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You know how kids ask “where do babies come from?” I always find myself asking “where do pictures come from?” Usually, tech-enthusiasts are the only ones drooling over image-making equipment, but have we ever really thought about the peculiar character of these strange little machines that bring us photos, slides, videos, and films? Who are they? What do they want? How do they feel? What do they think about when they fall asleep at night? Do they dream? If they could talk, what would they say?

You may think these are totally absurd questions, but you wouldn’t think so at all if you had experienced Emma Hart and Benedict Drew‘s recent installation / performance / screening “Untitled Seven” at the Images Festival. The event was co-presented by Images and Pleasure Dome, with support from the venue, the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art (MOCCA). Hart and Drew are artists who both have a history of collaborations, and with this piece they’ve come together to present a surprisingly touching and — dare I say it — cute meditation on the materiality of moving images and sound.

A large stage is set with about a dozen image-making and projecting machines (slide projectors, cameras, DVD players, etc.) Each machine is hooked up to a sound-making object (a drum, wind chimes, a guitar, bells, a keyboard, etc.) When the machines are turned on, they move and hit the sound-objects repetitively (the film-reel turns and bangs the drum with a little stick; the DVD player’s disc tray slides in and out against a keyboard, hitting individual notes).  My paltry description is inadequate, but the experience was actually totally magical. The room was subtly lit and live-stream video-projections of the equipment and the curious crowd played on the MOCCA gallery walls.

So, what were the noise results of the set-up? Totally haunting, positively raucous, a little bit sad, a little bit annoying, and generally pretty amazing. Hart and Drew join the machines and hit some drums and strum some guitars and their sounds direct the cameras that are documenting live streaming footage of the performance.

I suppose this might be one of those things that is beyond verbal description, but I won’t just take the easy way out by dismissively saying, “Well, you had to be there.” Let me try to describe it like this: my friend Steve has googly-eyes glued onto the leaves of his large living-room plant. Why? So you can feel like you’re looking it in the eye. So you can feel like its a ‘character’, like a friend. Of course, this is an age-old human impulse that my literary theory books call “anthropomorphism”, but you don’t need 6 damn syllables to say that there’s something awesome about experiencing a seemingly inanimate object as a character, as a special little friend.

OK, so my VCR isn’t exactly playing songs for me in my living room, but after this experience, I’ll never look at it the same way again. Next time you’re sitting in a dark movie theatre and the film you’re watching comes to a really quiet part and you can hear the whirring of the (soon-to-be-obsolete) projector  behind your head, just turn around and say hello to the little guy. He’s working for you.