A Two Minute Video, Two Years in the Making

From the newsletter formerly known as "An Engineering Self-Study"

In the two years since I last wrote, much has changed and much has not.

This newsletter used to be called An Engineering Self-Study and is now Poems from a Workshop. “Engineering” felt too narrow, “Self” too limiting, and “Study” too academic. “An” was alright, but who wants a newsletter called An?

What I’m working on is also changing. Last I wrote, I was working on the Uncage, a facemask for ice hockey. Now, I’m working on a new idea; one I’m introducing with a two minute video, which only took me two years to make:

Much of those two years not spent on paintings and contraptions was spent finding the conviction to commit to a kind of project that will never be practical or profitable. A big leap when productivity is entrenched as the sole purpose of life.

But though the project looks wildly different, you will have seen similar strains of thought: the same fascination with flexibility and the different way of building things. What other projects hinted at, this one embraces fully.

I’ll write again when I have made the first piece,

Surjan

PS — Here are some unorganized thoughts on various inspirations for the video.

The desire to lean into the 2D-ness of the medium is from Indian miniature paintings; particularly, the works of Rupy C. Tut, an artist here in Oakland, who is brilliantly carrying the traditions forward and whose colors and textures are even more striking in person. If you happen to know Rupy, please introduce me. I would love to learn from her.

Another trigger for that same desire was this old BBC documentary on the camera obscura. A surprising look at how a single point of view might have become the dominant way we express what we see.

This Indonesian puppet art form which showed that the mechanisms behind the art don’t always have to be hidden.

The pencil and scissor scene was indirectly inspired by David Blaine: Do Not Attempt.

The 4:3 aspect ratio of the video was just the closest to the size of my watercolor paper.

My lighting was a bright incandescent work light with a sheet in front of it.

And here’s how I kept my writing consistent.