Maria Celina

How I Pick Films

Maria Celina — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 15:56:29 +0000

Moving Pictures

Since Netflix is not available in Indonesia, residents who wish to watch films resort to either going to the cinema, or buying DVDs, or — given the luxury of time — downloading them directly off the internet. These methods have and still strongly persist, even when the rise and fall of various intellectual property laws put a large part of the world and people all across the internet on high alert.

I am partial to the first two options. Up until recently, most of my film selections have been largely independent decisions. I would have several friends who would make the occasional recommendation. I’d consider them, especially those whose tastes are most like mine, but end up going to my usual DVD shop completely forgetting their list. (To friends reading this, it’s not intentional. I swear.) Now that I am around fellow film buffs for most of the week, I am far more exposed to other people’s preferences. During the odd lunch hour, we would pop by a shop far more stocked with blockbusters to see what has been recently churned out in film. This shop is slightly more expensive than the one I frequent, but it does fairly supply people who have missed a recent showing in the cinemas.

When I step into a DVD shop with the intention to buy something, I don’t always have a list of film names I am specifically looking for. In fact, I go in with the possibility of leaving empty-handed. But I have a set of criteria that I take into account when I sift through their stock.

I Judge a Film by Its Cover

I can proceed to justify this by saying that it’s part and parcel of being a designer by profession. While that in itself is true, it is also because I am a visual person, and at its core, appearances still carry a significant meaning in human nature. I do take into account of the impact a film’s DVD cover or poster has to me. I like to examine the images used, the colours, the typography, and in terms of the bigger picture, see how each of these elements are laid out. It is no coincidence that many art films and a number of non-English films make it into my haul. With that said…

I Also Read the Back Cover

While I do believe in the power of good packaging, what’s within should substantiate the outside. A film can be presented in a visually pleasing way, but if the synopsis isn’t all that interesting, then pretty is all it is. So, I resort to the back cover summary. At the same time, I am also aware that the writing on the back should be taken with a grain of salt. It gives a limited view and purposely doctored to sell. Had I no external factors influencing my decision, how I interpret that blurb as “good enough” or not to warrant an incentive to purchase cannot guarantee how I will ultimately experience the film. But, that’s precisely the beauty of the hunt.

Within tasteful limits, plot-wise, I am more or less open to virtually any film genre. Well, except for one.

I Don’t Do Romantic Comedies

I like romance and comedy as separate entities, but not so much together. Those less enlightened about the ills of gender divisiveness are quick to point out the disconnect between my taste and what is so-called “traditionally expected of females”. But I’d like to think that my preferring to watch “Real Steel” over “No Strings Attached” is merely a question of preference. Besides, I think robots kicks thousands of asses!

A colleague once told me that genres — whether it be film, books, or music — are essentially templates that individual creations are grouped into. After some thought, I believe he is right. Even my own favourite films are patterned after the basic elements required for comedy, drama, fantasy, history, and what have you, because it is precisely the type I appreciate. Save for very few exceptions, — “While You Were Sleeping” being one of them — the romantic comedy template just does not cut it for me.

I Watch Adaptations at My Own Risk

I like watching films that were adapted from books. I usually do so when I enjoy the latter, and as much as possible, I read the book before watching the film. However, I am also aware that books and films are two completely different media. Books allow room for the reader to take full reign of interpretation when sailing through the author’s words. Adaptations convenience those who lack imagination, but are essentially manipulated at the hands of the screenwriter and the director, giving viewers a glimpse into their minds instead. People may have their own reasons for comparing the two, but if there are emotional attachments existing between either of them, it only leads to heartache.

So, in the event I catch myself scrupulously pointing out the discrepancies between book and film, I remind myself of the very fact. Any disappointment that arises from that point onward is completely my fault.

I Believe Star-Studded is Secondary

To me, the casting choice is secondary to the directors, cinematographers, and other creatives involved in the production of a film. I am drawn to learning about creative methods in cinema, as much as I am attracted to a good story. This is very evident in my film reviews.

I have no qualms in purchasing a film featuring a handful of unknown actors, provided that the film appears promising from the cover, the back cover summary, and other given elements that is uses to advertise itself. After all, considering the dynamic nature of the entertainment industry, any unfamiliar name can be thrown into the centre of media attention and be emblazoned in neon lights at the stroke of good reception.

What About You?

Do you have any criteria when selecting films? If so, feel free to share them in the comments.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

Sang Penari (2011)

Maria Celina — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 17:56:00 +0000

Rating: ★★★½☆

This post may contain spoilers. Read at your own discretion.

Overview

Ifa Isfansyah’s film adaptation of Ahmad Tohari’s trilogy, Ronggeng Dukuh Paruk (Translation: A Dancing Girl of Paruk Village), explores Indonesia’s darker days in a manner considered flagrant, had this been just over a decade ago. “Sang Penari” (Translation: “The Dancer”) takes the viewer to the poor village of Dukuh Paruk, a place still strongly connected to folk customs. The uninterfered manner in which the residents live grants them minimum distractions from the spirits they revere.

One of the manifestations of their devotion is the ronggeng, a dancer who also conducts sexual services. Frequently compared to Japan’s geisha, the ronggeng is a calling presented to women born — not made — to fulfill the role. Life as a ronggeng is unique and requires much focus, for she is to distance herself from what is considered more human pursuits, like marriage and motherhood. Surrendering to these paths would cost a ronggeng her title. As a result, she is both owned by and a highly regarded figure in her village.

Exploring ownership, “Sang Penari” takes a glimpse into rural Central Java during the 1960′s. It is beautifully shot and poetic in execution, all the while challenging the oft-believed concept of belonging during the country’s unstable political years.

Storyline

After unsettling glimpses of people crouching in darkness and the sound of withered murmurs, “Sang Penari” opens quietly. Rasus (played by Nyoman Oka Antara), in his military fatigues, explores the remains of a village in the scorching heat. He wanders about tentatively before finally entering a house. Inside, Rasus finds a blind man (played by Hendro Djarot) cowering behind a table, visibly frightened by the sudden influx of noise. Gently approaching him, Rasus identifies himself. The reaction of recognition from the man, Sakum, reveals that the two have history. Sakum begs Rasus to look for someone named Srintil.

The scene shifts to night celebration taking place in the same hamlet, the grounds bustling with activity. A ronggeng dances for a horde of enthusiastic men. Some children wiggle through the crowd, their slight stature and youth allowing them to get a good view of the performance. Among them, a young Srintil is particularly enchanted.

Shortly after, chaos breaks out after the ronggeng dies from consuming a tainted batch of a tofu-soy dish named bongkrek, which Srintil’s parents make. Horrified by the allegations of the villagers, Srintil’s parents attempt to save face by sampling the Javanese dish, only to succumb to the lethal effects of its improper fermentation. After witnessing this and enduring the judgement from the other villagers, Srintil becomes determined to restore her family name by becoming the next ronggeng. This sentiment remains strong even within the teenaged Srintil (played by Prisia Nasution), but is met with as much opposition by, Rasus, her boyfriend. For Srintil to become a ronggeng, the love-struck adolescents cannot have a sexually monogamous relationship. According to tradition, a ronggeng belongs to the village, and Srintil would have to dedicate her life servicing the men of Dukuh Paruk. However, to become a ronggeng is a calling and not choice. A sign from the spirits would have to materialise for any woman aspiring to the role. When the village is convinced that Srintil’s desire is divinely intervened, she begins preparing for her new life direction.

A heartbroken Rasus witnesses this from a distance, silently observing Srintil’s changes. In fact, he processes his anger by acting out, a gesture that captures the attention of some men in uniform. However, in spite of his pain, he steps in to assist her during her moments of weakness, including consummating their relationship for the first time moments before she is required to properly commence her duties as a ronggeng. Realising by then that Srintil’s calling takes precedence, Rasus joins the army, in hopes of leaving behind an underpaid life and a broken dream. He meets Binsar (played by Tio Pakusadewo), a sergeant integral to Rasus’ own transformation. Rasus becomes a man more connected to a larger world, but has not forgotten Srintil.

Meanwhile, Dukuh Paruk is becoming a target for a political ideology that, unbeknownst to the villagers, is dangerous. Bakar (played by Lukman Sardi), a PKI (Translation: Communist Party of Indonesia) representative, gains the trust of the village by appealing to their dire circumstances. Motivated by their desire to overcome poverty, the residents of Dukuh Paruk align with PKI, without really understanding the true nature of Bakar’s intentions. By the time it is revealed, the anti-communist purge finds its way to the village doorstep.

Verdict

Periods of political turmoil and a country in divide lead to the question of allegiance. Many news articles of war-torn nations cover stories of refugees or those in political asylum. Victims of these times often experience their attachments being ripped from under their feet, making the notion belonging a critical theme of “Sang Penari”. The relationship between a woman dedicated to restoring her family’s name and a man who bases his life choice largely on hers is an example of this. Though Rasus delivers in times she is in need of familiarity, she never once turns to him for escape. But Srintil’s own decisions do not come without a visible struggle. Her calling as a ronggeng distances her from a conventional relationship with Rasus. With constant relationships established as the norm and purpose of creation, coupled with the social value of virginity, it is easy for her to become attached to the idea. Understandably, numbers are powerful. She is, after all, the one ronggeng in the village. Srintil almost loses her title when breaking down whilst holding another woman’s baby and refusing to dance for a period of time. But she rises above her struggles, strengthening her conviction in her role.

Due to Dukuh Paruk’s devotion to the spirit world and its practises — including that of a woman appealing to a ronggeng to sleep with her husband so she can become pregnant — “Sang Penari” appropriately doesn’t shy away from sex. The film’s treatment of its more intimate scenes manages to find the balance, without being too conservative nor gratuitous. On a similar vein, a ronggeng is bound to her village. When Dukuh Paruk is decimated, so is her marriage to it. Her steely adherence to the traditional practise of ronggeng convinces the anti-communist army she is not part of the opposition, thus, saving her from the fatal end that befalls her fellow villagers. As Srintil and Rasus reunite years later, she is given a chance to belong to him. Perhaps, that is even Rasus’ hope. However, having long embraced her calling, she takes their meeting as an opportunity to make peace with her past. Their relationship is a possible argument supporting the existence of feminist values within “Sang Penari”.

For those curious about the Indonesian film industry, “Sang Penari” is one to add. Though heavily promoted as a love story, the film is, in fact, a rich cultural presentation of Indonesia. “Sang Penari” provides a window into the event surrounding the early years of the country’s New Order era, making the cinematic experience of “Sang Penari”, years after the political movement, a testament to democracy.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

Wristcutters: A Love Story (2006)

Maria Celina — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 19:03:56 +0000

Rating: ★★★½☆

This post may contain spoilers and large images that may compromise slower internet connections. Read at your own discretion.

Overview

Croatian director and actor Goran Dukić was virtually unknown to the international film industry before this directorial effort. The film, an adaptation of Etgar Keret‘s Kneller’s Happy Campers, is a short story about the afterlife of suicide victims. After a difficult bidding process involving convincing the Israeli writer through a screenplay that properly justifies the story, Dukić still dares to exercise a little artistic license. His choice of cast, soundtrack, and filming style add beauty into an already solid original piece. “Wristcutters: A Love Story” offers a generous view of the desert areas of California, while managing to tackle a delicate topic by approaching it with humour and sweetness.

Storyline

The film opens with Zia (played by Patrick Fugit) lying in bed, staring straight ahead of him. The slight expressions on his face betray last-minute doubts, but are quickly quenched with a certainty that gets him to stand up. He surveys the chaotic state of his room, and commences damage control by picking up some clothes off from the floor. The starting gesture elevates to a purposeful restoration of order. After a quick dust check, Zia buttons on a crisp dress shirt before the scene cuts to his fully-dressed chracter in his bathroom. Slight noises are then followed by brief glimpse of Zia’s face before he collapses onto the floor. The camera tilts down to reveal a bloodied sink, a razor blade, and an intention to end it all. Zia slips into unconsciousness as quickly as his wrists colour the floor a dark maroon, his last glimpse of the mortal life being a neglected corner-dwelling ball of dust.

Trailing Zia into his next life are unresolved romantic issues with his ex-girlfriend, Desiree (played by Leslie Bibb), and he finds himself in an afterlife specifically designed for those who committed suicide. His new reality is similar to the life he leaves behind, but the muted colours of his surroundings, the star-less skies, and the endless expanse of this new world indicates the residents have it worse. Zia finds a job in the aptly named Kamikaze Pizza, and lives with an easily annoyed Austrian man whose company he doesn’t particularly enjoy. After an examination of his situation, Zia realises that killing himself a second time would only send him into a deeper limbo, and he makes no attempt to end his life again.

During a night out, a girl named Tania (played by Azura Skye) approaches Zia at a bar. On behalf of a bet made with her friend Rachel (played by Sarah Roemer), asks him how he “offed” himself. He shows the gnarly marks on his wrists, and remarks on the rudeness of her question — at least, in the context of their world. Tania is completely aware of this, and the three end up scrutinising the other patrons of the bar. Their game is interrupted by a Russian immigrant named Eugene (played by Shea Whigham), who dares them to guess his method. The girls, obviously turned off, quickly work up a exit strategy, leaving the two men to befriend each other. Zia learns that Eugene killed himself while onstage with his band.

Eugene brings Zia to meet his family, who all happen to be with him. Their bond — unbreakable even in death — makes the usually distant Zia miss his own for a moment. As a result, the two spend time with each other, drinking. One night, during a cottage cheese run for his roommate, Zia bumps into an old friend, who informs him that Desiree also committed suicide. He sets off to look for her, convincing Eugene to join him. They take Eugene’s car, which sports broken headlights and a black hole in the front passenger seat. Zia, in his desire to catch up to Desiree, offers to pay for one more attempt to fixing them, so they can drive during night-time. Just before sunset, they stop by a repair shop owned by Jim (played by Clayne Crawford) and his partner, Mike (played by Mark Boone Jr.), where the car gets an unusual evaluation, and is serviced seemingly without success. Zia and Eugene set off again.

While on the road, they pick up a hitchhiker named Mikal (played by Shannyn Sossamon). She reveals she is looking for the “people in charge”, because she believes there is a mistake in her being there. Her questioning nature is met with Eugene’s resistance. He is convinced that their reality is the best they can get, considering the outcome of their choices. Zia, on the other hand, whose beacon of hope is reuniting with Desiree, is willing to indulge her, though he harbours some doubts himself. As a consequence, it turns the initial journey into a collective one with a slightly different direction.

As the trio drive on, they become acquainted, but the ambiguous nature of their trip cause them to unleash their frustrations. They occasionally bicker over carelessly dropping items into the car’s black hole, and Mikal reaches her breaking point at a gasoline stop, when she overhears Zia and Eugene talking behind her back. As they prepare to set out again, Zia happens upon a lead on Desiree, after a mishap involving a fuel nozzle. Mikal decides to re-join the group.

Desiree’s trail turns cold, leaving Zia depressed. His friends console him, and Eugene offers him a drink. Mikal sneaks the turquoise-painted bouquet of flowers purchased for the planned romantic reunion into the car’s black hole. That night, while Zia is asleep, Mikal pushes a random button on the car, and the headlights turn on. A grateful Eugene, in his euphoria, stops the car and sweeps Mikal into his arms for a kiss. They spend the rest of sundown marvelling over the automotive miracle.

During nightfall, the three almost run over a man (played by musician Tom Waits) sleeping on the highway. The car swerves off the road and crashes, but no one is injured. Eugene wakes him up, and the man identifies himself as Kneller, and he had fallen asleep while in search for his dog. Kneller invites the bewildered trio back to his place, and they acquiesce. His residence, a camp and hotbed of unusual happenings, astounds Zia. From a camper who floats in his chair, to Mikal tossing a match that floats to the night sky, to a fish that changes colour in Eugene’s hands, he cannot bring himself to understand why none of these occurrences happen to him. Kneller responds by telling him they are common, and only manifest when people do not consciously desire them. Nonetheless, he obsesses, and projects his grievances onto Mikal, who finally tells him how she died. Then and there, Zia is convinced that her journey is for a valid cause. Meanwhile, Eugene falls for a throat-singing camper named Nanuk (played by Mikal P. Lazarev).

The camp provides a semblance of home, and Zia, Eugene, and Mikal stay longer than intended. When Zia dreams of getting caught by his parents and a Dalmatian during a prison break, he realises he is still hinged on the memories of his mortal life. While Eugene seems content with the turn of events, Zia and Mikal find affection in each other, and agree to leave the comfort of the camp behind. What Zia, Eugene, and Mikal are yet to find out is that they’ve landed in a gold mine, because even in the world of the dead, miracles can happen.

Cinematography

Vanja Černjul had initially planned on shooting “Wristcutters: A Love Story” with colour infrared film. Exclusively made by Kodak, the Croatian cinematographer would use the film particularly for the shift in hues between the mortal life and afterlife scenes. However, it proved to take too much time, so standard film stock was used in the end. Selected scenes were later refined during post-processing. Regardless of realm, the results are phenomenal. In contrast to the pre-dominantly blue filter of the afterlife, the colours of the mortal world are bright with a pinkish base-tone — much like the colour of flesh when blood still courses through a living body.

To reinforce the bleakness of the afterlife, the film was shot in the desolate areas of California. Dukić even asked his crew to find film props that look so unwanted by the world at large. Items such as defected dinnerware, rusted furniture, and cars that could only be described as “mechanical Frankenstein”, when combined, contribute to the dystopian atmosphere. Even with these additions, the natural magnificence of the Californian outback cannot be ignored.

A demonstration of its brilliant cinematography and my favourite song off the film’s soundtrack is available on YouTube.

Choose Life

While the film’s absurdist approach may not be well-received by some, the message in it deserves to be heard by all, most especially those who are on the brink of giving up. Back in 2007, some controversy arose with regards to the graphic nature in which the film was marketed. But in spite of the questionable approach to its campaign, the “Wristcutters: A Love Story” does glorify nor romanticise suicide. In fact, its life-affirming elements of redemption and hope endorses the beauty of living without becoming inaccessibly holier-than-thou.

“Wristcutters: A Love Story” urges the viewer to troop head-on in the direction of life, to be open to miracles without expecting them… and at all costs, avoid the black hole underneath the front passenger seat. In its unique presentation to a difficult topic, what I think of the film pales in comparison to the basic yet very important lesson it provides.

If you have thoughts of harming yourself, or know someone who does, please do not give up. Do not trivialise the problems, but also remember that healing is always possible. There are people out there who can help:

An expanded directory of online and region-based suicide prevention organisations can be found in the International Suicide Prevention Wiki.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

Java Rockin’ Land 2011: The Cranberries

Maria Celina — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 13:22:52 +0000

The Cranberries: July 23, 2011

This post contains image-heavy content. Click on the any of the photos to view them on a larger scale.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

Java Rockin’ Land 2011: Ed Kowalczyk

Maria Celina — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 15:48:41 +0000

The Bucket List Concert: July 23, 2011

This post contains image-heavy content. Click on the any of the photos to view them on a larger scale.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

Two Hours at TEDx Jakarta Live

Maria Celina — Sat, 16 Jul 2011 18:01:01 +0000

TED Global 2011: The Stuff of Life

On Thursday, I attended two hours of TEDx Jakarta Live‘s simulcast (a delayed version of a webcast) of TED Global 2011. Called “The Stuff of Life”, TED Global 2011 took place in Edinburgh, Scotland. Prior to this, I have only watched a handful of videos from previous speakers. One of my favourite talks is Sir Ken Robinson’s in February 2006, when he spoke about creativity’s place (or lack thereof) within the education system. For quite some time, I figured that such an event would only include Indonesia years from now, and that I would only be privy to distance appreciation from the comfort and constraint of my computer screen. But soon after learning via Twitter that there was a TED community in my city, I was determined to check it out.

TEDx Jakarta Live’s webcast of “The Stuff of Life” covered four sessions of TED Global 2011, and I attended the evening session, “Bodies”. The session catered for the Jakarta audience consisted of presentations by a movement expert, biologist, roboticist, techno-illusionist, artist, and singer. The showcases that impressed me the most were, unsurprisingly, were those inclined towards the arts.

Marco Tempest: Augmented Reality Magic

As an adult, I can understand and appreciate the existence of grey areas. They add dimension to black and white thinking. Magic is essentially an exploration of that gradient, deliberately breaking the delineation of established reality and its opposite. Marco Tempest pushes traditional magic a step further, this time blurring the line between tactility and virtuality.

What initially struck me about the Swiss magician was that he describes magic as “introverted”, a first I’ve heard with regards to the field. It makes sense, because to perform in order to mesmerise involves directing energy inward, to keep the secrets of its inner workings so the fascination can happen again and again. Revealing any of their mechanics discredits a magician’s legitimacy.

For this year’s TED Global event, Tempest performs what is called “augmented reality magic”. By simply using a board and a pen, he literally draws out a reality that acts in communion with the physical world. Most of the TEDx Global 2011 talks are still currently unavailable, but I found an almost identical performance from TEDx Tokyo in 2010. (Language: Japanese, with English voice-over translation.)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvTJzbhX98s

Although watching the performance more than once seems to have taken away the magic (Ha!) somewhat, Tempest’s presentation momentarily made me feel like a little girl again. I once again found myself in a mindset where the real and not-so-real were blended into one, as I was amused by the playful lines, the story, and the light-hearted humour of the entire act. Judging by the enthusiastic response from the audience both in Jakarta and in Edinburgh, I wasn’t alone in my sentiments.

Jae Rhim Lee: Infinity Burial Project

“Death is the last taboo,” said late American psychologist Dr. Timothy Leary, and he couldn’t be more right. What happens after a living creature expires has been investigated in various ways throughout history, most especially in art and science. In tandem with exploring these, the end of a mortal life is synonymous with uncertainty, loss, pain, sadness, and an array of expressions frowned upon by cultures that place value on concealment. Therefore, in many of those instances, an openness to the facets of death is deemed controversial.

Visual artist and designer Jae Rhim Lee reminds us that today’s burial methods are not environmentally friendly. Embalming delays the decomposition process, and the large amounts of embalming fluid pumped into a body contains dangerous compounds that can potentially change the chemical make-up of the soil of the burial site and its surrounding areas. Cremating a body not only pollutes the air, but mercury gets released as tooth fillings disintegrate in extreme heat. It is understandably difficult to view embalming and cremation as dangerous burial methods, though, because it is likely their origins were out of grief-ridden sentiment. Lee presents the Infinity Burial Project, a “modest proposal” of an alternative burial option that obeys the laws of nature.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Arh2bmdEXc

Once again, the video of her talk at TED Global 2011 is not yet available, which is a pity because in it, Lee wears her signature Mushroom Death Suit. The name of the outfit alone amused the audience, even though the rest of the presentation garnered silent attention. But the main point she makes is that death is part of life. It shouldn’t be regarded with fear or perceived as morbid, and it certainly doesn’t mean that its reality shouldn’t be examined from all possible angles — most especially, from a sustainable one.

Ideas Worth Spreading

For my first TED-related event — albeit being around for only a couple hours — I liked what I saw and heard. Finding out about the TEDx Jakarta community is undoubtedly one of my favourite recent discoveries, and it’s great to be around people who are enthusiastic about absorbing new ideas. I look forward to watching more design-oriented talks in future Jakarta-based gatherings, and I hope attending a live event will eventually be within my reach.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

2011 Sendai Disaster: On John Pavlus’ Article

Maria Celina — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 22:51:53 +0000

The Creative Response

More than three months after the fact, the events that transpired during the March 11th Japanese earthquake and tsunami still remain well in the minds of many. Not only because of what happened, but also in terms of the rapid response from the world over. In the same momentum, artists and designers proceeded to channel the creative language, churning out countless beautiful works in an effort to raise awareness and money to donate to one of the many dedicated relief organisations involved. These creatives, usually so by profession, took time out of their schedules to reflect and respond in whatever way they felt was appropriate. Most were willing to forego the usual monetary benefits that tend to go hand-in-hand with their other creative pursuits.

Like everyone with the emotional capacity to respond to beauty, I liked certain works over others. I even compiled a list of several of them. The creations I picked were selected because I feel they did more than memorialise the thousands of victims or emphasise the relevance of a tragic but important event. Instead, the designers behind the chosen pieces decided to highlight the values of compassion, resilience, patience, and stoicism. By permanently capturing the face of grace under fire, these designs transformed into a message with a global scope instead of just a Japanese one.

I have to confess, however, that my selections were heavily influenced by something I read prior to compiling said post.

The Difficult Question

On March 15th, Fast Company regular contributor John Pavlus dared himself — and others — to answer the following: “Is This Poster to Aid Japan’s Tsunami Victims a Crime Against Design?”. The “poster” implied by the title is in reference to the generally well-received “Help Japan” print created by Signalnoise, and is the subject of Pavlus’ conflicted feelings over purchasing a copy for his own personal consumption. The resulting write-up is a hard but necessary examination of the motivations behind designing for disaster.

Asking difficult questions comes with being put in a difficult position — and it happens, sometimes unwittingly. Pavlus’ hesitant tone of writing, however, indicates he was fully aware of the weight of his words. Sure enough, it elicited a lot of responses, which covered a wide spectrum of views. Some in agreement, some vehemently disagreeing, but all are as interesting as they are passionate. On the other hand, it would have been better without the occasional pot shot, but their presence is only quite telling of the strength of Pavlus’ message.

Seeing Red

Pavlus starts off by praising the poster’s soft aesthetics, and does not deny its success as a catalyst for awareness. Signalnose’s effort rakes in USD 7000 in funds for the Canadian Red Cross, and the news of its reprint is met with much enthusiasm. However, what appears to be a premised pre-occupation with “pretty things” makes Pavlus question his own motives of buying a copy:

Let’s say I did buy one of these posters: what on earth am I supposed to do with it? Hang it in my living room like some overly aestheticized/sanitized symbol of a blindly horrific natural disaster that I had no direct experience of? Or, worse, as some sick, bragging monument to my own willingness to ‘help’? To be honest, the only sane thing to do with a poster like this might be to just burn the thing as soon as it arrives in the mail.

Although Pavlus questions the motives of consumption in exchange for donation, it coloured my criteria when compiling sample work for my post on the creative response. Most of the designs I’ve happened upon during my search employed the sun-disc of the Japanese flag, creative license exercised in the interspersing of the key elements relating to the earthquake and tsunami. Hairline cracks, circles identifying epicentres, the First Aid Cross, seismic waves, and references to Hokusai’s The Great Wave off Kanagawa were evidence of that research. It is without a doubt the designers’ intentions were noble, but instead of the rich red design element being a symbol of national pride and endurance, the results of its rehashing seemed almost… violent.

Creating is not the crime, for the act of creation is the instinctual remedy and the opposite of destruction. I also think the issue self-promotion in the midst of creating designs for charity is unavoidable, seeing as it is normal to become curious about the faces behind anything that propels the world forward. Besides, can we really be completely anonymous?

But I was uncomfortable with how help was being directed by creating, capturing, and marketing designs so suggestive of brutality. Is shock factor through design really necessary, when so much mainstream media coverage had already been dedicated to the grisly details? Pavlus asks if there would be the same amount of response had there been no well-designed aid collateral to connect the Canadian Red Cross to the much-needed USD 7000. Looking at the world as it is, there is no definitive answer. After all, we have grown long accustomed to getting more bang for the buck. But I sat back and mulled it over, anyway.

Signal to Noise

… shouldn’t our desire to donate come from actual compassion, not as a side effect of our fascination with pretty artifacts? Indeed it should.

Perhaps another angle to consider is the signal to noise ratio of the entire creative response. Disasters tend to evoke an emotional response, and Pavlus’ examination of conscience is no exception. It is hardly a bad thing, because creations triggered by any sort of personal resonance is meaningful. However, it can be all too easy to get caught up in the emotional aspects of it all. In this case — if you allow me to conjecture — an excess of designers campaigning for awareness with their continuous output of creations, when most are already largely aware.

The amount of internet users today could possibly back this claim. Compared to just a decade ago, the voice of the internet is now far more audible, faster, and evolved. With connections reaching speeds that far impress the olden days of dial-up, information can be exchanged in real-time. For the creatives, digital is readily available. There is an easier access to graphics software, allowing the proficient to create and disseminate. It also paves the way for far more convenience from the more manual techniques used in the design industry decades ago. With that said, this is in no way downplaying the years of training today’s designers undergo to hone their craft. However, it is worth remembering that in less digitally connected times, it was far more difficult to get their work shown to many people in a short amount of time.

Factoring these, therein possibly lies the problem. Raising awareness for Japan only deals with the beginning, and Pavlus dares to ask what direction should designers be taking after that initial period. In this respect, I do find myself agreeing with him. Print posters are well and good in the beginning, but there is an environmental impact in its production. Then, what?

Perhaps a re-routing of this passion can turn some of the excess noise into well-invested energy. In the midst of people donating their time and money, creatives are direly needed in the field to provide solutions that can temper the disaster aftermath. Others are good at finding ways to keep the media engaged long after the so-called “initial hype” has faded. Finding that personal fit depends on personal circumstance, of course, but we already seem to have some of the tools at our disposal.

(Also, signal to noise ratio? Signalnoise? It wasn’t lost on me, folks.)

A Necessary Dialogue

Pavlus’ multilateral questions are loaded. With the countless ways to broach the issue, I do not have a fixed opinion. It is possible for some of these posters to become memorialised, its sentiments and context captured forever in a museum display case. For all one knows, the indignation felt by those reacting to Pavlus’ article will transform into a soft reverence. As grief fades, resilience and compassion remain. Perhaps alongside those, a sympathetic view of Pavlus’ post will, too, be remembered instead.

I firmly believe Pavlus brought forward an important and much-needed discussion. I applaud him for stepping forward, fully risking the backlash that happened, and reminding people in the design industry to take that extra few seconds to re-examine their motivations behind their creations. With the recent aftershocks in Christchurch, New Zealand, I wonder if people are now considering these questions.

What About You?

Do you think the sudden influx of posters is an adequate way of directing global attention to disaster-afflicted areas? How else can the design industry utilise their creativity and intelligence as relief efforts? What is your stance on John Pavlus’ write-up?

I like this? I love this? Hello?

The Jimmy Eat World Weekend: Day 2

Maria Celina — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 16:54:46 +0000

Jimmy Eat World, Nusa Indah Theatre at Balai Kartini: April 3, 2011

This post contains image-heavy content. Click on the any of the photos to view them on a larger scale.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

The Jimmy Eat World Weekend: Day 1

Maria Celina — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 04:00:59 +0000

The Jakarta Tour: April 2, 2011

This post contains image-heavy content. Click on the any of the photos to view them on a larger scale.

I like this? I love this? Hello?

2011 Sendai Disaster: When Creatives Respond

Maria Celina — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 23:53:23 +0000

We Are All Connected

This post contains large images that may compromise slower internet connections.

On the afternoon of Friday, March 11, 2011 an earthquake measuring a 9.0 on the Richter scale struck off the coast of Japan, triggering a tsunami ten metres tall. Tsunami warnings were immediately issued in surrounding countries, and unusually high water levels were reported as far as the Western coasts of North America, even claiming the life of a 25-year-old man from Crescent City, California. The disaster has left over 9,000 dead, over 2,700 injured, and over 13,000 missing. The numbers are still climbing.

Radiation exposure from leaks in several plants have become a cause for national concern and neighbouring countries have begun to brace themselves. However, the people of Japan have not sat around helplessly, even with the amount of foreign aid and relief efforts directed at them. Known for industriousness beneath the surface of a collectivist society, they have proceeded to repair as much of their infrastructure without delay. The amount of concern and vigilance resonating from different corners of the world over their stoic resilience is staggering.

Similarly, a response just as strong is evident among the creative. In an effort to make their own contributions, artists have stepped up to express their reactions in the way they are intimately familiar. Coloured in the language of creativity, a large smattering of posters, prints, surface designs, and photographs have been made and disseminated online, in order to raise both awareness and money for our Japanese brethren.

Japan Earthquake 2011 Posters by Linda Yuki Nakanishi

Canadian designer Linda Yuki Nakanishi is the daughter of Japanese immigrants. She still maintains a strong cultural connection to Japan from far away, having the combined benefit of her parents’ culture and an outsider’s perspective as a strong influence on her works. In response to the events that unfolded, Nakanishi created two posters in an effort to raise funds. The series, named “Japan Earthquake 2011”, is a sensitive portrayal of grace in the face of disaster.

The first poster, above left, “Japan Earthquake 2011, No. 1”, views the beauty of the lotus in its entirety. The focal point is the red lotus, which represents love and compassion. From the surface, the lotus appears to be a very delicate creature, seemingly docile with its short-lived blooming time and sweet colouring. However, in the watery depths are sturdy roots firmly gripping the mud that borne it. Nakanishi views the Japanese in a similar way, resilient and equipped with a silent resolve to endure, a value in which her parents have also imparted to her.

The above right, “Japan Earthquake 2011, No. 2”, calls for humility. To get angry is easy, but it’s futile. No one can qualify the meaning of any of these disasters, because we do not have the place nor the power to speak for Mother Nature. To view the disaster as ugly or karmic is a very short-sighted and misplaced notion.

Both designs are also available as stretched canvases, iPhone cases, iPhone skins, and iPod skins. All proceeds of Nakanishi’s project will contribute to the restoration efforts by the following organisation:

Canadian Red Cross (Donate Now!)
Canadian Red Cross National Office
170 Metcalfe Street, Suite 300
Ottawa, ON K2P 2P2
Canada
(Toll-free Telephone: 1-800-418-1111)

Help Japan by Luca Molnar

Hungarian graphic designer and illustrator Luca Molnar designed a poster with a mirrored concept. Two phoenixes face each other in their vibrant glory, with their scarlet feathers falling upon the whited-out vegetation below. Japan has a long history of enduring natural disasters of jaw-dropping proportions, as evidenced by their infrastructure and the preparedness of its residents. With every disaster comes a re-birth, making the legendary bird — and more importantly, its accompanying traits — an apt symbol.

Molnar’s poster is available for download on her website.

Find Hope in Still Waters by Sophie Adams

Sophie Adams is a graphic design student currently doing her undergraduate at the Lincoln School of Art and Design. In an effort to raise money for the disaster, she designed a print and screen print for a personal charity project entitled, “Find Hope in Still Waters”. The beauty of those words caught my attention. This project is my personal favourite, especially the above left print. The money collected for this project will go to the following relief charity:

ShelterBox (Donate Now!)
ShelterBox Main Office
Unit 1A Water-Ma-Trout
Helston, Cornwall TR13 0LW
United Kingdom
(Charity Registration Number: 1096479)

Japan Tsunami Disaster Poster by Laurence King

The cultures of the United States, Germany, and Japan are part of designer Laurence King‘s formative years, so the recent events were particularly poignant. King created a poster that not only inspires reparation and future actions, but intersperses the English and Japanese characters to form a solid message — to help, to heal, to hope — that could be understood in more than one tongue. Below are the logos for three of the affected areas: Iwate, Miyagi, and Fukushima. Their simplicity against an earthy landscape speaks volumes.

The poster is available for download on King’s website.

Help Japan by Hilda Grahnat

“Help Japan” is the charity project of Swedish freelance photographer and graphic design student Hilda Grahnat. Grahnat is selling photo prints she took on her travel to Japan, and postcards that she designed as part of a collaborative project with a friend. All of them capture snippets of this culture in its quiet, unimposing beauty. Proceeds from this shop will be donated to the following organisation:

Japanese Red Cross Society (Donate Now!)
Japanese Red Cross Society National Headquarters
1-1-3 Shiba-Daimon, Minato-ku
Tokyo 105-8521
Japan
(Telephone: +81-3-3438-1311)

How You Can Help

If any of you readers know of any charities, organisations, and resources that can help with the rescue and aid efforts but have not yet been mentioned in this post, kindly put them in the comments. I will update the list accordingly.

Global Giving (Donate Now!)
1023 15th Street NW 12th Floor
Washington DC 20005
USA
(Telephone: +6221-799-2325)

Indonesian Red Cross
Jl. Jenderal Gatot Subroto Kav. 96
Jakarta 12790
Indonesia
(Telephone: +6221-799-2325)

IFRC (Donate Now!)
P.O. Box 372
CH-1211 Geneva 19
Switzerland
(Telephone: +41-2-2730-4222)

Save the Children (Donate Now!)
54 Wilton Road
Westport, CT 06880
USA
(Toll-free Telephone: 1-800-728-3843)

World Food Programme (Donate Now!)
Via C. G. Viola 68
Parco dei Medici
00148 Rome RM
Italy
(Telephone: +39-06-65131)

How You Can Contribute and Find Information

(All images are credited to their respective owners. Click on any image to go to its source.)

I like this? I love this? Hello?