Tacita Dean Film
Tacita Dean Film
Tacita Dean Film
Alexander Horwath:
Dear Tacita,
I am struggling with the mission you gave me. There is certainly no lack of reasons for
supporting the continued existence of film. Quite the opposite – and this is my problem: the
reasons seem so manifold and obvious that I can’t fathom why anyone in their right mind
would want to assume that “analogue film is completely replaceable by digital media without
any loss.” Why should any analogue art form be completely replaceable by digital media?
No, I’m not going to take a faux-naïve stance. I do realize that we’ve become engulfed by the
totalitarian dream of a new world-at-our-doorstep. At this doorstep, all sorts of things must first
be lost (replaced) in order for their imagined “content” to enter the celestial realm of
“losslessness”. Analogue tools and artifacts must become “easy to handle” and be rendered
as numbers. They must get rid of “themselves” – of their inbuilt material resistance, their
unique physical characteristics and the concrete history inscribed in their bodies. Just like the
“free flow of capital” has successfully shaken off its ties to the real world economy, the “free
flow of content” no longer wants to be chained to the matter from which it was born.
Derivative activities abound.
The upside is similarly clear to me, and as the word implies it might also involve an uphill battle
here or there.
4. The museum is not the worst place to end up, quite the opposite. Even in the most
“unthinking” museum, the strange material shape of the artifact reminds visitors of alternative
forms of social and cultural organisation and, therefore, that the currently dominant forms and
norms are not the only ones imaginable: forms and norms are never “natural”, but historical
and man-made. What will be necessary, of course – and this is already slowly happening – is
that museums act as responsibly and respectfully towards the film artifact (and the historical
system of performing film publicly) as they have done with other types of materials – and as
some film museums have been doing for decades.
3. At a point in time where “progressivism” in cultural politics and in the so-called creative
industries is no longer tied to any progressive social or political project and almost exclusively to
technological advances, bureaucratic discourse and economic greed, the “reactionary” or
“elitist” is often the only person still willing to question the status quo and engage with
historical and utopian concepts. Today, the expression ‘You're history!’ is meant as an insult,
not as a factual statement. Isn’t it essential, therefore, to side with those so insulted in order to
keep alive any notion of historicity?
2. As soon as film fully arrives at the museum, it will become (a bit) easier for educators,
journalists and media practitioners to update the general lingo – to reconnect the term “film” to
its original meaning and to the actual medium. The entertainment industry and the large
majority of other moving image practices will, by necessity, move further and further away
from what can be contained by “film”, and they will continue to do so. This is not a bad thing.
1. Today, digital is the norm. Film has become an obstacle. Its “obstacular” nature is both its
biggest weakness (in the wider world of the economy, media and entertainment) and its
biggest strength (on its way to the museum and towards being accepted in society as a
uniquely different, historically limited, but enormously influential technology and art form). In
order for film’s original strength to be preserved (other influential art practices in history are also
being preserved as such and not only as digital versions of themselves), all citizens and
institutions who care about art, history and democratic alternatives must address film’s current
weakness in a hard and clear manner:
The image I have selected for this page represents one of 2254 film frames gathered and
“scissored” by an anonymous man during his childhood, the final years of the Austro-Hungarian
Empire (1913-1918). This collection came to the Film Museum in 67 small envelopes, most of
them self-built with semi-transparent paper. Each of the envelopes contained roughly 35
individual frames ordered according to the collector’s personal poetics. The man depicted in the
frame is encircled by various displays and images. He seems to be at a loss. He looks inside
himself. It is not clear to me if he should be seen as a pessimist or as an optimist. I also
wonder what the sabre is for.