walk becomes a performance. Arlene’s particularity of route and appearance subverts the notion of neutrality within architectural staffage. The edit further emphasises the specificity of this human occupant, perhaps suggesting that all such relationships between architecture and occupant are complex and particular.

Map 2b (1996)

Figure XX: Map 2b (1996)

This film was made as an architecture student, shortly after completing my fine art degree. The purpose of the film was as a piece of site investigation,[24] and in this instance, I wanted to explore the qualities of the topography, as expressed though its cartography. We had been provided with DOLA[25] maps of the site and surrounding area. The site was on a steep incline, adjacent to a 400-hectare inner city conservation reserve. This incline was represented by tight clusters of contour lines, which had the appearance of a stream flowing through the territory of roads and buildings. Meanwhile, the whole space of the map was held and contained by the longitude and latitude grid.

ILLUSTRATION – images of the DOLA map.

I was familiar with making 16mm handmade films from my introduction to artists’ film several years earlier, and used this process to directly turn the DOLA map into a film. While the original map consisted purely of black lines on white paper, I wanted to introduce colour into the film, in part to differentiate the different territories in the map and the city it was an analogue for. After photocopying the DOLA map onto Transtext self-adhesive film, at two different scales, I applied Letrafilm transparent coloured film,[26] using the colour coding from the street directory: yellow represented buildings, green parks, blue water, and red for the gridlines. Cut into strips, the now coloured map was applied to 16mm clear film, and use of a 16mm projector with optical (rather than magnetic) soundtrack allowed the map imagery to also provide the film’s soundtrack.[27] While most of the image generates noise, the gridlines make a repeated tick, particularly when they are at 90 degrees to the film’s edge. However, for some of the film I also rotated the map, so that the gridlines would be diagonal – this correspondingly changed the quality of the sound produced by these lines. The two scales of map also impact the soundtrack – at the wider scale of the later part of the film the gridlines are closer together, speeding up their rhythm.

In the resulting film, the map has become a new spatial territory in its own right. The copied lines and cut coloured film reveal their own material quality once enlarged by the film projector’s lens and lamp. The rhythm of the city can be read though the viewing of the film, but as such is understood in a different way than as seen by skimming the surface of the original map or traversing the site by foot. After making the film I showed the piece to my classmates, and in doing so, I offered the group this additional reading of the site, to add to our collections of photographs, mappings of various sorts, sketches and written observations. While clearly taking the form of an artists’ film (and as such this is how it has been more widely exhibited), this work was produced as a form of architectural drawing, a piece of contextual analysis. In this way, it could easily be described as being made through a process of “architectural moving drawing” – made by an architecture student, as part of her architectural studies, for the purposes of architectural site analysis.

Standard 3.35 (1999-2000)

Figure XX: Standard 3.35 (1999-2000)

When I returned to my architectural studies for my postgraduate degree at UCL, I worked in a design unit[28] that emphasised digital 3d modelling and rendering, digital video editing and effects as a primary method of working. The work made by the members of the unit was varied in content and technique, and my own practice drew upon my earlier experience with artists’ video and handmade film. I was keen to use the new digital tools at my disposal to make work that resonated with the handmade films, particularly Map 2b, and with the structural film influenced editing techniques I had developed on films such as Arlene and Transparency 7Standard 3.35 (1999-2000) was the work I made during my Masters’ studies that is most clearly influenced by that earlier work, and which was the most hybrid in its status of architectural drawing versus art film. The premise of the work was to, as with Map 2b, explore the qualities of a functional, technical form of drawing, and in doing so translate it into a new spatial condition.

The piece is made using a page from the Ideal Standard sanitaryware catalogue – this catalogue was a reference tool for work in the office, providing technical drawings of toilets, basins, baths and showers so that they could be included on the architectural drawings and specifications for bathrooms. “Standard 3.35” was a basic specification WC (toilet), simple and recognisable in its form. I scanned in the catalogue page at a high resolution, and then transferred the scan to a rectangular object in 3d Studio Max. I set up a series of virtual cameras in the software to track across the drawing of the toilet. I “shot” the drawing at a number of scales, in the widest the form of the toilet starts to become recognisable (at least by someone familiar with such drawings),[29] and in the closest I wanted to obtain an effect similar to that of Map 2b, where each frame showed a new piece of drawing as a result of the drawing being transferred onto the 16mm film strip.  I then edited the rendered footage from these virtual cameras in Premiere, starting and ending at the closest camera scale – the film begins and concludes with a single pixel of fluctuating greys, artificially produced though an effect in Premiere, this tactic was intended to emphasise the digital nature of the film despite its references to handmade film. I used multiple tracks on Premiere to layer the footage, the lines abstracting and interfering with one another where they overlapped. The resulting imagery loses the sense of flat drawn lines and becomes an abstract space. The soundtrack, made from a series of recordings of the movements of various objects across the surface of paper, references the movement across the surface of a drawing, but also, like the imagery has a spatial depth.

Transparency 7 (1994)

Figure XX: Transparency 7 (1994)

Transparency 7 takes as its core subject the set of automatic sliding doors at the entrance to the School of Architecture, Landscape and Visual Arts at the University of Western Australia. I made this film in my final year of my BFA course, in the newly refurbished building that the School had moved into in that year. Like Arlene and Transparency 3, which had been filmed in the entrance lobby of the previous School building, this film also deals with a threshold condition. I recall that I was particularly interested in the qualities of the conditions around these sliding doors, how they operated as a mechanistic threshold device, and how people moved through and past them. Prior to my work recording footage for the piece I recall stating my intention to make a sliding door film, enjoying something of the sense of banality in making a film about this subject.

The film uses ten different, but connected, camera shots: elevational views of the sliding doors, from the exterior and interior respectively; reflections of the camera at three zoom levels; side view of the sliding door vestibule; and four shots of the door sensors, interior and exterior, at two zoom levels. The interior and exterior elevation shots in particular reference architectural representation through their orthographic camera orientation. As the doors are glass the respective transparency (from the interior) and reflectivity (from the exterior) of this material serves as a form of screen in each view. In the exterior view the glass reflects the exterior world, which always includes the large S-VHS camera on its tripod, and also frequently shows me, as the filmmaker. In these images a small part of the interior only becomes briefly visible when the doors open to allow a person to pass through. In the interior elevational view the exterior space beyond the building (as reflected in the exterior view) is clearly visible, and the interior space is mostly out of the frame and in contre-jour against the bright exterior.

The edit uses the opening and closing of the doors, as they are traversed by the building’s users, as its main structuring device. Elevational shots of the door as it closes cut to the close-ups of the sensors as the door completes its movement. This creates an illusion of continuity of time and space, but the repeated re-use of the ten sections of footage disrupt this construction. The people that are captured within the footage, and within the door lobby, fulfil several functions in the film. At one level the users of the doors function as “staffage”, as with the conventional use of the figure in architectural drawing, there to illustrate the scale and function of the architecture, in particular the door as threshold between interior and exterior. However, they also highlight the repeated re-use of the same clips of footage (as used to reflect the repetition of the doors’ movement) as without the human occupants, the moving mechanism of the door would not provide any visual marker to signal this repeat. Additionally, like Transparency 3, the identities of the people themselves is not without significance, at least to me as the filmmaker, and to my peers and tutors who all appear in the film.

The film’s soundtrack uses some of the sound captured by the camera, the wind blowing across the microphone making a continuous roar. The continuity of this audio track serves to link the edited clips, but also gives the film a claustrophobic quality. The sounds comes to “represent” the space of that lobby, within which the viewer is trapped for the duration of the film.

60+62 [SunFrostWindRainSnow] (2010)

Figure XX: 60+62 [SunFrostWindRainSnow] (2010)/small>

Over several months in the winter and spring of early 2010 I recorded footage from the window by which I sat at my desk in my study. The view of the houses opposite (the 60 and 62 of the film’s title) was one that was part of the experience of dwelling in that space, of working at that desk, and marked time through the imprint of the seasons upon the houses’ elevations and roofs. Filming over this period provided me with footage that covered a number of seasonal conditions, each of which changed over time in its own particular way.

The film commences with an image of closed venetian blinds, then fades to an image of the blinds open, revealing the view to the houses opposite. This signals that the viewer (and filmmaker with their camera) are located inside another house, and at various points in the film we go back to those views of the closed and open blinds, seeing sunlight passing across this object, highlighting that time is also passing within the room in which we reside. The sections of footage through the window are not presented in the chronological (and therefore seasonal) order in which they were shot, rather they are organised by time of day, by diurnal time, dispersing seasonal time throughout the film, and so compressing the sequential change of several months into one short timeframe. Realtime imagery of water drops on the window emphasises the surface of the window pane, the ultimate divider between exterior and interior, the houses opposite and a passer-by a mere background blur. A build-up of snow on one of the roofs exaggerates the undulating surface of the roof tiles, the change in the day’s light reflected in the colour of the snow. A dusting of frost on the roofs melts away as the warm rays of the sun pass across its surface. The shadow of an unseen telegraph pole crawls across the houses’ elevations, closely followed by the shadow of the house in which we, the viewer and filmmaker reside.

While the seasonal change may be the primary “subject” of the film (and is what the film’s title suggests) it is subservient to another structuring device, and one which is more akin to lived time. The structural device of arraying the seasonal time throughout the film, in order to privilege diurnal time, communicates the architectural condition of dwelling, and the concomitant process of memory and prediction that are part of that experience.

Two terraced houses in South London are observed over the course of three months and the length of a day. The houses and their surroundings are touched by sun, frost, wind, rain and snow. The observer is positioned behind the physical mediating surfaces of the window glass and blinds.

This use of “gathered” footage shot over an extended timeframe, film was a precursor to the Sunhouse Elevation / Sunhouse Azimuth (2013) film, which I shall discuss further in Chapter 3.

12 Frames (2012)

Figure XX: 12 Frames (2012)

The film uses a single piece of footage recorded while staying at a friend’s house in NSW, Australia. I recorded this footage as a response to a strong architectural condition of threshold, the grid of the window’s mullions and transoms dividing the view into a series of frames. I enjoyed the relationship of the interior space of the house’s half-basement studio room, with its guest bed positioned by the window into the expansive, green back garden, populated by my hosts’ chickens. Without knowing how I wanted to use it, I filmed the windows in an orthographic, elevation view, leaving the camera recording while I participated in the activities of the household.

Back in London, I reviewed the footage, finding the window grid to be a strong defining feature of the footage, as it was the experience of looking out of that window into the garden. The proportion of each pane corresponded to the 16:9 proportions of HD digital video resolution, reinforcing their interpretation as film frames or screens, each with their own independent view of the outside world. This condition provided the film’s structure and form, its tectonic language. The film commences with an un-manipulated section of footage, then fades to black all elements of the interior room and the painted metal window elements. Twelve frames of imagery showing the view tot eh back garden remain, then begin to drop out and in until only single frames of view are visible at a time. All twelve frames then re-emerge, but their content is now out of sequence, the temporal contiguity of one frame to the next has been broken. The twelve frames fade to white, leaving a black and white image, which in-fact was the image matte used to separate the window frame view from the room. The film concludes with a restoration of the complete image, time and space restored.

This film explores the window, conventionally, as a threshold between interior and exterior, a frame for a view, a divider and connector of space, but also as an organiser of the exterior worlds it frames. The film restructures a 6 minutes, 48 seconds, and 24 frames single piece of footage of a 12-paned window in a house in Austinmer, New South Wales, Australia, into an alternative piece of time and space of the same length and proportion. The view from the static, interior space of a room is divided by the mullions and transoms of a window, each of the twelve panes framing part of a subtly, but constantly changing external space. Each frame becomes a miniature screen, corresponding to the overall proportions of the screen of the film. As individual frames appear and disappear the action each contains gradually becomes asynchronous with respect to those around them, disrupting both spatial and temporal continuity. The rhythm of the disappearance, appearance, and reappearance of individual frames at times denies a focus on the content of each framed view, while sometimes allowing the fragments displayed on each small screen to be considered more carefully. The film is a study of the spatial and temporal relationship between interior and exterior space, and the fixed building components that divide and connect them.

Lumiere films

In addition to making edited pieces, I have identified the “lumiere film” or “remoscope”[30] format as being appropriate for an architecturally focussed moving image practice. The self-imposed constraints of this format (60 seconds maximum; fixed camera; no audio, zoom, edit, or effects) support an engagement by practitioners from other disciplines – the lumiere film allows architects to “sketch” time, employing techniques of extended duration to engender sustained observation. The lumiere film shares many similarities with structural film. Like structural film, lumiere films employ “extended duration”, through their employment of a single, held view, even though that duration is limited to one minute. The lack of effects or editing result in a pure example of “real time/space” (Le Grice 2001b), with a literal equivalence in filming time and viewing time. In the watching of a lumiere film, the previously unnoticed minute of moving space becomes an artefact to be studied, to be referred to as a design develops, just as are other more traditional kinds of sketch. As part of my teaching practice, I have, over the last nine years, been introducing architecture students to this technique, using lumiere films alongside the pencil drawn contents of their conventional sketch books. The following sample of works from my developing practice of lumiere filmmaking use the 60 second duration to draw out the active viewer’s consideration of a particular temporal, spatial condition, to reveal otherwise hidden variations and contrasts in speeds and accelerations within the depicted spaces.

Figure XX: Venice Wall (2015)

Venice Wall (2015) presents the dancing quality of Venetian light as reflected from the canals; the coloured rendered walls receiving this light exist in varying states of dilapidation. This slowly eroding material condition which defines the character of this city, is animated by the play of the reflected light.

Figure XX: Dunwich Fishing (2014)

Dunwich Fishing (2014) explores the edge of the unmade town of Dunwich, which has over the last 800 years, almost entirely disappeared into the sea. Upturned hulls and ramshackle fishing huts containing industrial machinery for winching fishing boats. These permanent artefacts suggest a local, small scale fishing industry. In contrast, an individual shore angler carries their portable tools of a personal industry, finding a place on the pebbled beach, looking out to the sea in which the lost town lies buried.

Figure XX: East Croydon Ramp (2011)

East Croydon Ramp (2011) explores the space and time of a railway platform; as a train departs, as people rush for their connection, and in doing so how they interact with this very particular spatial condition of circulatory design. The speeding train smearing streaks of colour across the frame giving way to deep views across platforms; the fast-moving train passengers contrasting with the fixed architectural forms which structure their movement.

Figure XX: San Cataldo Cemetery 1 (2011)

San Cataldo Cemetery 1 (2011) relates Italian architect Aldo Rossi’s solemn, still, and monumental space to the everyday activity beyond. The slowly changing light that moves across the rows of San Cataldo’s columns contrasts with the speeding cars and motorcycles passing on the road at the end of this grand and formal space.

[1] I refer to the “reading”, or interpretation and analysis of artefacts, such as films by other artists (or indeed my own), as a form of practice.

[2] While undertaking the work of the PhD, both through writing and practice, new ideas and directions are continually thrown into future possibility. Some of this will find its way into the thesis, but the rest will continue beyond the completion of the PhD.

[3] I use Bremner and Rodgers’s definition of transdisciplinary practice as that in which no single discipline is primary, enabling practitioners to “work in and contribute to both [disciplines] and generate unique conceptions and artifacts as a result of an emergent transdisciplinary perspective” (Bremner and Rodgers 2013, 11).

[4] Jane Rendell explains that architecture can be seen as a subject as well as discipline – ‘If we define a field of study containing a number of disciplinary approaches but with a shared object of investigation as a recognized subject, then we could define architecture as a subject’ (Rendell 2004, 143).

[5] The BFA course at the University of Western Australia, in which I was part of the very first cohort of students, was, I believe, a particularly innovate way of teaching fine art, due to its integration of practice and theory. It’s integration of aspects of the architecture course also offered strong interdisciplinary connections, and this also served to enrich the established architecture course. Firm friendships and collaborations were formed between fine art and architecture students, and I am one of three graduates from our original cohort of 15 students who subsequently went on to become architects.

[6] The term “moving drawing” is more commonly used for drawn animations (Crafton 1979, 413) such as cartoons, flip books, etc. The term used in relation to architectural animations may have been introduced by my studio tutor, Nic Clear in relation to the agenda of the design unit (which was to engage with computer generated animation techniques).

[7] For architects the term drawing implies particular critical process of use, but which may take a number of technical forms. I will be exploring later the potentially polemical nature of this act of appropriating the word “drawing” for practices beyond that of line-making.

[8] An interplay of (past) precedent in the making of “future” propositions is all performed in the present.

[9] Pérez-Gómez and Pelletier use of the term “symbolic” is different to Peirce’s “symbol”.

[10] This is not to say that people are unimportant in architecture, quite the opposite, and artists’ film practices can offer ways to consider issues of people’s relationship to and interaction with architecture in a way beyond that of mere ‘staffage’ employed in most normative forms of architectural representation.

[11] I use the word ‘film’ to refer to moving image practices, regardless of media, i.e. film, video, digital film/video, although I recognize that the form of media is significant within many of these practices.

[12] Nevill Holt Opera by Witherford Watson Mann:
Cork House by Matthew Barnett Howland, with Dido Milne and Oliver Wilton:
Macallan Distillery by Rogers Stirk Harbour + Partners:
The Weston by Feilden Fowles:
London Bridge Station by Grimshaw:

[13] Art critic and historian Hal Foster emphasises the importance of grounding “in one discipline, preferably two” for interdisciplinary working (Foster 1998, 162).

[14] The terms transdisciplinary and interdisciplinary vary in definition and use between theorists and fields (Rendell 2004, Linder 2005), but all assert that activity across, between and outside of disciplinary boundaries enables the generation of new knowledge and processes.

[15] These architecturally focussed screening events include several Australian Expanded Architecture screenings, and in the Architect’s Journal “Light Shots” competition.

[16] This film will be discussed in depth in Chapter 2.

[17] This film will be discussed in depth in Chapter 3.

[18] It emerged that overlaying footage was beyond the capability of the UWA video edit suite, but fortunately Peter was able to let me use the suite at Curtin University.

[19] Arlene has gone on to be a successful artist, and their self-presentation as well as their ethnic, cultural, and gender identity are significant factors in their practice.

[20] The right-hand side of the frame is identifiable as the entrance of the building as this is the source of natural light.

[21] More common terms for the use of human figures within architectural representation include: “showing inhabitation”, “populated drawing”.

[22] If making this work now I would ensure that the camera is precisely orthogonal to the building.

[23] My recollection of this space is that immediately to the left of that doorway is the photocopier room, where I transferred the DOLA map onto Transtext self-adhesive film for Map 2b.

[24] Site investigation is a process common at the start of every sited architectural project. It can take many forms, and can refer to research and observation of physical, social, cultural, political, and historical aspects of the local and wider context/s.

[25] DOLA – Department of Land Administration – the equivalent of the British Ordnance Survey

[26] This technique was common at the time in architectural drafting but has since been superseded by digital tools.

[27] As the optical soundtrack proceeds the image by 28 frames (so that it can be processed by a different part of the projector while the image is in the gate) I cut a strip the width of the soundtrack from the map and applied it to correctly correspond to the image.

[28] Architecture design studio is commonly taught in “studio” or “unit” groups which are led by one or several tutors who set projects related to their own interests and expertise. I studied in Unit 15 at the Bartlett, led by Nic Clear, for both years of my Masters.

[29] Non-architects that I have shown the film to have not necessarily noticed that this is a film of a drawing of a toilet.

[30] Lumiere films or Remoscopes are based on the work of the Lumiere brothers, which by necessity were constrained in the same way as Lumiere films. Remoscopes emerged in 2005 through the Japanese media art collective “remo” ( who ran a series of monthly screenings and film-making workshops. In 2007 Andreas Haugstrup Pedersen and Brittany Shoot adopted this form of filmmaking, publishing their ‘Lumiere Manifesto’ (, renaming the “Remoscope” as “Lumiere Film”.


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