Life In The Future

May 19, 2010

It was 1984, or perhaps 1983, when I first entered the world of my future dreams. Horizons. Say it with me, “Horizons.” Feel how it just spills off the tongue, flows effortlessly from the lips. The word on its own imbues a sense of hopeful life to so many nascent forms taking shape off in the distance. That impossibly thin line stretching across your field of view, from left to right, delineating the moment you cross from the here to the there. And there is so very amazing. There is the future. But not just any future, a future crafted from the deepest depths of the present. That was Horizons, the future of my dreams, as seen from Epcot Center in the early 1980s.

After that first visit to the future, I went back many times – probably fifteen or twenty in all. Each trip to the future seeming just a little less “future” and more “futuristic,” less tomorrow’s possibilities and more yesterday’s hopeful snapshot of a future that solved all our problems. That is, all our problems as of October 1st, 1983. Horizons stood as a testament to our distinctly American dreams of how tomorrow would be so much better than today. It’s just that today became yesterday very quickly.

As I continued to visit Horizons I became fascinated by the ever increasing disconnect between this yesterday’s tomorrow and the real tomorrow that was quickly becoming a very different today.

Back in the present I was given this amazing book from 1976. Another view of yesterday’s tomorrow. Contained in its pages is a delicious array of thoughts and predictions about what is to pass in the decades ahead. Many of these decades now rest squarely in our past. This book, Horizons, and a small army of other references to a former future all serve as source material for a film we are producing about yesterday’s tomorrow. In the meanwhile, expect more tidbits from this book. Page 115 is particularly exciting.


Leaving on that midnight train to Georgia

January 8, 2010

Every time we set out for the great southlands of these United States, this song plays in my mind. On infinite repeat. Oddly, though, it’s not particularly apropos. First, we shan’t be traveling by rail. If such service did exist between our home and destination, we’d certainly use it (hello, Amtrak);  but it doesn’t. Drat. Second, we’re not heading for Georgia, but it’s neighbor to the west, Alabama. Last, though we often feel emotionally and physically clobbered by the time we arrive in the Birmingham airport – much as one feels at the stroke of midnight after an evening of New York Times Sunday crossword puzzles – we actually leave at the ripe time of 7:05 in the am.

So, perhaps I should be belting out, “Leaving on that morning flight to Alabama.” Catchy? No, I think I’ll stick to the original, as my edits, though factual, aren’t particularly sonorous.

Melodious fiction clobbers dissonant truth.

Though I wonder if the two states might consider swapping names. It would only be for a short while, say eight to twelve months. Governors?


Good ideas. Apparently we’ve got ‘em.

December 30, 2009

We are not a company that likes to toot its own horn. We shy away from blatant self-promotion, shameless plugging and personal back-slapping. Alright, let’s be honest, any paragraph that starts like this one has only one place to go – straight into the slap-our-own-back, look-how-great-we-are slosh bucket. And this one is about to do just that. I apologize in advance.

Apparently the Maine Arts Commission has decided that goodfocus (3rd person self-reference) has, in fact, had a good idea. We thought we’d had a few recently, but apparently it’s really just the one. That one being our currently-in-production documentary ‘Designing Change.’ They have sent word regarding the goodness of the idea for this film in the form of their ‘Good Idea Grant.’

Aside from making us feel happy, warm, cozy and perhaps even smug, the wonderful aspect of this grant is that it is intended to be used to buy nifty gizmos to help one make their idea a reality. In our case, this means a small bevvy of filmmaking tools that we’ve been eyeing for some time.

To wit, we’d like to share this list with you so that you, too, may oggle the beauty and niftiness of each of these gizmos.

First, two 16GB SanDisk Extreme CompactFlash Cards for our new Canon 7D (video) camera. SanDisk is fond of saying that their cards feature a RTV silicone coating for added protection against moisture and humidity (perfect for mid-western Alabama). They are also tested to perform in extreme cold to hot environments (-13° to 185°F / -25°C to 85°C), such as are found nowhere we hope to be in the near future. The Extreme cards are subject to rigorous stress, shock, and vibration testing, which is very handy when rattling at great speed down the crevasse-laden byways of Alabama in our 1981 Volkswagen dasher (anything but) that we politely call sh*tbox.

Next, the very nifty Novoflex lens mount adapter for Nikon lens to Canon EOS bodies. Novoflex is keen to point out that although the lens will fit physically, automatic diaphragm (AE metering), or any other functions are not retained using this adapter. Unfortunately, this means that our Nikon lens with handy espresso-making function will not play on our Canon body. But our growing collection of Nikon primes will.

Possibly our favorite addition to the gear bag is another Sennheiser Evolution G2 100 Series UHF lavalier System. We’re getting this set in the new extreme lavender color scheme.

And to round out the gadgetry, a beautiful, midnight grey Zoom H4n Handy mobile 4-track recorder. The fact that it is both handy and mobile was what landed our interest. It’s so often that something is handy, but weighs ten stone, or is mobile, but never where it needs to be when it’s needed. This baby has both, in spades.

Thank you, Maine Arts Commission.


Aspen [Design Summit]

November 18, 2009

From the OED:

aspen |ˈaspən|
noun
a poplar tree with rounded, long-stalked, and typically coarsely-toothed leaves that tremble in even a slight breeze. • Genus Populus, family Salicaceae: several species, in particular the North American quaking aspen ( P. tremuloides) and bigtooth aspen ( P. grandidentata) and the European P. tremula.

No, in fact, that wasn’t from the OED, it was from the OSX Dictionary widget. Yes, this indicates a level of laziness uncommon in me. There is, in fact, an OED just 27.7 feet from where I sit – I know this because I actually got up to measure the distance (ed: no he didn’t). But even though I went to the basement, fetched the 25′ tape measure, made two measurements to determine the exact distance betwixt myself and our OED, I did not, in fact, take the extra five minutes to read that tome’s definition of “aspen.” Why? First, there’s the 4 point type which requires a magnifying glass to actually read. Then there’s the reading glasses I’d have to fetch from the car in order to read the magnified text. Etc.

The point is that we’ve returned from the Aspen Design Summit. The place/gathering which was hopefully to provide our film about Greensboro, Alabama a most profound beginning. In retrospect, we should have realized this would not be the outcome. A brave contingent of architects, designers and world-changers meeting in the ardent autumn colors of Aspen, Colorado to tackle the blight of rural poverty in Hale County, Alabama might not wish to have their feat documented by our little film crew. And, in fact, they didn’t, so we didn’t

However, our trip did introduce us to many amazing people that we were able to film. And while it wasn’t the outcome we had wished for, it was the best outcome we could have hoped for.


A Pie Shop?

October 28, 2009

It is difficult to succinctly explain why we chose to make a documentary about a pie shop. It would be easy to say it’s because we love pie. I do love pie, but a gluten intolerance makes it difficult (actually impossible) to enjoy this sweet treat. Is there something about pie shops in general that peaks our curiosity or excites our imagination? No, not exactly. But there is something about this particular pie shop that we love and want to share. For a taste, watch this.


Someone loves us – or, at least our nascent documentary

October 16, 2009

Today we opened the goodfocus post office box in our sleepy little town and found a small, but very happening party inside. Apparently LEF (we did 10 minutes of research and still don’t know what it stands for either) decided to host said party in our post box by awarding us a small pre-production grant for the feature documentary we are currently working on in Hale County, Alabama.

As excited as I am about the award, I’m finding it very difficult to put aside the question: what does LEF stand for? It’s a series of three capital letters, doesn’t that suggest an acronym? Interestingly, during a panel discussion about documentary film funding at the recent CIFF (Camden International Film Festival – they seem pretty open about their acronym) I heard LEF refered to as both L.E.F. and LEF, as in “lef”. As in, the word “left” with the final consonant dropped – precisely how we pronounce it in my sultry youth in New Orleans. So, is it L.E.F. or lef? And if it’s lef, what does that mean, exactly? Is it a, currently, non-sense word; the intended purpose of which is to add a new short-hand, linguistic concept to our American vernacular? Is the sound of “lef” to become synonymous with “good documentaries funded through the generosity of private sponsorship?” I’ve tried recalling similar attempts at this tactic and haven’t had much success; the obvious ones are “google” and “spam,” but both are “real” words simply appropriated by new concepts that overshadow their previous meanings.

How often are truly new words introduced into the English language? Yes, asking this question begs a plethora of tidy responses suggesting the commonplace occurrence of such linguistic parthenogenesis, but in the everyday scheme of things, it’s quite rare.

What does this suggest? That LEF is, in fact, an acronym – regardless of how it is pronounced? LEF or L.E.F., it is a series of letters that are the leading characters in an otherwise unidentifiable series of words which, when taken in whole, have a meaning that in some way suggests the goals, history or intended purpose of the organization. This being the case – why isn’t it obvious? Does LEF, or L.E.F., or lef intentionally obfuscate their meaning in order to save themselves from ridicule or, worse yet, base humor? What does that ‘E’ really mean?

Regardless of their meaning, however, we are, at present, very much enamored with these three letters.

Thank you, LEF (or lef, or L.E.F.) for seeing the possibility that we see in Hale County, and in us.


Guarding Greensboro

July 11, 2009

If this looks like procrastination, then it isn’t, otherwise not.

Yesterday the book I ordered as research material for our Hale County/Greensboro Alabama documentary arrived. Tangentially, or nearly so, this documentary concept is a parallel to the Designing Change story that we started (un)covering on our recent trip to the rural south. We became enamored with the rural Alabama town that was our home for two weeks. On its surface, it displayed all the features of Southern small-town-ness. But one scratch, one glance behind a curtain and suddenly the place seemed to ask more questions that it answered. And what better way to discover a place than to tell its story – or, better, the story of its people.

And in that vein, came the book. Guarding Greensboro (Hubbs, 2003) is, on its surface, a history of the Greensboro’s militia – a company of men that served together during the American Civil war (or, the War of Northern Aggression, or The Great Northern Rebellion depending on which set of grandparents you’re talking to). But, like the town it describes, once into its depths, the book reveals much subtle detail about the lives, loves, deaths and driving ambitions of grandure of the town’s early citizenry.

At a third of the way through the book (really, too early to write a review, which this isn’t, by the way), I’m struck by how many names I recognize – great-grandfathers and grandmothers of people I’ve met in that small town. And what strikes me is that though the book was written about a time-span of 40 years over beginning of 170 years ago, the stories it tells and the characters it portrays seem incredibly similar to the ones I encountered just two weeks ago in that same little Alabama town.

No, I’m not saying the town is exactly the same as it was. Much has changed – slavery has ended, cotton is gone, many of the grand houses along Main street lie in disrepair, catfish is king – but still there is this feeling of a town that’s never quite hit its stride, that’s never quite come fully together, that’s never quite become the community it could have been. It’s both sad and uplifting. 180 years of striving.

Perhaps the town should have been called Tenacity, Alabama.

—–

Hubbs, G. W., Guarding Greensboro. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 2003.


Welcome to Project M

July 8, 2009

When we spoke to John Beilenberg, founder of Project M, before he left for Alabama he said he wasn’t sure what this year’s Project M south would be like. He told us to come down and see for ourselves. And, since we’ve recently undertaken the task of creating a documentary about designing for social change, we decided we should do just that.

John was heading to a piece of Alabama called Hale County – currently the second poorest county in the United States (more on that distinction later). This summer was his third in the small town of Greensboro. For the last three years he has spent a month in this small town of just under 3,000 with a group of young  designers from all over the country. His primary goal – to teach them to think wrong. In fact, we heard on numerous occasions that the process he goes through with these young designers makes them unemployable. Or, more precisely, that they leave Project M with the desire to not work within the traditional design industry. What, exactly, does that mean? We needed to find out; to experience John and his Project M’ers (as they call themselves); to experience Greensboro, Alabama.

So we packed our filming goodies and went south to find out for ourselves.


Return from the land down-under

July 1, 2009

Yes, the title is a thinly veiled reference to one of the greatest 80s pop tunes to come from, well, the land downunder (that’s Australia to you and me). More specifically, and hemespherically correct, however, it’s a reference to our recent (yesterday) return from Hale County, Alabama.

We went to Hale County – the small but vibrant town of Greensboro specifically – to follow a group of ten young creative people participating in Project M (more about this to come). Two weeks ago I would have called this decanthrop a contingent of designers, but Hale County and John Beilenberg changed all that. These ten creatives came to Greensboro, Alabama, to gain and perhaps confront a new perspective of what it means to effect positive change. Apparently change is in abundant supply in Hale County, though perhaps not obviously so.

Our following of the Emmers, as we would come to know them, was and is in service to a documentary we are currently filming – more on that to come as well.

For now it’s good to be home, though we’re ready to go back. I turned to Brooke as we stepped off the plane in Manchester, New Hampshire at 12:31 am on a chilly Monday morning and said, “can’t we just stay on the plane and ride it south?” Apparently not – it was going on to Chicago.