The specific potential of animated drawings, to
suggest a constant flow of tranformation, remains unexploited by Ann
Course. Nor does she obviously care much for a dialogue with the
tradition of animation.
Firstly, Course is not an animator by
definition. She is an artist who exhibits drawings, sculptures and
objects made from such diverse materials as cardboard, wood or neon
light. And videotape. The work of Ann Course is like an accumulation of
notes in an emotional diary. The predominantly white spaces in her
drawings function like a highly selective mirror that only reflects the
most intimate urges and inner reactions of the artist. No space for a
reflection on the past, or on the history of her own medium.
If any comparison with a historical predecessor would need to be
imposed, then the best figure to refer to could be the European pioneer
of drawn animation : Emile Cohl. He too was an artist who didn't like to
limit himself to one medium or technique. In fact he is reputed to have
expressed himself through caricature, photography, poetry, cycling,
duels and practical jokes. More important than his sometimes-peculiar
means of expression, was his attitude. Emile Cohl was associated first
with the Hydropahtes, and then the Incoherents, two absurdist movements
in Paris, prior to the Dadaists. When he discovered that Gaumont had
unrightfully used one of his drawings for a film poster, he took on the
challenge of creating his own trickfilms. He did it from scratch, with
no budget. Nevertheless, his first work, Fantasmagorie (1908)
remains one of the most inspired and uninhibited creations in the
history of the animated film. The drawings are like stick figures,
nearly as simple as those typical of a young child. But no matter how
rudimentary the graphic style, the film is extremely rich in
imagination, as there is a continuous flow of changing shapes, changing
identities. Emile Cohl claimed the biggest freedom of expression, and -
to his own commercial downfall - insisted on a completely independent
method of production.
Although there is a big contrast between the feverish flow of
transformations in the early films of Emile Cohl and the rigid, almost
brutal accumulation of still drawings by Ann Course, both oeuvres are a
demonstration of the same anarchic freedom of expression. Norman
McClaren once defined animation as the art of the interval. It is not
what happens within the frame which matters, but what is triggered in
the mind of the viewer. Whilst this explains the optical illusion of
movement and metamorphosis, the cumulative effect of strong impressions
is even more important. The relentless adding up of crude, yet crucial
symptoms of the human condition does not result in a logical conclusion
or even narrative closure. Yet, the impact of such a wildly suggestive
series of images is at the same time confronting and liberating,
confusing and exciting. Even more than live action film; animation is
the art of association, not only between the scenes or shots, but also
between every consecutive frame. Only animation can make a singular nose
turn into a credible character, like Alexander Alexeieff with his
pinscreen-film The Nose. In their very peculiar way, the
dissected body parts and free floating objects in Ann Course's universe
are no less poignant and graphic.
