The Fix

 

I’ve been busy! But I’ll be back.

In the meantime, here’s something that came out of my Holga.

A few years back I had the opportunity to interview composer, performer and artist Mark Mothersbaugh. He’s a founding member of Devo, and he’s also the composer of inventive movie scores. His music has become one of the signatures of the Wes Anderson style, and at the time we met, “The Life Aquatic” was about to be released.

We talked about how he first started working with Wes Anderson; the challenges posed by composing ‘art’ music or ‘popular’ music; the advantages of going back in time technologically; his visual art; and the development of the human brain.

I can’t play the whole interview here, but I can mete out a few excerpts. Here’s the first, in which we talk working with Wes Anderson, and also take a stroll through the studio to hear some of his distinctive instruments.

* This interview was produced for CBC Radio. All rights reserved *

 

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Lake Locarno, Switzerland, August 2006 

Instant gratification is difficult to resist. The ease of a passing along photos from a digital camera … the print-ready document typed on a laptop… these are conveniences we take for granted.

Today as I was purchasing 120mm film for my Holga, I wondered for a moment why I should bother to do so. It’s possible to fake Holga-type effects with Photoshop in a fairly convincing way. Then I realized that for me choosing a ‘tool’ for creative projects is not about the  end result or the quality — it’s about the process. Grasping the big plastic Holga, or my the awkward box camera, puts me in a different frame of mind, fires different associations or creates a certain mood. It makes me feel different than my digital camera does, so I take different kinds of photos. Sometimes, it’s a simple photograph which I might think was boring if it were framed with my digital camera. But with only 10 or 12 frames per 120mm film, I choose my shots carefully– and sometimes that means choosing simply, or just differently.

It’s the same with writing with a pen in a small notebook– little notes, conversations overheard, or fragments of poems as they come to you. it’s a different experience than sitting down at the computer.

I don’t think I’ll ever go all-analogue again, but now and then, I still choose to take the slow train.