Christopher Junn, Author at The McGill Daily

Tension between said and unsaid

Christopher Junn — Mon, 11 Sep 2017 00:08:32 +0000

MOMENTA presents ‘Biennale de l’image,’ a meditation on the art of photography and film curated by Ami Barak. The exhibit aims to support “Canadian artists by bringing to light the relevance, diversity, and quality of their work, and by presenting it within an international context.” Ultimately, it asks its visitors, “What does the image stand for?”

The exhibit seemed to deconstruct the deceptive preconception many have surrounding the authenticity of an image by questioning its meaning. Perhaps the answer lies in the apparent paradox that floats around the authenticity of a photograph. How will a person apply their knowledge to an image in order to align its meanings to their beliefs? This seems to be the “tension between ‘the said’ and ‘the unsaid’” that the exhibit’s curator, Ami Barak, intimates. The unsaid seems to be the subtleties of an image. Photographs plainly depict distorted colors and the image itself, but do we hear the sounds in the atmosphere and the thoughts of the people within these images? Barak touched upon this in her introduction to the exhibit, saying, “These artists intercede between the state of things and their possible interpretations. They are the ‘whistleblowers.” They prefer to transfigure reality into art rather than simply replicate.

These whistleblowers are determined to produce a tangible differentiation between art and reality by using allegories as intermediaries. Their images speak of the world in different ways, but still manage to sidestep strict depictions of “the real,” thereby creatively communicating their beliefs. A creative element might transfigure and translate one’s ‘unsaid’ experiences for another while serving as a ‘whistle,’ or a call for attention. Furthermore, these artists, as put by Barak, seem to ‘prefer transfiguration to replication.’ A couple of the exhibit’s key pieces invoked the following motifs: the different sensational and mental experiences of perspective and seeing the past as a ghost.

These whistleblowers are determined to produce a tangible differentiation between art and reality by using allegories as intermediaries.

One moving image explores different sensations and mental experiences surrounding scope and perspective by stimulating our sense of sound, proportions, and movement. Switching between shots of a shadow and a murmuring sound, film appeared to be rolled in the background, followed by a sped-up view of it that seemed like a blur. The moving image took us between the different perspectives of the piece of film. In doing so, it challenges the viewer to distinguish between proportions by measuring and comparing against the flash of lost memory. The artist seems to ask the viewer to blur the still images that connect the jumps in time that we cannot physically see, while registering empirical measurements of space.

This mysterious ‘in between’ seems to be explored in ghost-like recollections. One image in particular seems to encapsulate the intense pride and emotion of empowerment. It is a close-up of Martin Luther King at the Lincoln Memorial with his finger pointed forward, making a cogent point. A vignette on the photo’s corners backdrops the image, centering King. The photo is printed in black and white, recalling a time before color saturated images, recalling a less vivid but still painful past. The powerful image stands out as a moment of clarity in a fascinating photo exhibit.

Running from September 7 until October 15, the MOMENTA | Biennale will be featured at the VOX and UQAM campus alongside some independent galleries throughout Montreal.

The post Tension between said and unsaid appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Wisdom with an expiration date

Christopher Junn — Tue, 25 Jul 2017 15:18:38 +0000

Diedie Weng, a Chinese director known previously for her short documentaries, has, “sought to capture the personal ways in which [two] worlds and times met and crashed into each other” in her first feature film, The Beekeeper and his Son. Shot through an intimate first-person point-of-view as a fictional documentary, the film records a time of transition and growing tension between the younger and older generations in an increasingly industrial China. Diedie’s film considers the differences and distance between the two generations, attempting to find a common ground between them amidst a rapidly changing world.

In its opening shots, the film highlights the transition into industrialization by presenting shifting frames of the city skyline and the rural bees hives. Coming from the city, Maofu, a quiet and thoughtful young adult, returns to his rural family home with ideas to expand his father’s small beekeeping business. Lao Yu, Maofu’s father, instead insists that his son must primarily learn and understand the art of beekeeping. Seemingly products of their respective generations, Lao Yu and Maofu’s diverging goals seem to drive them apart and augment a growing gap between the two and their respective generations.

Diedie Weng captures the veteran beekeeper’s deep, intricate knowledge as she follows his work and mentoring through all four seasons of the year. Lao Yu’s decades of dedication made him stable and independent, but his old age leaves Maofu to support the family and the hives. Seemingly due to the effects of increased industrialization, Lao Yu witnesses the environmental degradations on his dying bee colonies. These unprecedented obstacles render Lao Yu unsure about the future of his family business. He cannot foresee stability for the family’s beekeeping because Maofu, perhaps influenced by increasing modernization, seems to lack the patience and incentive to learn beyond beekeeping’s basics, ultimately reaching for dreams beyond the bees.

Weng depicts Maofu as dreamy and silent. After studying in the city for a year, Maofu returns with new ideas for marketing and the expansion of honey sales. Maofu’s treatment of beekeeping as a means to success rather than a long-practiced family art suggests the palpable influence of capitalist sensibility that often persists in industrial areas. Maofu’s aspirations leaves him blind to the importance of beekeeping knowledge. As Lao Yu focuses on passing the knowledge of beekeeping and Maofu focuses on the monetary utility of the be colonies, Weng documents the inability for one generation to understand and effectively listen to the other. Weng depicts the effects of this lack of communication by showing a long lonely shot of Maofu digging out a small cave as he builds his bee colony, then looking out into the rain. Lacking Lao Yu’s guidance and understanding, Maofu’s situation invokes feelings of not belonging, as Maofu embraces a different goal than his father. Weng also suggests that Lao Yu feels out of touch, as he does not understand Maofu’s aspirations to pursue higher education and success in a life beyond the beehive. This mutual lack of understanding in a rapidly changing world strains effective communication between the father and son, and more generally between the two generations, as Maofu is left to figure out this new way of life on his own. Lao Yu can only remind his son to stay grounded and embrace the wisdom passed down through generations, which otherwise may be lost during the uncertain future of the family’s beekeeping.

In the emerging industrial China, life changes faster than one can comprehend, leaving the family rootless and the younger generation almost isolated. Although the ending is unresolved, the film documents some setbacks of industrialization including a decrease in familial support and communication. Although the world seems to change too fast for Lao Yu’s wisdom to be of any use, his age and experience still gives him perspective as he witnesses the setbacks of industrialization. Focused on passing on the art of beekeeping, Lao Yu cannot effectively warn his son about the incoming obstacles and the importance of knowing the bees. While Weng makes connections between these obstacles and the tangible generational divide, The Beekeeper and his Son also suggests that perhaps a candid exchange of wisdom and ideas between both generations can bring about solutions to shared problems. Diedie Weng’s film provides a glimpse at the generational tension that complicates China’s transition into an industrial nation, ultimately highlighting the divergent goals and silence between generations, and questions how this divide will impact families and global conditions amidst rapid change.

The post Wisdom with an expiration date appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Good vibes and kodak moments

Christopher Junn — Mon, 03 Apr 2017 10:00:30 +0000

On March 30, the McGill University Photography Students’ Society (MUPSS) hosted their annual photo exhibit, showing works from both members of the club and the larger McGill community. The photos ranged from digital to silver gelatin to chromogenic prints, and captured bright landscapes in saturated colour and minimalistic black-and-white pieces.

The MUPSS exhibit took place at Shape Gallery: a cozy venue located behind an unassuming door at the lower end of the Saint-Laurent, at the top of a seemingly unending staircase. Shape Gallery is well-loved by the MUPSS and Montreal’s artistic community. Known to “curate and promote art and music from around the world,” the company’s statement suggests that “by immersing our followers in carefully constructed space, both virtual and physical, we aim to bridge the gap between the two primary walks of artistic expression.”

The laid-back atmosphere of Shape Gallery made it a good venue to look at art while listening to live music and conversing over wine and cheese. With white brick walls, exposed but painted wires, a mix of artificial and natural lighting, and ambient tunes in the background, the gallery exuded an industrial yet clean feel.

The print’s black and white gradient, matched with the desolate, faded state of the gas-stations, evoked feelings of weariness and of something that seems passé – but continues to haunt the present.

The photography collection included portraits, natural landscapes, city-life, and an array of other subjects. One attention-grabbing print was entitled “Miner,” captured by Jordan Kasarjian. “Miner” depicts a bright man with smiling teeth and smiling eyes, wearing a yellow jersey with a contrasting green collar while sitting against a rocky backdrop. In the description of this photograph, taken at the Kawah Ijen sulfur mine in Indonesia, it reads that “these miners have an expected lifespan of no more than fifty years, as they work around highly toxic sulfuric gases. If you look closely, you can see the sulfur in their eyelashes.” The eeriness of the image stems from the stark contrast between the almost exaggerated but seemingly authentic smile of the man and the photograph’s darker context.

“Diesel” and “Gaz Bar,” a pair of black and white silver gelatin prints taken by Jessica Hobbs, depict old, seemingly abandoned gas stations found along the sides of the desert-like Autoroute 20. In their artist statement, Hobbs notes that “…these relics of the past now stand vacant as prophets to an eventual and inevitable reality. Just as our dependence on fossil fuels has pushed the need for the mega service stations that replaced these once thriving family businesses, it also foretells of the day when the wells run dry.” The print’s black and white gradient, matched with the desolate, faded state of the gas-stations, evoked feelings of weariness and of something that seems passé – but continues to haunt the present.

[Chabel] reflected on the factor of luck and the photographer’s ability to capture a fleeting moment.

I got the chance to talk to Nina Chabel, who exhibited a digital print titled “Looking (away),” “Looking (away)” features a girl caressing her pug while looking off into the vacant distance; the pug seems to be doing the same as she mindlessly goes about in her own little world. Chabel explained that the photo was taken by chance. She reflected on the factor of luck and the photographer’s ability to capturing a fleeting moment. Other pieces like “Metro Man,” snapped by Welton Jones, capture similarly transitory moments. The piece features an elderly man sitting on the opposite side of a metro station, frozen in the window frame of a passing train. The man’s crisp figure is contrasted to the blurred dark body of the moving train, presenting a candid yet poetic instant.

The selected photographs explored a wide range of themes and mediums, with many revealing the complex layers embedded within the idea of ‘the moment.’’ A person can both experience a reaction to their present environment while simultaneously reflecting on the more general, overarching aspects of their life. Our reactions can extend beyond and before the ‘moment’ captured in the photograph.

The post Good vibes and kodak moments appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Sleep talk

Christopher Junn — Sun, 06 Nov 2016 19:34:02 +0000

[special_issue slug=”litsup2016″ element=”pheader”]

The heat of summer wakes me up. I sleep on towels so that the sticky sweat doesn’t stain my virgin sheets. Three hours ago I tried to fall into a slumber while my sweat condensed behind my ear. I dreamed, but only lightly. I looked over at my clock. It was around one o’clock. The first wave of summer anxiety hits. A reminiscence of the day and a painful reflection of having nothing to do —or of having done nothing. It is a sickening feeling of emptiness that manifests as a lump of heavy air taking up space at the bottom of my glottal region. The feeling does pass. I assure you. But in the hour of the wolf, its takes a hold of your heart and rushes you through a whirlwind of future and past. A quick squeeze to your chest, then its gone but it leaves you frightened. Sometimes, you take your fingers, embed your nails, and pinch at your skin. You pinch hard and the pain erodes your thoughts. I can’t recall much of it now. Maybe next time I’ll remember to record it.

I recall my summer days while visiting family in the motherland. Jet lagged and tired, I would have sleepless nights. The light from the plaza shone into the room and cast orange shadows in the fractal patterns embedded in the frosted windows. I despised that orange light. Those nights, I spent alone in a room shared with four. All the others slept soundly. My little cousin, barely making two years old, was a peaceful sight as he lay directly in my line of vision. Countless times I would hear the nightwalkers make noise in the courtyard and I would futilely try to decipher their shadows against the windows. The seconds of the night ticked by to make minutes. Lost in boredom, I would creep into the living room desperately finding something to do. I found a place by the window that overlooked the plaza and, here, I would listen to the drunken folk scream and watch the motorbikes rumble carrying a delivery of midnight meals. These little excitements of the night would happen every hour or so. Eventually, I would quietly make my way back to bed and unknowingly fall asleep.

But what about when we grow old? When the lingering guillotine of death hangs from a weak string that will in due time snap from gravity’s pull. Death, you don’t scare me as much now. I’ve been desensitized. All those deep nights I’ve encountered you in the realm of my cosmic imagination. You frightened me with your presence in black holes and the void of space. My early nights were spent thinking of the people in my life, my disposition, and most importantly love. She was new. Mostly smiling and shy. Her teeth made her smile amazing. It was from afar that I first saw her. Meeting new friends, she looked happy. She fit in well. I remember thinking of her and smiling into my pillow.

I only remember the good memories. The free periods we spent studying together were calm and nice. She made her way to my study period from hers after telling her proctor that she had to work on math. I found the effort attractive. I waited six months. She knew only of two. In the middle of the two months, we had a trip to Seattle. There, on the first night, was the first time I had talked to you. I said one word and one comment. The first was “hi” and I forgot the second. It couldn’t have been that interesting anyways.

Oh my, do I remember the dark dancehall where you pulled me through the crowd while the soft serenade of Purple Rain rang while the flat laser lights swiveled in senseless directions. I remember your arm extending from the high of your shoulder as it pulled my hand and body in whatever direction you took me. I didn’t care. I was lost in the darkness and you were my guide. Close my eyes and remember. Pull up close again and I hope that you feel the shudder in my breath. Feel my heart throb in the erratic beat of love that is lulled into the comfort of a slow dance. Look at me again and whisper some nervous words.

I’m awake again. A welcomed breeze drifts through the curtains. I remove the towels from underneath me and pull my duvet over my shoulders then tuck myself in. The room is dark and I face the windows. The black silhouettes of tall trees sway to the gentle push of the wind. Looming and ominous, they dance against the gray background. I reach for the clock. The short hand was positioned slightly below the five. I look up to the looming trees, sigh, then turn to stare into the morning darkness.

I remembered a night in the middle of winter. The city sat glowing afar and the wine colored sky floated in the distance. I walked out of my building and ventured into the calm streets. Wispy snow snaked through the lowly airstreams, buffeting my ankles and running a cold chill up my pants. I walked upwards, towards the hill. Under an underpass and down one street, I arrived at a small neighborhood. In the middle of the neighborhood, white lights flooded a snow-covered court. Out of the lime-light, I found a clearing fashioned into an ice-rink. Small trees, stripped of their leaves and in the shadows, lingered around the rink, whispering with the rattle of their branches. I treaded carefully, slowly sliding my shoes across the ice, placing one step in front of the other. I made my way to the middle and, there, I sat staring up towards the speckled universe.

As I gazed towards the cosmos, there, on the cool ice that breathed through my warm jacket, I ignited. A great flame erupted from the void of space and caught my jacket, turning my body into a tall orange bonfire and sending its flickering arms towards the darkened sky. Black snow floated upwards, the smell of singed polyester filled the hot cloud of smoke. The fire, uncontrollable, illuminated the clearing and the shared shadows retreated behind the trunks of the trees, running further off into the looming distance –away from the perilous heat. Aflame, there I was, a lone light in the valleys of darkness, screaming to be heard. Will they listen? Will they grant? Will they do nothing, I suppose.

Morning light pushes its first rays past the trees and into my room, some reflecting off the mirror, striking my eyes awake.

[special_issue slug=”litsup2016″ element=”pfooter”]
[special_issue slug=”litsup2016″ element=”init”]

The post Sleep talk appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The Dry Basin

Christopher Junn — Sun, 06 Nov 2016 17:31:03 +0000

[special_issue slug=”litsup2016″ element=”pheader”]

White porcelain, deep and smooth like rocks weathered down by a river’s mighty palm running down its back for an eon of an eternity. Now dry, clear glass glaze covers its skin. Suffocating it in a sealed cage of dryness –a wasteland. It yearns for water as water funnels down the glaze basin only less than a centimeter from its skin. Dryness. The faucet spews out its contents. Looking above, the basin sees the individual droplets fall. Splash. Splash. A rush of coolness. The palpitating pressure of the drops falling on its face. Years go by then decades. It has been a hundred years since it felt the cool, dizzying sensation of slender water running down its back. A sudden crack appears in the glass. Water seeps through, pushing the crack out of its way. The faucet says, “Now, take it all. Take my water and run me dry. Run me dry till I can give no more.

[special_issue slug=”litsup2016″ element=”pfooter”]
[special_issue slug=”litsup2016″ element=”init”]

The post The Dry Basin appeared first on The McGill Daily.