16 August 2026
Saw some more John Smith today at Whitechapel:
Record (2021) The Black Tower (1985-87) Blight (1994-96) Dad’s Stick (2012) Twice (2020) Lost Sound (1998-2001)
The Black Tower is the one still lingering. A simple, intuitive construction from elements that I couldn't help but draw painterly parallels from while I watched. I'm first thinking of drawn-out close-up shots of bare blue sky that are then revealed to be a kitchen counter surface or a piece of paper—as the narration and the plot devolve from something linear and trustworthy into a kind of relaxed mania, so do the film's formal elements. I remember one part where the tower's silhouette segments the sky, creating an arrangement of triangles in black and blue, then rhythmically expands and contracts with the sound of footsteps until the blue is compressed into one small triangle in the top left corner, which then also appears to expand and contract as the eye loses track of which shape is the agent of the movement. And so I was thinking about the ground in painting, of toggling containing edges on and off, how extreme close-up manipulate perceived distance, and ways to convey varying sensorial experiences of proximity. It also circles around something that has come up in conversation a lot recently, which I can maybe describe as an acknowledgement of the blind spots inherent to phenomenal perception. Dealing with limits. Now remembering shots of the same tree viewed from a high residential window: bare in winter, green and full in spring, and having its leaves shorn. Hidden things happening despite the witness.