Infinite Connections: An Interview with Izabella Pruska-Oldenhof

By Eliana Frederick

The general public tends to think of creativity as an unpredictable occurrence that strikes a few gifted people. Creativity may seem to appear by magic but in truth it comes from a deep well of information. This quickly becomes apparent when watching the delicate and deceptively simple experimental films of Izabella Pruska-Oldenhof--works fashioned from the most ephemeral of elements: a leaf, an insect's wings, light itself.

Pruska-Oldenhof was born in Poland, where she lived for most of her childhood. At the age of 12 she immigrated with her parents to Toronto, Canada, where she currently resides. A graduate of the Media Arts Program at Ryerson Polytechnic University, where she received her B.A., Pruska-Oldenhof's film and video projects have been recognized and awarded for their artistic merit by various film festivals and arts organizations. During her studies at Ryerson, she co-founded the interdisciplinary Loop Collective, which she is continually trying to expand by organizing innovative contexts in which to present experimental cinema. She has contributed to the Toronto arts community in various capacities: as a filmmaker, as an administrator, and as a member of numerous arts organizations. Pruska-Oldenhof is currently working towards her doctoral degree in Communication and Culture at York University in Toronto. Her films include my I's (1997), Vibrant Marvels (2000), Light Magic (2001), Song of the Firefly (2002), Scintillating Flesh (2003), Her Carnal Longings (2003) and sea-ing (2004). Her most recently published article entitled "The Aesthetics of Menace: Stan Brakhage, Tom Thomson, and the Group of Seven," appeared in the Canadian Journal of Film Studies.

I met with Pruska-Oldenhof at her home in downtown Toronto to talk about what inspires and informs her experimental film works.

Eliana Frederick: Historically, many experimental film people have come to film from other arts backgrounds. You began in fine arts, painting. Can you tell us a bit about that progression?

Izabella Pruska-Oldenhof: My initial interest was in painting, and I wanted to pursue painting at a university studying fine arts. My parents, being musicians and not being able to support the family though music in Canada, said to me "Think of more practical possibilities in the arts. Maybe going into applied arts would be more practical for the future." I was accepted into the Ryerson Media Arts program and this probably was the best thing that has happened to me, because the program itself was interdisciplinary. Rather than just relying on one photographic discipline, it combined photography, video, film, and digital imaging. Today I draw on all four disciplines and also include painting. I guess my sensibility for composition and thinking in terms of relationships between colours and shapes within each frame and shot has its basis in my initial interest in painting. However, my education at Ryerson opened up new possibilities for me to explore composition in a dynamic form as evolving over time.

EF: I find it interesting that all your experiences--first painting and now applied arts education--have been integrated in your work.

IP-O: I think that it comes naturally to any maker. You will always draw on your experience in whatever medium you have worked, whatever technique you have picked up along the way, and whatever works you have been exposed to. My work is as much influenced by my introduction to music through my parents, growing up being surrounded by music, as it is by other artists and filmmakers. You can certainly see the impact of Bruce Elder's films and theory on my work. This goes hand-in-hand with me having worked for him now for almost a decade as an assistant on several of his films and books. Stan Brakhage is obviously another major influence. Had I not been exposed to hours of his work, and, in particular, his Mothlight, I would have never been able to make Light Magic and Song of the Firefly. Michael Snow was the one who showed me how to be attuned to each medium--how each medium seeks its own way for expression and actually shapes the work. Certainly seeing, in his work, the cross-pollination between the different media--his photographic works always bearing the marks of painting, and the same thing with his cinematic works--has left a lasting impression on me. Not to mention, several others such as [Marie] Menken, [Carolee] Schneemann, and my own peers, Kelly Egan, Shana MacDonald, Annie MacDonell, Colin Clark, and the Loop Collective. All these people, as much as my education, have influenced how I perceive the film image, and where I go with every single project. I think that education is very important, but so are the people in the community, the other makers, along with the works of the past and the works that are currently in the making. It is a very reciprocal, a communal process.
EF: What inspires you to create a film--as opposed to a poem or a painting?

IP-O: Why would I choose to work with film? I almost see this question divided into two parts. First of all, it's generally some form of an experience or impression of something. For example, with the Loie Fuller film, Fugitive L(i)ght, it was actually seeing the footage of dancers in the 1890's all performing the same dance, the Serpentine Dance, and just being drawn to the repetitive motion and the shapes evoked through the movement of the diaphanous materials of the costume. Another project, Double Ellipsis, out of which Fugitive L(i)ght evolved, plays with the shape of the figure-eight or the infinity symbol. I saw the scientific footage of motion studies shot by Etienne-Jules Marey of dragonflies, flies, and bees in flight where he identified the double elliptical shape in the movement of these insects' wings. I began to notice this motion and the double elliptical shape elsewhere in the world and this gave the impetus to the project. In fact, when we try to float or to sustain ourselves in water we make this movement with our arms. The dancers performing the Serpentine Dance at the turn of last century also created the same movements while moving dozens of yards of fabric attached to their arms. In a sense, it was this actual shape, the double ellipsis, rather than the concept of the infinity symbol or figure-eight that guided both projects. I did not want to go that route; I was more interested in fleshing out where I was seeing these movements and shapes in the world and hopefully uncovering some new connections which don't yet exist as concepts.
So it can be anything from the shape of a leaf to the structure of a fly, such as in Light Magic, or something that is already out there and exists in its photographic form, or conversely seeing a film and being inspired by somebody else's work. Not so much always by the content but perhaps by the rhythmic structure of the work, or an experience that it engenders which you can't exactly pin down but which urges you to explore by recreating it through your own means.
I feel that experimental cinema often combines both poetry and painting. The structure of a poem relies on rhythm and uses devices such as metaphor and metonymy to shape the composition. In addition, I find that experimental cinema engenders experience that evolves over time. [It] engages not only the visual sense but also the auditory, and, sometimes through its rhythmic structure, it can also engage the tactile sense or perhaps trigger a memory that will transport you to another place. Or, who knows, maybe pull you into a sleepy state of wavering between being conscious and unconscious. [Laughs]

EF: Do you have a methodology or framework in mind when you create your films?

IP-O: I guess every film requires a different approach. In fact, I'm quite opposed to any kind of "methodology" in creative production partly because I find that imposing a framework or a method can certainly curtail its possibilities. There are, however, some exceptions, such as the use of aleatory processes or chance operations, but that's a whole other topic. Generally, I try to open myself to whatever materials I have gathered.

EF: Do you find yourself drawn to certain themes when you're creating a film or do you find yourself wanting to work from that initial feeling or spark that has compelled you to work on the film?

IP-O: I think it's probably the latter, starting to work from an initial feeling or some kind of a spark or experience or exposure to something, be it an object or a film or a dance performance, or whatever--a great conversation with a friend. I try not to impose a boundary on a project especially in its formative stages, which a theme certainly might. In general, I am drawn to colour, light, and rhythm, just as numerous other experimental filmmakers are. But, at the same time, I think there are themes that come to me after I have completed the work, when I've been away from it and had some time to digest it and look at it with fresh eyes. When these themes eventually surface I think to myself, "Aha, that's what I've been working on!" It's quite an incredible experience. It's almost like finishing the work twice. You finish it once and you think, "There it is, it's finished, that's what it is." Then, years down the road you come back to it, and there you are experiencing it again and you find something else in it, and it takes on a whole new presence for you. Also different people will tease out different themes for me, which I find much more compelling rather than me telling people what the theme is. Even when I am introducing the films I try not to do that. I learn more from others saying this is what I saw in your work, or that's what I responded to. This certainly helps me learn more about my work and myself.

EF: What's your relationship to story in film?

IP-O: I don't work with stories partly because I'm much more interested in creating a certain kind of experience. Rather than imposing a narrative structure, which is dependent on temporal development or having a beginning, middle and end, I prefer to work with a structure that is more akin to poetry. [That is] rhythm dispersing [the] chronological ordering of time through repetition or sudden shifts in metre. [It] prompts the viewer to make web-like connections between the past, the present and the future with whatever they are immediately experiencing. Creating a rupture in the progression of time, a kind of openness without an end (which a story always curtails because it always tends towards a finish--a finitude, rather than an opening towards the infinite), permits infinite possibilities of connections to be made by the viewer experiencing the work. Narrative structure curtails openness, and the kind of fusion of the two would deny the possibilities of both.

EF: When you create your films do you have a sense of how your film relates to the film viewer and society? Does this affect your creative process?
IP-O: I guess the question that I would ask myself is "What compels me to be drawn to this specific experience, or what has compelled me to create this particular work?" In this sense only, I would think, my work relates or has some universal connection with people. But this is not to say that an audience or their demands direct me. This has never been an objective for me, and I don't think that has ever been an objective for any avant-garde or experimental filmmaker. Quite the opposite. In fact, the whole history of the avant-garde, which by the way I find so compelling, is marked by points of resistance, a rebellion if you will, against the institutions, the public, and culture in general. You hear stories about performances at the Cabaret Voltaire, and the responses of an outraged public who threw tomatoes at Hugo Ball reading Dada poetry and manifestoes in his magic bishop outfit, and I just think to myself, "Wow, this is exactly what experimental cinema is supposed to do." It is supposed to disrupt, disengage, engage and outrage. Experimental films were not meant to pacify the public but ultimately challenge and question our patterns of thought and life.

EF: I think it is quite brave what experimental filmmakers do. People seek instant validation, so to set yourself up for a potential fall is something most people would not want to do; they would find it too uncomfortable.

IP-O: Working in experimental cinema is quite difficult on an emotional level, precisely because you are constantly setting yourself up to be potentially ridiculed and to have your work denied public screenings. This genre relies on this forging ahead, even at the cost of feeling frustrated and disappointed. At the same time, I also don't think that one chooses one's own calling; it calls you and, trust me, it rings really loud until you get to it. I also think that work which emerges from this discomfort zone is often more stimulating and interesting, partly because it is not motivated by the need to satisfy and [therefore] feels very genuine. After all, we already have entertainment on television. And if entertainment should be the sole aim of art, the comfortable zone of mind-numbing content and recycled formulas, then we all might as well glue ourselves to television rather than try to figure out what are we all about, what our culture is all about, and what is the bigger picture. Bravery, I don't know. Maybe. You do get a lot of resistance and I guess it always takes a certain kind of person, a stubborn person. I've always been a resistant and a persistent person, which drove my parents crazy. This is why it kind of makes sense that I'm doing what I'm doing rather than doing something that others think that I should be doing. There is a whole tradition of artists whose works haven't been acknowledged until the last few years of their lives or only after they passed away. It is mind boggling to think that they stuck to their ideals and refused to take an easier path. But, at the same time, if it wasn't for them or other revolutionaries we would be living in pretty horrible times. Probably wouldn't have had the French Revolution or the Russian Revolution, and the Iron Curtain still would be standing.

EF: In a similar way, we wouldn't have works by people like Van Gogh, people who really pushed the envelope.

IP-O: They were the first of the avant-gardes, and it was their Salon de Refuses (which lift took on as a tradition and continues) which showed the refused works that didn't get accepted by international festivals. It is this form of resistance that often finds the most brilliant works. And these brilliant works, because they have been overcast by the blinding flashiness of the industry that imposes itself on every structure, cannot shine through. But, if you are persistent, I always say, you get to your destination. I've seen it happen. It is always the invisible people, the workers, who undermine and have the ability to turn over pretty unbearable systems. It is precisely the unbearability of the system that stimulates revolt, so I guess the big guys should watch out. [Laughs]

EF: Do you feel that the artist has a role in society? Not something that they feel indebted to fill, but do you find there is something that compels artists or experimental artists?

IP-O: I think that somebody has said this already, that art connects us with the spiritual dimension of our existence and therefore binds us with each other. And, in this way, creates a social bond that we have seen since the beginning of our civilization. It always served this connecting role between its people and the understanding that there is something other and bigger than us. In a sense, it helps to bring us in touch with that which makes us humble and loving beings.

EF: What role do you see film education playing in the development of a filmmaker?

IP-O: I think that it is important to include, in the film education process, places like lift and other artist-run centres, cinematheques, collectives, apprenticeships--which are of equal importance to film education in universities and colleges. I was introduced to experimental cinema when I was an undergraduate student at Ryerson. I took a course on experimental cinema with Bruce Elder, and he opened up a whole new world of cinema for me, a world of infinite possibilities. I thought that this was amazing. At the same time the "Independents" series started at the Cinematheque Ontario, and the artists that were invited to do artist talks and screen their works were crucial to my development as a filmmaker. I found these talks and screenings just as educational if not more.
Places like lift, where else can you learn about film anymore and get the first-hand experience of working directly with film and film equipment? It's sad to say that lift is slowly becoming one of the few places in Toronto, or even Canada, where one can have access to film equipment. If I were a film student, or someone who wanted to learn about filmmaking, I would join lift and take as many workshops as possible to learn more about this medium.

EF: Many filmmakers today have to wear many hats to launch and sustain their careers--not only film production-wise, but by being contributing members of arts community organizations. Not only are you a filmmaker, you are also a doctoral student at York, a teacher, and a founding and working member of the Loop Collective. How do you balance the creative impulse versus the practical commitments in your life?

IP-O: It is sometimes difficult to balance my time, but, quite honestly, I don't see my film work, my studies, teaching and Loop Collective as separate. Each one feeds into one another and all four, in fact, require both the creative impulse and self-discipline to get the work done. For example, my experience working with the Loop Collective and working on my own films has certainly helped me gain a deeper knowledge of experimental cinema, one which cannot be obtained through texts, and now it is going to inform my dissertation. Also, the relationships with people in the collective have informed my theoretical understanding and my practice. At the same time, the theoretical knowledge I acquired as a graduate student provided me with the broader perspective on culture and the arts. Although it may seem like I am taking on different tasks or wearing many different hats all at once, each one of them, however, is indispensable for the other, since they are all interconnected.

Eliana Frederick has her Bachelor of Arts Honours in Film Studies from Carleton University. She is an aspiring screenwriter and story editor. Her feature screenplay, Rambling Man, won the Ryerson Screenwriting II award in December 2003. This fall she will be attending the Lew Hunter Screenwriting Colony.