this little field
Stella Corby
25
January 2024
25
January
2024
This text is presented as part of the Seventh Gallery Emerging Writers’ Program 2024, alongside the Seventh Cinema program event Mermaids, or Aiden in Wonderland and Neptune Frost, which included a pre-screening performance by Fetle Wondimu Nega.
Seventh Cinema was guest curated by Kori Miles and Lucie Loy.
Comfortably I lean back, my head perched against the knee of a dear friend as I face the outdoor cinema screen. Despite the cold air around us, there’s an undeniable warmth in the atmosphere. We all share this cosy ambience, huddled in oversized blankets with a glass of red in one hand and a box of freshly popped popcorn in the other. As we’re welcomed into the space by Lucie and Kori, I begin to feel the anticipation from the crowd, almost palpable as they make their way back to their seats and the gentle hum of the projector begins to sound over this little field.
There’s a silence amongst the audience as we all watch on, absorbed by the flecks of colour dancing around the illuminated screen. A series of numbers and letters tesselate in rows of coded dialogue. It’s the practice of live coding, a generation of digital audio and visuals, something I’ve never seen before. Fetle Wondimu Nega (also known as Nū) sits to the left of the projector screen, administering these codes key by key into her laptop, producing the improvisational soundscape we all attentively listen to. My eyes glue to the oscillating soundwaves marked in fluorescent pink and blue, and I begin to sink further into myself.
The ambient sounds now blend into a distant murmur as my mind begins to wander elsewhere. With each new breath, a wave of relaxation washes over me until I’m suddenly re-centred in the moment, brought back by the radiance of vocals that must have begun at some stage. At first, I’m taken aback that a computer can produce such ethereal qualities, until I shift my gaze to the left and find each melody being effortlessly sung by the artist herself. Each new note in her voice carries with it the same warmth that fills the surrounding atmosphere, captivating listeners as our minds are transported and our bodies remain still.
Fading out to the lyrics, “Forever young, I want to be forever young ...”
Reopening to the words that speak, “... I was born in my 23rd year, but my life was never quite mine”.
As the 2021 Afrofuturist film Neptune Frost begins to play, the drifting melodies of Nū’s soundscapes continue to linger in my mind; her experimental sounds and improvisational vocals a direct response to the captivating sci-fi musical production. Filled with blue lights and technicolour fields, Neptune Frost presents a visionary dreamscape illuminating the brutal realities of extractive economies and neocolonial powers. There’s a multidimensionality present in its storytelling, observed as it rhythmically weaves in and out of states of imagination and reality, digital and human. Characters frolic in captivating song and dance, demanding our attention. Their richly coloured costumes and otherworldly landscapes add to the visual ecstasy and overall wonderment that transcends the screen, reflected on this little field painted with green grass, red wine, and wide eyes.
Between the saturated pixels of colour lie fleeting glimpses of shadow, blending the cinema into the nightfall behind. We are reminded of our surroundings, our lines of sight stretching to the openness of Citizens Park and the multiple storylines unfolding in real time, in real life. We begin to notice the birds that fly above us and the footsteps that trail on the pavement, just beyond this little field. We observe those who choose to pause at the fence and momentarily watch on and those who pass by without breaking their rhythm. We are made aware of all these things as we gravitate beyond the illuminated screen and begin to position ourselves in the context of the very world around us, the world these artworks bleed into. The same world that holds these narratives, stories, and voices that we are so appreciative to witness every Thursday evening. Each week of the Seventh Cinema program, we are invited to gather together, stretching ourselves out on the lawn of Seventh Gallery to discover the serendipitous relationships that unfold through each film pairing. We weave a thread from week one to week seven, taking with us the new stories we have learnt and together enabling the cinema to act as a space for social discourse and as a space for community.
This text is presented as part of the Seventh Gallery Emerging Writers’ Program 2024, alongside the Seventh Cinema program event Mermaids, or Aiden in Wonderland and Neptune Frost, which included a pre-screening performance by Fetle Wondimu Nega.
Seventh Cinema was guest curated by Kori Miles and Lucie Loy.
Comfortably I lean back, my head perched against the knee of a dear friend as I face the outdoor cinema screen. Despite the cold air around us, there’s an undeniable warmth in the atmosphere. We all share this cosy ambience, huddled in oversized blankets with a glass of red in one hand and a box of freshly popped popcorn in the other. As we’re welcomed into the space by Lucie and Kori, I begin to feel the anticipation from the crowd, almost palpable as they make their way back to their seats and the gentle hum of the projector begins to sound over this little field.
There’s a silence amongst the audience as we all watch on, absorbed by the flecks of colour dancing around the illuminated screen. A series of numbers and letters tesselate in rows of coded dialogue. It’s the practice of live coding, a generation of digital audio and visuals, something I’ve never seen before. Fetle Wondimu Nega (also known as Nū) sits to the left of the projector screen, administering these codes key by key into her laptop, producing the improvisational soundscape we all attentively listen to. My eyes glue to the oscillating soundwaves marked in fluorescent pink and blue, and I begin to sink further into myself.
The ambient sounds now blend into a distant murmur as my mind begins to wander elsewhere. With each new breath, a wave of relaxation washes over me until I’m suddenly re-centred in the moment, brought back by the radiance of vocals that must have begun at some stage. At first, I’m taken aback that a computer can produce such ethereal qualities, until I shift my gaze to the left and find each melody being effortlessly sung by the artist herself. Each new note in her voice carries with it the same warmth that fills the surrounding atmosphere, captivating listeners as our minds are transported and our bodies remain still.
Fading out to the lyrics, “Forever young, I want to be forever young ...”
Reopening to the words that speak, “... I was born in my 23rd year, but my life was never quite mine”.
As the 2021 Afrofuturist film Neptune Frost begins to play, the drifting melodies of Nū’s soundscapes continue to linger in my mind; her experimental sounds and improvisational vocals a direct response to the captivating sci-fi musical production. Filled with blue lights and technicolour fields, Neptune Frost presents a visionary dreamscape illuminating the brutal realities of extractive economies and neocolonial powers. There’s a multidimensionality present in its storytelling, observed as it rhythmically weaves in and out of states of imagination and reality, digital and human. Characters frolic in captivating song and dance, demanding our attention. Their richly coloured costumes and otherworldly landscapes add to the visual ecstasy and overall wonderment that transcends the screen, reflected on this little field painted with green grass, red wine, and wide eyes.
Between the saturated pixels of colour lie fleeting glimpses of shadow, blending the cinema into the nightfall behind. We are reminded of our surroundings, our lines of sight stretching to the openness of Citizens Park and the multiple storylines unfolding in real time, in real life. We begin to notice the birds that fly above us and the footsteps that trail on the pavement, just beyond this little field. We observe those who choose to pause at the fence and momentarily watch on and those who pass by without breaking their rhythm. We are made aware of all these things as we gravitate beyond the illuminated screen and begin to position ourselves in the context of the very world around us, the world these artworks bleed into. The same world that holds these narratives, stories, and voices that we are so appreciative to witness every Thursday evening. Each week of the Seventh Cinema program, we are invited to gather together, stretching ourselves out on the lawn of Seventh Gallery to discover the serendipitous relationships that unfold through each film pairing. We weave a thread from week one to week seven, taking with us the new stories we have learnt and together enabling the cinema to act as a space for social discourse and as a space for community.