revision COMPLETE scheduled for publication
Marianna Milhorat
Marianna Milhorat An artist's statement Where is there to belong to? To not feel strange? To not ask permission? Ground. Home. A
familiar land. Une Terre familière is structured as a series of long-take vignettes, each centered around a site purposing a collision of nature and artifice. Within highly manicured environments,
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these sites attempt to imitate natural processes and un-peopled ecosystems and to preserve and manage elements of nature. The figures in Une Terre familière struggle to do
their best with what they have- to find their own sun at the tanning salon, their own clouds in the steam room- to improve, to connect, to find “home” in the world.
An interview with
Marianna Milhorat A radical use of long-takes, wide angle shots showing rarefied spaces and geometrical patterns are the minimalist elements of Une Terre familiére's powerful language. Marianna Milhorat's refined cinema explores space as a touchable surface, revealing the hidden struggle of its characters, isolated figures. Marianna, could you tell us about a particular episode that helped the birth of this film?
environment attempting to capture what Chicago might have looked like in prehistoric times.
I had just moved to Chicago and was trying to come to terms with being in geographical locale whose landscape I didn’t find particularly inspiring. My previous work had been motivated by questions surrounding our changing relationship to nature and place. I wondered: Where is nature here?
I began to visit and investigate other sites attempting to replicate natural environments and simulate natural processes, as well those offering a curated or controlled experience of natural attractions. Contrary to rarefied spaces, I sought out spaces that were commonplace, part of many people’s daily routines: museums, tanning salons, public beaches, etc. It was through shooting that I sought to visually transform these spaces into something out of the ordinary, to offer new ways of looking at and thinking about them.
With this question in mind, I visited a nature conservatory in Chicago, the Garfield Conservatory. I watched as tour groups hovered over unidentified plants, camera-clad, in an
This led me to a new inquiry: If nature as wilderness provides a vehicle for escape, relaxation, or connectedness–or fulfills some other innate human need–where do city-dwellers turn to satisfy these same needs? Is the Conservatory an adequate stand-in?
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Une Terre familiére itself starts with a scene from the Garfield Conservatory similar to the one I first observed. The concept of space, not seen merely as a physical environment, has a crucial importance in your artistic research. Could you introduce our readers to this fundamental aspect of Une Terre familiËre? I am interested in the psychological dimensions and impact of space.Landscapes, spaces, and objects are layered. Embedded within them are the individual and collective stories, experiences, and histories of people and times that came before. The past is present; the future, present. With limited brain space, we don’t necessarily think about all of the elements that compose a place at a given time. We flatten space to surface that allows us to get from point A to B as we make our way through the day. Or, if you’re like me, you fail at this a lot. Film can bring these elements to the forefront; it is an architecture through which
filmmakers can create a new experience of a space or create a space entirely of their own. In UTF, I was specifically interested in how mise-en-scene, visual and sonic shifts, sound-image relations, and duration could be utilized to create new experiences of mundane or familiar environments, to create an atmosphere of the uncanny. The opening shots of UTF–the Garfield Conservatory and a public beach–are not necessarily locatable; the Conservatory could be a tropical vista, the beach is enshrouded in a fog. I was interested in the long take as means for allowing perceptual shifts to play out. The tropical vista shrinks to a human scale when a woman enters the frame sporting a hot pink jogging suit; the mystery of the beach is broken by a woman pushing a stroller across it. I wanted to further reinforce the uncanniness introduced by this intervention of artificial upon scenes that might otherwise appear “natural”
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through insistent symmetric framing, visually setting up “nature” as a stage. By encouraging new ways of looking at and thinking about space–looking and thinking about where we are–I want to raise questions about who we are, where we came from, and where we are headed. The figures you show in Une Terre familiére struggle to find “home” in the world. In a sense, this collision of nature and artifice characterizing your film visually renders the concept of the crisis of presence described first by the ethno-anthropologist Ernesto De Martino. What are your biggest influences in art and how they have affected your work?
I take inspiration from the rich history of landscape filmmaking, as well as from my mentors and colleagues. My professor in Montréal and continued mentor, Richard Kerr, and his personal, formally adventurous works, had a big influence on me and my approach to
filmmaking: one of continual experimentation, of pushing the art form… to never make the same film twice. The transformative potential of space is certainly an essential aspect of my films. Space offers a place to be. When I can’t yell off a mountain or run free in an endless field, I look to other artists to provide this for me: I seek out filmmakers with a strong sense of space–Andrei Tarkovsky, Chantal Akerman, James Benning–those who push the potential of sound-image relations and montage–Leslie Thornton, Arthur Lipsett, Jack Chambers–and those working in the travelogue form–Chris Marker, Trinh T. Minh Ha. When I’m feeling bummed out about art or my current state, Nathaniel Dorsky’s Devotional Cinema and Gaston Bachelard’s Poetics of Space are two books I find some comfort in returning to. My biggest influences are my colleagues and those making work around me. I am inspired by anyone that finds a way to keep creating.
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We are impressed by the contrast between colder and warmer colors shot by shot: from the first time we watched Une Terre familiére we had the impression that your use of color is not merely aimed at achieving extremely refined composition: your cinematography seems to be deeply influenced by the emotional potential of color: could you better explain this aspect of your shooting style?
I was interested in how saturated colors–the room of yellow bikes, the blue steam room–set characters apart from their surroundings. To me, the intense vibrancy of color contributes to the environments reading as sets. At other times characters themselves are brightly dressed and stand out against more natural tones. The possibility of color as an experience–as a potential source of therapy, healing, or even impetus to an altered psychological state–intrigues me. If we can’t turn to a disappearing wilderness for healing, can we find healing through clever constructions? I think I was more welcome to
allowing humor into this piece. Color can be humorous (and humor healing). Hot pink is funny; jogging shoes are definitely funny; being a human can go either way. Could you take us through your creative process when starting a new film? My films begin with a central concept or inquiry. I research and read, take field trips to expand my thinking, location scout, and begin sketching out ideas. UTF began with a few key images. Through shooting, my thoughts on the subject led me in new directions. While my films involve some staging, I mostly work with elements that are out of my control. I do a lot of waiting for the Captions 1, details right moment, when everything comes together just so. Your video production is very miscellaneous: how has your production process changed over the years? In truth, I think I have become more rigid over the years. My editing process is intuitive, but shooting and production are very intentional. I'd
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like to allow myself to begin with a seed of an idea and to explore an inquiry through the process, rather than attempting to reel in a world of thinking to a single film. But then, I think that’s part of what makes my work what it is.
about and promote our work! (Thanks!) The divide between festival and gallery audiences still feels great. We need writers to get artists and art enthusiasts interested in what’s happening in moving image arts.
Your works have been exhibited at international festivals and galleries including the Ann Arbor Film Festival and the Museum of Contemporary Art- Chicago. What experiences have you had exhibiting in different locations? What was the audience's feedback?
The Illinois scene is often underrated, nonetheless we have found it very interesting and rich with young experimental filmmakers, often working with limited budgets, but coming up with remarkable results. What do you think of the Chicago artistic scene, from a filmmaker's point of view?
I am so appreciative to have screened at a range of venues: from DIY venues to high-profile festivals. Screenings and festivals feel celebratory by nature. Conversation and exchange is what creates a sense of community within experimental film. Write-ups and reviews tend to be positive, as negative reviews of work few people are likely to see anyway don't generate much in the way of dialogue. But, we need more critics, magazines, and blogs to write
Chicago has an immensely supportive arts community. I moved here four years ago to complete my MFA. Part of what drew me other than the rock star faculty and program at The University of Illinois- Chicago, was the community of filmmakers I had been introduced to through the Chicago Underground Film Festival, which was one of the first festivals to begin screening my work. Chicago benefits from a handful of strong arts programs, which other than cultivating a
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concentrated body of active and critical makers, provides a sizeable and interested audience for screenings and other exhibitions. In comparison to other cities, Chicago also has relatively affordable rent. This means filmmakers and artists can devote a higher percentage of their time to their practices, rather than to making ends meet. Choosing to be an experimental or non-commercial artist in the United States necessitates a certain DIY spirit. Financial support for the arts is extremely limited. We share resources, exchange favors, and make it happen. For me, it’s about not knowing how else to exist. That said, I am trying to move back to Canada. Thanks for sharing your time and thoughts, Marianna. What's next for Marianna Milhorat? Do you have a particular project in mind?
I’ve got a lot of beginnings on the table right now! I’m working on a series of video portraits around DIY science and relationships between the domestic, the toxic, and the unknown. I am interested in the possibilities of video as a tool for
drafting and a way of balancing out longer-form film work with something more immediate. I’m also grant writing to travel north to work with some science communities involved in research around environmental change. A short biography Marianna Milhorat (b. 1983) is a Chicago-based filmmaker, originating from Vermont, USA. She received her MFA from the University of IllinoisChicago in 2012 and BFA from the Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinéma at Concordia University in 2007. Working in film and video, she investigates contemporary relationships to landscape and environment through transformations of space and perspective. Milhorat’s work has screened internationally at festivals, including the International Film Festival Rotterdam, the Ann Arbor Film Festival, and the Images Festival. Her work has received awards at festivals including the Images Festival, EXIS (ExNow), and the Chicago Underground Film Festival.