Tom Fruin’s, “Watertower”

Tom Fruin’s, “Watertower”

Last week, while hurdling down the highway (for the first time), in attempt to distract my father from my worrisome driving, I asked him about the stained glass water tower visible from the BQE. Though he and I have driven past it many times, neither of us knew any details about the installation. With a quick Google search he told me it is called Watertower, and had only been installed in 2012. I was surprised to hear it hadn’t been around my whole life since for me its existence seemed almost a given.

To my surprise, the water tower is actually part of a series of similar installations called The Icon Series, by sculptor Tom Fruin. The series consists of three water towers and one house-shaped piece. Fruin specializes in creating artwork from “found” materials. He crafts these sculptures from thousands of multicolored scraps of recycled Plexiglas and steel bands, creating the impression of stained glass.

In an interview with Master and Dynamic, an online blog, Fruin said, “I’m not looking for an ‘art’ audience, I really just want to reach everybody.” And he’s doing just that. Standing beside the Brooklyn Queens Expressway, one of Brooklyn’s major thoroughfares, on the waterfront visible from Manhattan, his water tower is widely known in Brooklyn and beyond.

The most striking element of the piece is the diversity of color. No apparent pattern can be discerned, yet the colors blend smoothly together. The Plexiglass panels start larger near the top, graduating to smaller sizes toward the bottom, and varying in size with no clear pattern or order. Some are horizontal or vertical rectangles, others are perfect squares. Some panels appear to be made of multiple shards of a similar shade, while others seem perfectly smooth and almost transparent. Some panels are in fact transparent, allowing the viewer to see straight through to the other side of the piece.

I’m unsure if this feature is still in place today, but in past years the sculpture would light up at night with flashing lights projected from the center, attracting attention with a mini light-show. Personally I remember noticing it during the day more than at night, but that could be because I pass it more often during the day on my way to and from high school.

The positioning of Fruin’s piece on a rooftop especially distinguishes it, making it harder or even impossible to see from street level. The majority of Fruin’s viewers are drivers or passengers whooshing past the sculpture, not leaving much time for extended analysis. The piece can be seen from other locations as well, like the Brooklyn Bridge Park, but from there the Manhattan skyline, parallel to the park, likely draws attention away from the water tower.

Artwork on buildings (and especially on top of buildings) more often is made by anonymous graffiti artists who, though talented, are breaking the law and defacing property of others. Fruin’s piece, though legal, to some extent resembles the miscellaneous graffiti on the buildings surrounding it: most people don’t know or think about who created it or how it came into existence. Many people I know are familiar with Fruin’s water tower, yet they’ve likely never given thought to the artist.

Fruin managed to attract attention by transforming the mundane into the unusual. Water towers are commonplace on building rooftops. Fruin’s Watertower doesn’t differ in size or shape from an average water tower; but by adding a splash (or more than a splash) of color, he caught and continuous to catch the eye of thousands.

Chandor’s “All is Lost”: A Tapestry of Sound

Chandor’s “All is Lost”: A Tapestry of Sound

What is his name? Why is he alone? Is he running from something, or perhaps chasing something? These questions about our protagonist remain unanswered in J.C. Chandor’s “All is Lost,” a story of serenity amidst apparent defeat, of what people do in times of desperation. Chandor takes the viewer aboard our protagonist’s journey. The only character, called “Our Man” and played by Robert Redford, appears in every scene yet speaks only three times. The author reveals no information about him other than that he drifts alone at sea on a journey reminiscent of Hemingway’s classic The Old Man and the Sea.

Begging to be heard, Chandor asks the viewer to listen attentively. With hardly any verbal communication, the story is nevertheless led by sounds: for example the wind flying across the sea, the snap of a rope being cut, and a desperate gasp for air. Each sound carries its own distinct message. The viewer’s auditory experience churns emotion and sparks interest. The film opens with an overview of a calm, slightly stirring body of water, with sounds of silence and water splashing in the background. This calm start sets the stage for the ensuing scenes to jar the viewer. The sharp contrast between noisy and silent scenes, such as an overwater scene taking a dip underwater for a few seconds, allows the viewer to reflect on the past scenes and on the development of the story. The sounds are consistently distinct and clear. The viewer hears what the sailor hears.

Surprisingly, while this film relies heavily on visuals and non-verbal cues to convey its message, it has music only towards the end. The unusual lack of music puts the viewer in a somewhat uncomfortable mood. Most directors use music to create or add to the mood of a scene. Ironically, Chandor’s lack of music creates the mood, almost telling the viewer how to feel. The viewer hears natural sounds, only what one would hear on a boat lost at sea. The viewer feels as one with “Our Man,” as opposed to watching from afar.

When combined with the sounds of the film, the visual elements tie it all together. Down to the color schemes and chosen camera angles, every detail adds to the viewing experience. Most scenes seemingly had a layer of fog spread over them, vibrant colors muted. The sailor’s clothing was consistently dull, almost disappearing into his skin, and with his ashy skin, into the ocean.

Chandor manipulates the camera angles to allow the viewer to experience with “Our Man.” Most scenes have the viewer following closely behind the man, observing and feeling with him. The shaking of the camera and the multiple scenes filmed from underwater, looking up at the boat, also bring the viewer into the story. At one point, “Our Man” climbs to the top of his boat’s sail. For the first time, the viewer sees precisely from his perspective—the long poll between his shaky legs, surrounded by the glistening water. Chandor forces the viewer to put herself in the position of the “Our Man,” and contemplate what she would do.

Robert Redford’s emotional portrayal of this mysterious character tops off the film, emphasizing its meaning and message. Every distinct, elongated stare, desperate breath, or even frustrated shout, is deliberate and powerful. He brings the viewer into the world of his character without revealing any other information about him aside from what is seen on screen.

Above all, Chandor’s decision to leave “Our Man” a mystery is brave and well executed, a magnificent demonstration of “showing” rather than “telling,” and a masterful use of the medium of film. The viewer is both familiar with and estranged from the main character and his story. This ambiguity leaves room for the viewer to create her own unique story, based on her own experiences, within the boundaries set by the director.

Though the film features only one character, he is malleable. Anyone can relate to him. Chandor leaves “Our Man” free of labels. No one person can claim he is “one of them,” but simultaneously he is everyman. Since so much remains untold, he takes on the role of an almost universal man. All viewers may find themselves in his story.

With an intriguing mix of blatancy and abstraction, Chandor creates a fascinating film. The viewer feels something is being held back, yet the viewer remains captivated. Chandor, along with the heartfelt acting of Robert Redford, enthralls the audience by awakening its senses and demanding attention.

Chandor’s “All is Lost”: A Tapestry of Sound

Chandor’s “All is Lost”: A Tapestry of Sound

What is his name? Why is he alone? Is he running from something, or perhaps chasing something? These questions about our protagonist remain unanswered in J.C. Chandor’s “All is Lost,” a story of serenity amidst apparent defeat, of what people do in times of desperation. Chandor takes the viewer aboard our protagonist’s journey. The only character, called “Our Man” and played by Robert Redford, appears in every scene yet speaks only three times. The author reveals no information about him other than that he drifts alone at sea on a journey reminiscent of Hemingway’s classic The Old Man and the Sea.

Begging to be heard, Chandor asks the viewer to listen attentively. With hardly any verbal communication, the story is nevertheless led by sounds: for example the wind flying across the sea, the snap of a rope being cut, and a desperate gasp for air. Each sound carries its own distinct message. The viewer’s auditory experience churns emotion and sparks interest. The film opens with an overview of a calm, slightly stirring body of water, with sounds of silence and water splashing in the background. This calm start sets the stage for the ensuing scenes to jar the viewer. The sharp contrast between noisy and silent scenes, such as an overwater scene taking a dip underwater for a few seconds, allows the viewer to reflect on the past scenes and on the development of the story. The sounds are consistently distinct and clear. The viewer hears what the sailor hears.

Surprisingly, while this film relies heavily on visuals and non-verbal cues to convey its message, it has music only towards the end. The unusual lack of music puts the viewer in a somewhat uncomfortable mood. Most directors use music to create or add to the mood of a scene. Ironically, Chandor’s lack of music creates the mood, almost telling the viewer how to feel. The viewer hears natural sounds, only what one would hear on a boat lost at sea. The viewer feels as one with “Our Man,” as opposed to watching from afar.

When combined with the sounds of the film, the visual elements tie it all together. Down to the color schemes and chosen camera angles, every detail adds to the viewing experience. Most scenes seemingly had a layer of fog spread over them, vibrant colors muted. The sailor’s clothing was consistently dull, almost disappearing into his skin, and with his ashy skin, into the ocean.

Chandor manipulates the camera angles to allow the viewer to experience with “Our Man.” Most scenes have the viewer following closely behind the man, observing and feeling with him. The shaking of the camera and the multiple scenes filmed from underwater, looking up at the boat, also bring the viewer into the story. At one point, “Our Man” climbs to the top of his boat’s sail. For the first time, the viewer sees precisely from his perspective—the long poll between his shaky legs, surrounded by the glistening water. Chandor forces the viewer to put herself in the position of the “Our Man,” and contemplate what she would do.

Robert Redford’s emotional portrayal of this mysterious character tops off the film, emphasizing its meaning and message. Every distinct, elongated stare, desperate breath, or even frustrated shout, is deliberate and powerful. He brings the viewer into the world of his character without revealing any other information about him aside from what is seen on screen.

Above all, Chandor’s decision to leave “Our Man” a mystery is brave and well executed, a magnificent demonstration of “showing” rather than “telling,” and a masterful use of the medium of film. The viewer is both familiar with and estranged from the main character and his story. This ambiguity leaves room for the viewer to create her own unique story, based on her own experiences, within the boundaries set by the director.

Though the film features only one character, he is malleable. Anyone can relate to him. Chandor leaves “Our Man” free of labels. No one person can claim he is “one of them,” but simultaneously he is everyman. Since so much remains untold, he takes on the role of an almost universal man. All viewers may find themselves in his story.

With an intriguing mix of blatancy and abstraction, Chandor creates a fascinating film. The viewer feels something is being held back, yet the viewer remains captivated. Chandor, along with the heartfelt acting of Robert Redford, enthralls the audience by awakening its senses and demanding attention.