Background: it’s a given that almost every known animator in the animation community is unknown outside of it. There are also many animators whose works have been ignored or unsung by the animation community. When I feel like it, I will try and introduce you to some of these folks.
Oh heavens above — thank you, thank you, thank you. Ya see, I’ve been at a crossroads with ol’ animation of late. All it seems to offer me is all these tender/precious/oh-so-fucking sensitive/carefully crafted/take forever to make HIGH ART “works” or these bland/ha ha/goofy fart/vomit gags fooling themselves, and the shits who watch them, into thinking they’re real original, unique, rebellious punk rock like Avril Lavigne (she’s from round here ya know). Give me a break, but oh baby, thank you for Martha [Colburn].
First off, Martha is real sexy. I’d like to suck her toes or even naw on her bones any ol’ day. We met in Utrecht. I was rude, she was rude — she won. Took the damn chair we said we were saving. Bitch. Didn’t know who she was. Then I saw her films, sort of like, umm, Albert Ayler hangin’ with Betty Page, Roger Corman and William Castle — crazy/out of control/in your face/constant zoom/pop art collage painted over with occasional photo cutout figures. Trash culture at its finest. A THANK YOU in the faces of all those craft/technique perfections who dominate the animation world.
Martha’s having a good time and so am I. No high falutin’ ideas here, just groovy bug attacks cat loving dogs, a world gone zombie dogs getting off on cats. Hey loser, x-ray vision doesn’t mean you’re gonna see titties and skin just ba-ba-ba-ba bone buddy, you wanna see what’s underneath them panties. Really, underneath tis all bone, that’s it all. If there’s a punk rock animator, tis Martha. Images like boxers, they shift, duck, dance and jab, manic zooms like non-stop jabs teasing you, tappin’ your chin before the right comes smash-smash-smashin’ into your jaw — knockout.
Don’t look for no safety net, no hand to grab onto. There ain’t no core, no fixed, no nothing, to protect you. Sex, sex, sex, so much sex, it ain’t sexy no more. Even Martha strips ala Betty Page. Choppy, blurry, those damn zooms can’t focus. Not getting turned, on her antitease, spread-eagled women all over the place, but they ain’t doing so well getting their toes flossed — eyes are all zombied out with fangs. Martha likes poets and musicians. Jad Fair does a lot of crazy nonsequitor accompaniment and check out this ‘99 Hooker dude, especially his manic, apeshit, world gone mad, I can’t keep up, guys lost pace with a world what’s on.
TV in Martha’s world. I never had a pervert in my pool, but is Clinton really a perv? He got his wang chunged, big deal, what guy doesn’t. Are all guys perverts? Aren’t there any woman perverts? Is Martha a perv? Hey, maybe fatty did put the bottle up her stream, but she went with it. Who’s the perv — the perv or the one who follows the perv? Are animals into kink like us? Are we animals for being kink, what’s kink Lola? Ever seen an eight-legged cock-swallowing spider or web shooting titties? Do spiders smoke after sex? Everyone else seems to smoke. Why do people smoke? They smoke everywhere. What the fuck, it’s gonna kill you, no ifs and butts (heh heh). Course life is killing you too, what’s the diff between eating bigmacchocolateeggsfriesoilgreaseanimalfat and smoking fuck a duck.
Is this trash culture one mans’ jewel, another gal’s trash? Trash is used, lived, loved, absorbed, dumped, eaten, shitted. Trash has gone through the system. It’s been taken to the ropes. Jewels just touched, admired behind glass, protected, precious — what kinda life is that? Life unlived is a lifeless life. Toe-tar-tar, we neglect the obvious like toes, toes, toes, toes — pedgsicles. Ha, ha, why not? Toes probably tastier and better than fudgsicles, but I like fudgesicles. So fuck you Martha, what’s with toe sucking anyway? Never tried it either way, lots of folks seem to dig it, toe jam. Do farmers get their toes pecked by chicks? My not-real pops had this little fuck of a dog who likes to bite toes. That freaks me out. Leave my fucking toes alone doggie, go watch some cat porn, freak did.
Napoleon have a foot underneath that coat he was capital nut. Man, oh man, I could go on and on, but I need to get some lunch. Like being in a world with a personality disorder, that’s what so real ‘bout Martha. ‘Cause this world that seems so weird is really pretty damn accurate. S’like she’s making uncensored documentaries, unhindered by narrative, free for all, guttural, automatic, concrete poetry. Maybe ill, have some fat, but hey dey, giggly day, let’s just say that I dig Martha who’s living and loving it all, and not fussing about polish. Just seeing the world as it is, not as we delusion, makes me feel fucking free, free, free possibilities. Life IS beautiful.
Martha Colburn is a Baltimore-born filmmaker. Most of her work is super 8 — a fusion of scratch, collage, drawing and cutout. She resides in The Netherlands. Go to google.com and type in her name to find out more, and do your self a big favor and find her work. It’s funny, provocative, sexy and nifty.
Chris Robinson is but a man. His hobbies include squirrel taunting, goat thumping, meat dancing and elderly peeping. You can find the results at http://asifa.net/robinson.
Links:
[1] http://mag.awn.com/index.php3?ltype=search&sval=Hykade&article_no=188
[2] http://www.awn.com/imagepicker/image/6844
[3] http://www.awn.com/imagepicker/image/6845
