Making Sense out of my Ordinary life
Feat. Jay lin
I’d say my artistic journey started rather late in life. And I've begun to realize, that the fact that I am in a prestigious university probably has nothing to do with my talents or gifts. Through my surroundings, I began to understand I am here simply because I am privileged. As I was contemplating this question - “Why do I tell stories?” I can’t help but think that is an existential question for all artists, and maybe by extension to all humans. I am a few years older than the cohort’s average age, and I always feel like I don’t have enough time like the others to explore who I am and what I want. I worry about getting a job after graduating, or how to repay my parents with an art degree. What is my ultimate goal here? I am still figuring that out. Maybe the journey is just different for everyone. Some people just know what they are born to do, others spend their entire life contemplating their place in the crowded space. I think nothing but ordinary about myself, and perhaps ordinary people have no stories to tell. This isn’t a self-deprecating or devaluating statement. It just simply makes me realize the fact that maybe I didn’t go through as much pain as I thought I did. Sometimes, it makes me wonder if I have the right to talk about my pain. But truth be told, I don’t mind it at all. Ordinary is awesome. But, it wasn’t so much that there aren’t any stories in the ordinary, it is more about why would anybody give shit about my ordinary? My research started from the understanding of such human needs.
I’ve always been quite interested in anthropology and the question of "what does it mean to be human?" Storytelling is a unique behavior that humans possess along with complex cognition. As a kid, I used to find myself drowning in myths of different human origins, as if knowing where I came from would give me an answer to where I am going, hence my purpose. I find that looking at how different cultures dealt with death is an almost “shortcut” to understanding how they cope with life. The ritualistic traditions that people would follow, their philosophy to the afterlife… it’s interesting how whether you are Buddhist or Christian, spiritual or strictly atheist - we all do something to cope with the deaths of our surroundings, the things and people we loved and felt attached to. And we tell stories about them when they are gone.
CSM PDP Year 2 project: Why do we tell stories?
Hands at the Cuevas de las Manos upon Río Pinturas, near the town of Perito Moreno in Santa Cruz Province, Argentina. Picture by Mariano CecowskiI remember seeing this cave painting on National Geographic that was dated approximately 64 thousand years ago. It easily became one of the most precious archaeological discoveries. The cave paintings have detailed depictions of hunting scenes, featuring animals like bison and deer, illustrating the methods and tools used for their capture. These artworks also hint at ritualistic practices, suggesting a spiritual connection with the natural world, embodying both respect for and reliance on the animals they hunted for survival. This is known to be one of the earliest memories of our ancestors and what their lives were like, but up until 1950 before it was unearthed, it is almost like they never existed before. Long after we die, the only form that we continue to exist in would be stories and how they are being told. Nothing is ever timeless. What we called timeless in terms of art are really just the conversations that still matter today. Fortunately, humanity always resonates.
The thing about “story” is that it isn’t exactly the “truth”, but “truth” can certainly be carried through stories. Stories are fabricated with the intricacies of our reality; they are the instruments for us to understand ourselves. With the age of information and social media, we often find ourselves seeking the “truth” in so many falsehoods. The way we perceive stories has changed with the development of technology. So, if the way we tell stories has changed, shouldn’t that mean the way we interpret both “reality” and “ourselves” has changed? I sometimes wonder if that is why we all want to be extraordinary, or if it is simply a human necessity of being heard and seen.
In recent interviews with friends on why they tell stories, many expressed sadness when listening to me describe my ordinary life. Part of me wants to resist that perspective, but I understand it comes from good intentions. Yet, I just want to be honest about who I am and where I am currently at in my life. If I put my life out there and it still doesn’t resonate with people, I think I’d be at peace with my honest creation, or more specifically, how I look at myself instead of how others perceive me. I soon realized that most people chose to comfort me because they assumed my need. This project started as a broader examination of the human condition, but Rosa encouraged me to reflect inward rather than examine my surroundings, to tell a story from within.
Instead of thinking about what resonates with people, I want to create what resonates with me. But to do that, I need to first examine myself and my life; maybe a camera would show me a different perspective of my own life. I asked my housemates if I could film them whenever I wanted for a weekend, and they were quite happy to participate. After the weekend passed, I was really surprised with the material I got. Obviously, like all experiments, not everything worked, but I am happy to say I learned a lot throughout the process. I filmed two of my housemates but then settled on showing only one of them during editing. One of them is comfortable with the camera, and the other one isn’t. Interestingly, it was the one who isn’t comfortable with the camera that gave me the content I wanted.
I think the camera played an intricate role in our interactions. It is a silent observer but a loud intruder at the same time. We all act differently when we are being watched. This footage did not just offer me a chance to rewind my memories and understand them; it already made me experience each moment differently. During the editing process, I got truly creative. The content of the film is the most mundane of daily events, but how do I keep the audience engaged? I thought of every variable I could adjust and decided to focus only on the pacing of the film – the arrangement of moving shots vs. still frames, interactions vs. observations, where the journey starts and how it ends.
This is perhaps my favorite part of this creation because I am actually putting the ordinary into a story. The footage of my interactions with the other housemate (which didn’t make it to the film) was much closer to what our interactions are like daily. The presence of the camera did not affect him as much as it did the other housemate. This is something I realized only during editing.
In film terminology, there is a type of scene called “mime” scene which is strictly defined as scenes without dialogues and heavy focus on visual/performance expressions. But a “mime” scene in a documentary isn’t acted or performed. It is simply a story that unfolds with the lens. As I am simultaneously a participant of the ordinary and the camera itself, I have to leave enough space for the story to unfold itself. The camera did what it was supposed to do on Jay - it gave him an awareness of being gazed at and the exposure of his ordinary moments. It made him more aware of every action he took, and conscious of every decision he made. And from there, untypical moments were born out of the ordinary mundane.
I initially had a set of research entirely for a different approach to respond to the prompt of this unit, but I eventually settled for this simply because of my audience. Surely, there are serious subject matters in life that I would love to stand and voice up for, but I eventually realized that no conditions are more urgent than the immediate ones right in front of me. This would be part of a long-term project looking at “What makes us uniquely human?” by examining human conditions.