TABLE OF CONTENTS

PRINT January 1973

“Scenes From Under Childhood”

. . . this fire of motion pictures erupts out of Time’s dimension . . .
—Stan Breakage, on Georges Méliès

From childhood memories . . . comes a feeling of being uncommitted and afterwards lost that I hold to be the most fruitful that exists. . . . It is as if you were running towards your salvation, or your doom. You relive, in the shadows, a precious terror. . . . With a shudder you cross what the occultists call dangerous territory.
—Andre Breton, Surrealist Manifesto (1924)

IN SCENES FROM UNDER CHILDHOOD, his major 16 mm work of the late 1960s, Brakhage seeks to show his passage across that “dangerous territory” of reexperienced childhood memories, and to render in the medium of time the past as it is relived in the present. The film is an autobiography, intended as the initial section of a much longer filmic autobiography still in progress. In a sense most of Brakhage’s films are autobiographical. They use his life and his family as raw material; they reflect the quality of his particular visual perceptions; and they bear the imprint of the emotions activated during the process of creation. But Scenes is qualitatively Brakhage’s relationship with his children, then, is the starting point for his journey toward the rediscovery of himself as a child, and his autobiography centers around his filmic observation of his children. It includes in addition actual photographs from his past and approximations of his own childhood visual perceptions. These elements are fused in a complex structure where present and past intermingle on the screen as in the mind. Scenes From Under Childhood is a large-scale work, running more than two and one-quarter hours. It consists of four separate sections, distinct in themselves, but having a unity of style. All four sections show Brakhage’s children, his wife, and himself in their home surroundings engaged in the everyday activities which make up their lives. Through the use of extensive superimposition, big close-ups, fluctuating camera movements, and rapid cutting, the realistic images are modified and transformed to produce a flowing kaleidoscopic field which is in constant evolution. Interwoven at various points within this field, in all sections except Section III, are old still photographs from Brakhage’s and his wife’s childhoods. Punctuating this rich and varied texture are solid frames of pure color containing no images. The simplicity of the color frames stands in sharp contrast to the density different. In this film Brakhage attempts to evoke his past, his childhood memories, within the context of his adult life. He tries to show the memory process itself, to recreate the moment when the distant past surfaces into consciousness in the present. Speaking of the background of the film at the San Francisco Art Institute Brakhage declared:

The first simple, daily impulse to make it was to see my children—to see them as something much more than mine, much freer than that possessive word ‘mine’ would imply, to share with each and every one of them (and I have five) various parts of their life more directly than I felt I was being able to. Photographing them was one way (I’m most intensive and excited when I’m doing that) to begin a relationship of better seeing, or entering their world. But I felt that I had to do something much more than that, which was to remember my childhood, to relate in that way.1

It is characteristic of Brakhage, whose preoccupation with vision animates his work, to speak of trying to “see” his children, trying to “begin a relationship of better seeing,” and to think of achieving insight through sight and filming. Entering his children’s world involves not only seeing his children from the outside, but also trying to see with the eyes of the child he 51 once was, thus reawakening childhood memories. Brakhage's relationship with his children, then, is the starting point for his journey toward the rediscovery of himself as a child, and his autobiography centers around his filmic observation of his children. It includes in addition actual photographs from his past and approximations of his own childhood visual perceptions. These elements are fused in a complex structure where present and past intermingle on the screen as in the mind.

Scenes From Under Childhood is a large-scale work, running more than two and one-quarter hours. It consists of four separate sections, distinct in themselves, but having a unity of style. All four sections show Brakhage's children, his wife, and himself in their home surroundings engaged in the everyday activities which make up their lives. Through the use of extensive superimposition, big close-ups, fluctuating camera movements, and rapid cutting, the realistic images are modified and transformed to produce a flowing kaleidoscopic field which is in constant evolution. Interwoven at various points within this field, in all sections except Section III, are old still photographs from Brakhage's and his wife's childhoods. Punctuating this rich and varied texture are solid frames of pure color containing no images. The simplicity of the color frames stands in sharp contrast to the density and flux of the other elements in the film. Although the solid frames are used somewhat differently in each section of the film, they provide a recurring leitmotiv binding together the separate sections of the work.

The solid frames are used most extensively in Section I (30 minutes), which is structured around a rhythmical alternation of colors, with red and black predominating. (The black is perceived as midnight blue by some viewers.) The most characteristic pattern is a binary, off-on alternation between black and another color, most frequently red. When the alternation is very rapid, that is, when there are only a few frames—or as little as a single frame—of each color, pulsating bursts of flashing light result. This is flicker, discussed in previous issues of this magazine in connection with the films of Peter Kubeika and Paul Sharits,2 but used here in quite another cont ext. Flicker is also obtained by the rapid alternation of color and image frames. Flicker passages recur throughout Section I, and the overall design of the section can be seen as a binary alternation between flicker and nonflicker passages. Longer stretches of solid color frames are also used, producing a totally different effect from the assaultiveness of the flicker passages: the viewer becomes aware of the sensuous power of pure color appearing by itself on the screen.

After an opening section of color, flicker, and blurry abstract images, recognizable images gradually emerge. We later realize that many of these indistinct and unidentifiable shapes are actually unfocused or distorted shots of images subsequently seen more clearly. Section I centers around a baby (old enough to crawl but too young to walk) and three little girls, shown in widely varying degrees of realism and abstraction. In addition to seeing the children, we briefly glimpse Brakhage and his wife and see as well old photographs of Brakhage as a baby and small child. There is also a shadowy night scene, and an extensive set of variations on images of floorboards, which are shown in longer and closer shots and in a variety of colors and superimpositions.

In Section II (40 minutes) we see a series of discrete sequences showing the children, now somewhat older, in different types of play. They manipulate tiny objects, doll furniture and miniature figures, dress up in costume, play outdoors, watch TV. We see them eating, sleeping, crying. Brakhage and his wife, Jane, are seen more often in this section. One sequence shows Jane looking at a thick photograph album, presumably the source of some of the stills used in the film. Section II contains one extensive sequence of old photographs showing Brakhage as a small boy. The solid frames are used much less frequently here than in Section I. A repeated image in this section, used both alone and in superimposition, is a moving, glittery golden dazzle which resembles tinselly pinpoints of light. There are golden dazzle images that look more like small bubbles than pinpoints. These glitter images, along with the occasional solid color frames, are recurrent threads connecting the separate sequences of this section. They are also connected by their common style; the disparate Stan Brakhage, Scenes From Under Childhood, 1967–70. Brakhage as a child. material is subjected to similar processes of elaboration and transformation through superimposition, movement, defocus, and the use of different fi Im stocks and exposures.

Section Ill (27 minutes) is the most abstract section of the four, and the only one which does not contain old photographic material. The means used in previous sections to achieve abstraction and transformation of the realistic image are here employed in the extreme so that texture, color, and shape predominate. We can recognize some realistic images, such as shots of the family walking in the woods, or the children reading comics and riding in a car, but the overall impression given by this section is one of abstraction. The technique of obtaining abstraction through the big close-up is used with particular insistence in Section Ill. The camera becomes a microscope, isolating and magnifying a small segment of a larger subject to produce an image that is frequently pure texture and color. The glitter images used in Section II are elaborated even further with an extensive glitter sequence in the middle of the section and still another one at the end. Many kinds of these images are used: powdery textures with colored glittery pinpoints, silvery dazzle, golden bubbles—seen alone, in superimposition, and with different color filters.

Section IV (46 minutes) is the longest of the four parts and the one in which the photographic material from the past plays the most prominent role. We see more of Brakhage and his wife than in previous sections, both in everyday activities and in the grip of intense emotion; a long sequence shows Jane weeping intercut with stills from her past; another shows Brakhage in anger. The children are seen in varying moods: fighting, crying, delighting in water, absorbed by the grass or their own bodies. The most banal surroundings, such as the bathroom, are totally transformed before our eyes into nearly abstract compositions of form and color, and a mundane activity like dishwashing becomes the occasion for an exploration of pure color. A very wide spectrum of solid color frames is used in this section; the contrast between the brilliance of the colors and the grayish tones of the photographic material is particularly poignant.

Scenes From Under Childhood was originally intended as a sound film. Brakhage completed a sound track for Section I but was dissatisfied with the result. He felt that the sound interfered too much with the visual experience, and decided to abandon further work with sound. Although it is not used with public showings of the film, the sound track for Section I still exists. It consists of pure sound elements whose sources are difficult to identify but which suggest the noises of trumpeting animals, heavy breathing, rhythmical machinelike clacking, and percussion instruments. In actuality, these sounds are slowed down and treated childbirth sounds from a tape Brakhage made during the birth of his first child. The sounds of the emerging baby’s crying, the mother’s noises, and incidental sounds present in the room were slowed, put through an echo chamber, and subjected to various other acoustical alterations. The sound is heard discontinuously, punctuating the film intermittently, with frequent periods of silence. When we see the film with the soundtrack, the resonant timbre of the sound creates the sense of a hollow space, as if superimposed on the space of the visuals. Without the sound, the spatial experience of the film is considerably altered.

Brakhage’s elimination of sound from Scenes is consistent with the direction of his mature work which, with the notable exceptions of Blue Moses (1962) and Fire of Waters (1965), has been silent. Yet at the same time that Brakhage rejects the sound track as an impediment to the spectator’s full apprehension of the images on the screen, he insists on the importance of music to his work. Soon after completing Scenes he declared, “Each person has another art that they are ‘mining’ at the moment. For me the primary other area is music.”3 And he describes Scenes as “a ‘tone poem’ for the eye—very inspired by the music of Olivier Messaien.”4 Messaien, who shares with Brakhage an almost mystical sensibility, is also, like Brakhage, concerned with the interconnections between the visual and aural senses, and the experience of the kind of synesthesia in which color is heard as music and music seen as color. Messaien’s comments on his work, Colors of the Celestial City, give some idea of the extent of this preoccupation:

The form of the piece depends entirely on colors. The themes, melodic or rhythmic, the complexes of sounds and timbres evolve like colors. In their perpetually renewed variations can be found (by analogy) colors that are warm and cold, complementary colors that influence their neighbors, shading down to white, or toned down by black. The transformations can be compared to the superimpositions of plays enacted on several stages. . . . 5

In Scenes we literally see such variations and evolutions of color on the screen, in the solid frames melting from color to color and the permutations of color in which a single image is shown. One of the most characteristic strategies used in the film is the rendering of one particular image in a number of intricate color variations. By such means as changing the film stock on which the image is printed, widely varying the exposure, using different colored filters, or superimposing the image with another image, the color of the original image evolves before our eyes. Sometimes even parts of images change color independently. A striking example of this strategy is the series of variations in Section Ill on the basic long shot of a baby standing on a chair at a kitchen table, with other chairs and a refrigerator also visible in the frame. We see the chairs and table change back and forth from lighter to darker green to almost black, while the colors of the baby and the refrigerator remain the same. Then the entire image reverses so that the refrigerator becomes black, the baby green, and the chairs white. Next the color of the refrigerator changes back and forth from black to white while a superimposition of the chair image is added. We then see the same shot in normal color with an orange filter over everything but the refrigerator. The orange becomes turquoise, following which the entire shot is overlaid with a fuschia filter.

In addition to being subjected to these intricate variations of color, an individual image is frequently altered by changes in focus or camera movements. The use of one particular image and its many permutations—some of which render the original virtually unrecognizable—is to some extent analogous with procedures of construction in serial music, where the basic “series” which generates the ark is put through complex processes of transformation while still retaining its underlying configuration.

In Scenes we see an exploration of the parameter of rhythm, the area of music, incidentally, where Messaien has made his most significant innovations. The notion of filmic rhythm is, of course, exceedingly complex—even debatable—but perhaps two essential components can be isolated: duration and movement. The effects of duration—the length of the shot—are specifically designated in Scenes by means of the solid frames; as already mentioned, these color frames produce totally different results depending on the time they are held on the screen. When the duration is longer, the solid frames appear static. By contrast, there is a great variety of movement in the rest of the film, both camera movement and movement within the shot. The alternation between the movement, on the one hand, and the stasis of the solid frames, on the other, creates the underlying rhythmical structure of the film. Within this general framework particular rhythmic patterns are generated by the manipulation of shot length and the juxtapositions of images containing varied kinds of movement.

The overall sequential form of Scenes is related to certain tendencies of form in contemporary music that Pierre Boulez has characterized as nonarchitectural. In this approach to form (which Boulez traces to the late works of Debussy) the material is not conditioned by the requirements of a preexisting structure, but creates its own form as it develops in time from one moment to the next. Boulez’ description of this nonarchitectural form could equally well apply to Scenes:

. . . that absence of ‘form’ resulted, on the contrary, from a radically new conception of total structure linked to a material in constant evolution, it no longer being feasible to insert ideas of symmetry incompatible with such evolution. One must go through an entire work in order to become aware of its form; that form is no longer architecturized, but it is woven.6

Boulez also compares “architectural” form to spatial perspective,7 both involving the hierarchical organization of constituent elements. In Scenes, then, we see filmic space itself becoming “material in constant evolution,” as perspective is supplanted by a broad spatial continuum ranging from the absolute flatness of the solid chromatic frames to the relatively deep space of the occasional “naturalistic” long shots. Most of the film lies between these two poles, using a shallow space with complex gradations of depth achieved by a variety of strategies. Superimposition is one of Brakhage’s major techniques for manipulating space. Many different kinds of superimpositions are used in the film: the superimposition of the same image on itself in a slightly different position; the superimposition of images which are totally disparate in configuration or movement; the superimposition of still photographs with moving images; superimposition over part of the frame only. The superimpositions compress space to a greater or lesser degree depending on the nature of the component images.

The great variety of movement used in the film also affects depth. Rapid pans virtually eliminate a sense of depth and are used quite often, as, for example, in Section II where a brick fireplace wall is converted into a reddish-brown texture as a result of rapid panning. On the other hand, camera movements which suggest recessive space are rarely used. Certain movements within the frame assert the surface of the screen, as, for example, the close shots of falling snow in Section III, while others define a deeper space, as in some of the glitter images which seem to advance and recede toward and away from the surface of the screen. A particular hallmark of the Brakhage style is the use of enormous close-ups to flatten space. Defocusing also has this effect, and we frequently see the same image successively in and out of focus, thereby underscoring the malleability of filmic space. A broad spectrum of exposure is used, ranging from the dark and shadowy to almost completely bleached out, flattening the image by virtually eliminating value contrasts.

The spatial continuum delimited in the film does not stop at the surface of the screen but includes as well a space in front of the screen. Paradoxically, the impression of an outward projecting space is created by manipulation of the solid color frames—the very elements which most call attention to the flatness and shape of the screen when seen beyond a certain minimal time. When the flat frames are projected in rapid-fire succession, as in the flicker parts of Section I, we see different colored rectangles superimposed in front of the larger rectangle of the screen. These illusions, of course, are afterimages resulting from the barrage of intense light, a reminder that the visual system has built-in design limitations. It is just these limitations which permit the basic illusion on which cinema it self depends: the illusion of movement from the projection of still frames.

The complex spatiality of the film calls the spectator’s attention to the malleability of filmic space, and, by extension, to other illusionist properties of the medium. Yet at the same time, the film itself is highly illusionistic, deploying the resources of the medium to create a personal vision. Throughout Brakhage’s work we can see a pull both toward and away from illusionism. His film Blue Moses is particularly significant in this connection, directly confronting the problems of illusionism. In “Metaphors on Vision” Brakhage exhorts the viewer to look behind the anesthetizing facade of conventional cinematic illusionism:

Oh, slow-eyed spectator, this machine (the projector ) is grinding you out of existence. . its real tensions are a dynamic interplay of two-dimensional shapes and lines, the horizon line and background shapes battering the form of the horseback rider as the camera moves with it, the curves of the tunnel exploding away from the pursued, camera following, and tunnel perspective converging on the pursuer, camera preceding. . . . Believe in it blindly, and it will fool you . . . .8

And he has spoken of purposely letting splices and scratches show in his work to “kick spectator out of escapist wrap-up.”9 In Scenes our attention is drawn to certain aspects of the filmmaking process and certain fundamental properties of the medium. We become aware of the actual shooting process through the aggressive camera movements and the frequent noticeable changes in focus and exposure, as well as actual shots of Brakhage in the act of filming. The emphatic editing makes us conscious of the extent to which the image caught by the camera is raw material waiting to be molded by the film maker. The physical materiality of the film strip itself is designated by the use of the grains of emulsion—the light-sensitive chemical coating on the film base—as an actual image in Section Ill. While granularity is conventionally considered a defect to be overcome, Brakhage emphasizes this basic property of film by showing the pattern and texture resulting from the dancing movement of the emulsion grains. And the alchemy of the modern film laboratory is brought to our awareness when we see the same image in its intricate variations of color, in positive and negative, color and black-and-white, with subtle and radical gradations of exposure.

As Scenes stimulates reflection on the film medium itself, it also heightens our awareness of our own visual processes, for Brakhage renders explicit and incorporates into the film certain visual sensations which hover at the edge of our consciousness—but which we have largely learned to ignore. These phenomena, considered as visual “noise” by most adults, are much more in the foreground of consciousness for children. By using them in the context of this autobiography, Brakhage is attempting to approximate his own childhood visual perception s, modes of seeing he has preserved to the present. It is possible for the reader to experience for himself certain of these visual phenomena, thereby approximating the quality of some of the images in the film.

Patterns resembling the recurrent glittery images of Sections II and Ill can be induced by rubbing the eyes and also by closing the eyes and applying rather strong pressure to the eyelids for several seconds. The moving, shimmering points of golden and sometimes colored light that result are known as phosphenes—sensations of light in the absence of external light inputs into the eyes. Phosphenes can be experienced without such pressure on the eyelids after some time in darkness, or without visual stimulation. "Children have an ability, which diminishes with adolescence, to evoke phosphenes quite easily. Phosphenes may indeed be an important part of the child’s real environment, since he may not readily distinguish these internal phenomena from those of the external world.”10 Analyses of the drawings of young children have indicated resemblances between phosphene forms and the shapes typically drawn by the children.11

Phosphenes are the most important constituent of the “closed-eye vi sion” which is fundamental to Brakhage’s esthetic, and which he has persistently tried to approximate on film by various means. Scenes presents as well other modes of closed-eye visual experiences. The recurrent red frames of Section I, for example, suggest the appearance of very bright light viewed through closed eye lids. Some closed- eye vision is the result of after-imagery. Wh en one looks at a brightly lit object with the eyes open and then shuts the eyes immediately, a pale luminous after-image in the same shape as the original object, but without its detail, can be seen for a brief period. The quality of this kind of afterimage, known as the positive after-image, bears a certain resemblance to the quality of the image given by black-and-white negative film. In Scenes we frequently see an image in color positive followed by the same image in black-and-white negative. This juxtaposition would seem to represent an image with its immediate positive afterimage, an attempt to capture and hold the fleeting positive after-image which decays quickly. A much more long-lasting type of after-image results from loo king at an extremely intense light source, such as bright sunlight or the light from a photographic flash. This produces a series of after-images known as a“ flight of colors.” The after-images progress through a series of dazzling colors markedly similar to the range and progression of colors seen in the long sequence of solid frames in Section IV: highly saturated turquoise, fuschia, purple, coral, chartreuse. The after-image produced by such an intense stimulus can also be seen with the eyes open, and will then be superimposed on the visual field; in the film we see, for example, a shot of a child eating, with a luminous pink rectangular shape, having a distinctly after-image quality, superimposed on the upper portion of the frame.

Another means of approximating the quality of certain images in Scenes is by defocusing the eyes while looking at rather close objects. The edges of the object become blurred and turn into a sort of haze, while depth becomes flatter. In the film there are shots focused to produce this kind of image. We also see the same image both in and out of focus, as, for example, in some of the photographic material, thereby calling our attention directly to the effects of focus. Relaxation of focus also produces a double image resembling the shots in Scenes where the same image is superimposed on itself, with only a small distance between the two images. Defocusing, for Brakhage, is a way to see more, not less. As he described the effects of defocusing in Metaphors on Vision: “Forms merge, as the fingertips closing to touch, closely viewed, reach a blur of their color, changing their contour, visually merging with each other before physical contact . . . Within this aura of nonshape, shapes reshape . . . until one is involved purely with the innards of what one once knew only as outline.”12

In the film Brakhage directs our attention to an ocular mechanism so basic we are usually completely unaware of it—namely blinking. The rhythmically recurring black frames in Section I suggest nothing so much as repetitive blinking, and something of the quality of the flicker in this section can be reproduced by rapid, hard blinking. The reference to blinking at the outset of the film establishes and underscores that the eyelids are an integral part of vision, that there are two modalities of vision: closed-eye and openeye. Furthermore, the allusion to blinking, coupled with the shock and stimulation to the eye caused by the flicker, jolts the spectator into an immediate awareness of his own visual processes, an awareness that will be intensified in the course of the fiIm as more such processes are made explicit.

The rendering of these visual processes is related to Brakhage’s attempt to render the memory process in the film, for childhood memories are actually memories in visual form, and the act of remembering a visual experience. As Freud has pointed out, “childhood memories . . . are plastic and visual, even in those people whose later memory lacks the visual element.”13 Brakhage has described his subjective experience of the memory process as an experience of closed-eye vision, and the memory image itself as literally a “still photograph.” . . . particles . . . seem to cluster into shapes in the act of memory, and, thus, makeup the picture being re-membered as if it were a slide cast from the brain against closed eyelids.”14 This conception of remembered material as still photographs is not merely a figure of speech or an experience unique to _Brakhage; it is confirmed by psychoanalytical experience in bringing memories to consciousness. “Notable too is the frequent immobility of the processed mental picture, whether screen memory, dream element, or fantasy. They are ‘stills’ . . . as if immobilized for better viewing.’’15

In Scenes, Brakhage uses the old photographs to represent memory images and tries to illustrate the process by which they come to conscio usness. We can see this, for example, in Section 11, where, following a shot of Brakhage’s son on a tricycle we see a photograph of Brakhage as a little boy, also on a tricycle, combined with various color filters, focus changes, and masking. This is followed by a complex montage of abstract shapes, flat colors, then more photographs, including a formal portrait of Brakhage as a child and a snap shot of him with his arm around a dog. These photographs are intercut with abstract and distorted shapes, shots of Brakhage’s children, and pure color, and they are masked and refocused in various ways. At the end of this sequence we see the old tricycle photograph again coming in and out of focus. In this sequence Brakhage has approximated a whole train of thought by means of film; the sight of his son causes the emergence of specific memory images which slither in and out of consciousness, accompanied by the remembered feelings expressed through moving color.

The interweaving of the old photographs into the texture of the present not only shows us memory coming to consciousness, but indicates as well the inescapable hold of the past on the present, whether conscious or not. In the extensive sequence in Section IV showing Jane weeping, for example, we see at the same time stills of her as a child and photographs of her parents and grandparents, as if to show the inexorable continuum from past to present, and present back to past.

When Brakhage uses the photographic material, he subjects it to a full range of elaboration by filmic mean s, showing parts of the photographs in close-ups, zooming in and out, changing focus and exposure, using masks and various kinds of superimpositions. By treating the still photographs like frames in a movie and integrating them into the texture of the film, Brakhage converts their temporality from the past of photography to the present of cinema. This is one element in the complex web of temporal experience woven by this film. The ongoing present of the moving visual field of observation and perception resonates with echoes of the past, both as conscious memory and an unconscious force shaping present actions. Still another temporal dimension is suggested by the awareness of the children’s growth in the course of the film. And there is an underlying sense of temporal progression from the form in which Brakhage casts his autobiography. Thus Section I, with its primary visual sensations of light striking closed eyelids, blinking, and unfocused vision metaphorically suggests babyhood. Sections II .and Ill with fantasy play, phosphene forms, intense visual concentration on the look and feel of the world alludes to the imaginative inner life of the young child, and the period in which Brakhage seeks the source of his artistic vision. Stan Brakhage, Scenes from Under Child hood, 1967–70. By the end of Section IV the memories are more explicit and the external world impinges more directly. Play becomes organized sport, and in the final chilling shot, a menacing institutional building looms large on the screen.

Brakhage once characterized the film medium as “the only medium which can exteriorize moving imagination.”16 In Scenes From Under Childhood Brakhage has done just that, finding filmic expression for the processes of thinking, perceiving, feeling—and remembering.

NOTES

1. “Transcription of Some Remarks By Stan Brakhage," Take One, Vol. 3, No. 1 (issue of September–October, 1970, published December 8, 1971), p. 7.

2. Elena P. Simon, “The Films of Peter Kubeika,” Artforum, April, 1972, and Regina Cornwell, “Paul Sharils: Illusion and Object,” Artforum, September, 1971.

3. Take One, Vol. 3, No. 1, p. 8.

4. Film-Makers’ Cooperative Catalogue, No. 5, p. 40.

5. From jacket of CBS recording of Messaien’s Et Exspecto Resurrectionem Mortuorum and Couleurs de la Cité Celeste, conducted by Pierre Boulez, Record = 321 10048.

6. Pierre Boulez, Notes of an Apprenticeship, trans. Herbert Weinstock, New York, 1968, p. 201.

7. Boulez, p. 353.

8. Stan Brakhage, “Metaphors on Vision,” Film Culture, Fall, 1963, n.p.

9. Stan Brakhage, “A Moving Picture Giving and Taking Book,” Film Culture, Summer, 1966, p. 48.

10. Gerald Oster,“ Phosphenes,” Scientific American, February, 1970, p. 83.

11. Ibid.

12. Brakhage, “Metaphors on Vision.”

13. Sigmund Freud, “The Psychopathology of Everyday Life,” in The Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud, trans. and ed. A. A. Brill, New York, 1938, p. 65.

14. Stan Brakhage, “Stan Brakhage Sees America Hypnogogically,” Los Angeles Free Press, February 3, 1967, p. 6.

15. Bertram D. Lewin, The Image and the Past, New York, 1968, pp. 16–17.

16. Stan Brakhage, The Brakhage Lectures, Chicago, The GoodLion Press, 1972, p. 20.