Bonito Madrid
Bonito Madrid is a perfect example of fortuitous events causing a piece to take on a life of its own: walking past an old building undergoing refurbishment I noticed the builders had inadvertently wired up the neon signs of what had once been a pool club, now closed for several years. The neon lights were flashing on and off in alternate rows of orange and green but from inside the building nobody could tell that they were on. Whilst the set above the right hand entrance was still in good working order, the green neon tubes on the left were broken; when they were supposed to go on, they blasted out an extremely loud electric noise that sounded like of a short circuit.
I found the noise captivating and felt the urge to record this bizarre urban phenomenon before anyone realised and disconnected the lights. I still remember the puzzled look on the faces of passers-by wondering why on earth I was filming a closed shop with broken neon lights. My intention had been no more than this: simply to record a bizarre urban phenomenon which had called my attention.
Soon after I started recording, two old women sitting near-by struck up a conversation with me. They were wondering what I was doing with my tripod, my headphones and pointing my camera at a closed pool club. I had time to spare so I left the camera running whilst I chatted to them for about half an hour as they asked me about my life, told me about their nephews, offered me sweets and popular wisdom and even asked me to visit them in Soria where one of them was from. It was a delightful moment which I had no idea I was recording on tape. I usually carry a still camera with me at all times because I like to photograph the random events of my life, so when the conversation eventually came to an end I asked them if I could take a photograph of them. I shot the photo of the two of them sitting on the bench with the last frame on the film and gave it no more thought.
Although the sound of the broken lights was my primary interest, when I reviewed the footage I noticed that I had recorded the conversation with the old women. I listened to it attentively and found myself laughing out loud at the editing desk. I soon realised that the trivial conversation was at once hilarious and beautiful. The quality of the sound is far from perfect (though I did have an impeccable recording of the neon lights and the short circuit) but the conversation is perfectly audible. I realised that the piece had taken a different turn from what I had originally intended, and now the lights had become secondary. The protagonist of the piece was now the conversation with the old women. So instead of conducting the piece in the direction which I had chosen, I allowed the piece to evolve of its own accord. If chance had made the recording stray from my original intention I had to allow it to grow freely in the direction that chance had chosen.
I felt that now the piece reflected the reality of that moment far better than I had intended. Just as I had stopped to listen to the old women, the spectator could choose to look at the neon lights with their electric sound or, if they were curious enough, they might stop and listen to the conversation and enjoy its spontaneous beauty.
But my final reward was yet to come. A number of things had happened in front of the camera as I sat on the bench talking to the old ladies. I had noticed that a truck had come into shot and probably spoiled the recording. However when reviewing the footage I noticed something which I couldn’t have possibly seen from the bench: the blue truck backing up into shot had stopped, leaving a blue rectangle in the shot, blocking out the broken neon light with almost perfect symmetry. Once again I found myself laughing aloud at the editing desk. These blue trucks criss-cross Madrid every day picking up old cardboard boxes and other things to recycle. I watched as the young man in charge of loading the truck came into shot with a wooden industrial palet which he loaded onto a small platform at the back of the truck. He heaved himself up onto the platform but never thought to secure the palet as the truck moved on. He watches impassively as the palet slowly tips and then falls to the ground in a comic scene which could have come from a Buster Keaton movie. There at last was my prize: a piece of genuine humour to accompany the conversation. In the final edit I deliberately hid the moment in a long still shot of the neon lights so that only the spectator who chooses to stop and listen will see it. I wanted the piece to appear at first sight as an insignificant single shot of some broken neon lights, but then to reward the viewer with these other gems in case they are interested enough to pay attention.
Although the piece is presented as a single High Definition composite of three shots (a close up of the two neon lights on either side of the street shot) it is intended to be shown as a three screen projection on a continuous loop accompanied by a small print of the photograph of the old ladies. Finally I decided to use a phrase from the conversation to be the title of the piece: just at the very beginning of the video one of the women asks me: “a que es Bonito Madrid?” (“isn’t Madrid Beautiful?) a question which I find especially ironic when we look at the video and the photo and notice that the scene is littered with trash, bulldozers and rubble. When we do look closer there is beauty in this scene indeed.
I found the noise captivating and felt the urge to record this bizarre urban phenomenon before anyone realised and disconnected the lights. I still remember the puzzled look on the faces of passers-by wondering why on earth I was filming a closed shop with broken neon lights. My intention had been no more than this: simply to record a bizarre urban phenomenon which had called my attention.
Soon after I started recording, two old women sitting near-by struck up a conversation with me. They were wondering what I was doing with my tripod, my headphones and pointing my camera at a closed pool club. I had time to spare so I left the camera running whilst I chatted to them for about half an hour as they asked me about my life, told me about their nephews, offered me sweets and popular wisdom and even asked me to visit them in Soria where one of them was from. It was a delightful moment which I had no idea I was recording on tape. I usually carry a still camera with me at all times because I like to photograph the random events of my life, so when the conversation eventually came to an end I asked them if I could take a photograph of them. I shot the photo of the two of them sitting on the bench with the last frame on the film and gave it no more thought.
Although the sound of the broken lights was my primary interest, when I reviewed the footage I noticed that I had recorded the conversation with the old women. I listened to it attentively and found myself laughing out loud at the editing desk. I soon realised that the trivial conversation was at once hilarious and beautiful. The quality of the sound is far from perfect (though I did have an impeccable recording of the neon lights and the short circuit) but the conversation is perfectly audible. I realised that the piece had taken a different turn from what I had originally intended, and now the lights had become secondary. The protagonist of the piece was now the conversation with the old women. So instead of conducting the piece in the direction which I had chosen, I allowed the piece to evolve of its own accord. If chance had made the recording stray from my original intention I had to allow it to grow freely in the direction that chance had chosen.
I felt that now the piece reflected the reality of that moment far better than I had intended. Just as I had stopped to listen to the old women, the spectator could choose to look at the neon lights with their electric sound or, if they were curious enough, they might stop and listen to the conversation and enjoy its spontaneous beauty.
But my final reward was yet to come. A number of things had happened in front of the camera as I sat on the bench talking to the old ladies. I had noticed that a truck had come into shot and probably spoiled the recording. However when reviewing the footage I noticed something which I couldn’t have possibly seen from the bench: the blue truck backing up into shot had stopped, leaving a blue rectangle in the shot, blocking out the broken neon light with almost perfect symmetry. Once again I found myself laughing aloud at the editing desk. These blue trucks criss-cross Madrid every day picking up old cardboard boxes and other things to recycle. I watched as the young man in charge of loading the truck came into shot with a wooden industrial palet which he loaded onto a small platform at the back of the truck. He heaved himself up onto the platform but never thought to secure the palet as the truck moved on. He watches impassively as the palet slowly tips and then falls to the ground in a comic scene which could have come from a Buster Keaton movie. There at last was my prize: a piece of genuine humour to accompany the conversation. In the final edit I deliberately hid the moment in a long still shot of the neon lights so that only the spectator who chooses to stop and listen will see it. I wanted the piece to appear at first sight as an insignificant single shot of some broken neon lights, but then to reward the viewer with these other gems in case they are interested enough to pay attention.
Although the piece is presented as a single High Definition composite of three shots (a close up of the two neon lights on either side of the street shot) it is intended to be shown as a three screen projection on a continuous loop accompanied by a small print of the photograph of the old ladies. Finally I decided to use a phrase from the conversation to be the title of the piece: just at the very beginning of the video one of the women asks me: “a que es Bonito Madrid?” (“isn’t Madrid Beautiful?) a question which I find especially ironic when we look at the video and the photo and notice that the scene is littered with trash, bulldozers and rubble. When we do look closer there is beauty in this scene indeed.
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