SPECIAL GUESTS
Artists statement by Roy Villevoye and Jan Dietvorst
In a way, the camera image is the equivalent of looking. It's
also an attractive medium because documentary material is easily
accessible for everyone; you don't have to, as it were,
teach the viewer how to look at it. Looking at paintings and
installations is, of course, a different story.
Our films were made amongst the Asmat in Papua (formerly Netherlands
New Guinea), now part of the Republic of Indonesia. It is one
of the most remote areas of the world and the harsh conditions
that hold sway are clearly visible in the way of life and the
world view of the people who live there. Violence and the control
of violence play an important role in their culture. Going there
means coming face to face with the essential questions of your
own existence. So, for an artist, it's like starting from
square one all over again. It's taking a risk. And in
spite of the distance it's still possible to gain access.
The nature of our material means that we are almost automatically
classified as part of the documentary genre. However, by no
means do we wish to identify ourselves with that genre. The
point is precisely to free ourselves from a number of conventions
that characterise the documentary. The voice-over, for example,
in which an omniscient narrator explains and provides insight
into the situations. Documentaries often move at high speed
towards a goal, usually some kind of conclusion or a climax.
For us, this is false; we believe that it doesn't do justice
to the subject. In the first instance, we don't want to
answer questions, we want to raise them.
Documentaries in areas like the Asmat territory are not infrequently
filmed in just one week. This can only happen when there's
a preconceived plan; filmmakers then go in search of the truth
that they themselves have, as it were, hidden. These are films
in which the people and the situation are no more than walk-on
parts on a set. The conclusions are fixed; these are stories
that stem from an established view of the world.
Another characteristic of the documentary is the fact that the
genre as a form of journalism appears to deal exclusively with
problems and negative scenarios. In many documentaries there's
an artificial and unjust suggestion that the situation is straightforward
and that problems can be solved. These are reports that imply
social engagement. We, on the other hand, wonder what else there
is to be seen, other than the problems that have already been
indicated.
Our films don't tell neatly rounded-off stories that unwind
at a rapid tempo. We specifically aim to keep the speed down.
Our film images and sequences are slow, drawn-out and vague.
The editing is solid; the sequence of images is not necessarily
logical or meaningful in a comparable sense. The editing is
not used to condense the time. We have noticed that the idea
of presence is reinforced by the sensation of real time. As
a viewer, just like the filmmakers, you have questions that
remain, but you really have experienced something when the film
comes to an end.
We visited the Asmat regularly; our connection with them still
feels like a connection with family members. However, we don't
have any illusions as far as this is concerned – when
we're not there, they certainly don't think about
us all that much. They live from day to day in conditions that
in many respects are ruthless. This results in a pragmatism
that is perhaps puzzling, but which, as far as we are concerned,
does not need to be concealed. After all, this is all about
real people, not artistic or ideological constructs.
The inequality, though, is something that you can't miss.
We can go to them; they can't come to us. There is a great
difference in levels of affluence, that's a fact. But
we don't try to make this into an issue. The important
thing is to find a way of getting on in spite of it.
In our film The New Forest
a half-naked Papua comes out of the jungle in something that
only barely resembles a pair of trousers. When he gets closer,
you can see that he's wearing yellow clogs. Shortly afterwards,
he explains to us what clogs are and for what purpose the Dutch,
mainly in the past, used them. He says that he bought them himself
in the Netherlands and that clogs are ideal in rainy weather.
That's what you call breaking conventions. Stubborn expectations
about primitive savages in their exotic surroundings are completely
overturned. And by someone we thought we already knew everything
about. That's the way the world is: confusing, complex, hilarious
and inimitable. And that's what we want to show in our films.
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