INTERVIEW
moving pictures: AN INTERVIEW WITH eric dyer
BY Jane blaus, jason egner, & karen holloway
2013

Upon first glance, you may realize that there is something inherently different about Eric Dyer’s animations. It’s not quite clay animation, yet not quite digital animation, either. So what is it? Rarely does an artist present a new medium quite like Dyer. His work aims to explore the animation styles developed before the invention of film. Using a zoetrope, a cylindrical device of rotating static images, Dyer brings his sculptures and images to life. Upon exploring his installations and videos, you will come across a word you can’t Google: cinetrope. Eric’s unique way of blending antiquated technology with 3D printing and handmade 2D paper cut-outs spawned a new film medium; a sculpture/machine he calls the "cinetrope."
In this interview, Dyer discusses his drive to work with old cinematic technology, as a way to “reclaim 'trash' and to memorialize a disappearing medium.” He also explains the active role of the viewer in his animations, sheds light on the music composition side of his work, and reveals how he pushed through waves of uncertainty and setbacks to bring us something truly innovative.
In this interview, Dyer discusses his drive to work with old cinematic technology, as a way to “reclaim 'trash' and to memorialize a disappearing medium.” He also explains the active role of the viewer in his animations, sheds light on the music composition side of his work, and reveals how he pushed through waves of uncertainty and setbacks to bring us something truly innovative.
Glasswork Magazine (GM): Glassworks is attracted to your work because it is innovative in pushing the boundaries of animation farther than its current static, all-digital state, bringing it back into the realm of the physical and tangible. For our audience, who may be unfamiliar, can you explain the origins and uses of the zoetrope? Also, what attracted you to this art form and lead to the creation of the cinetrope?
Eric Dyer (ED): The zoetrope is a pre-cinema optical toy -- a slitted drum with a sequence of animations drawn on its interior. Spin the drum, look through the slits, and the animation pops to life. After many years of working as a freelance animator, music video director, and experimental filmmaker, I ached to get away from the computer screen and get my work off of the TV or cinema screen and into physical spaces. When progressive-scan digital video cameras came out, I discovered that using a fast shutter-speed acts like the zoetrope slits. This allowed me to make films (videos) from drum-less zoetrope-like sculptures. Because I use them to make films, I dub the sculptures "cinetropes".
GM: Many of your films center around a cyclical motif, speaking to both the imagery presented, and the cinetrope shape and rotation. How does this theme, along with other interests and outside stimuli, influence and inspire you as an artist?
Eric Dyer (ED): The zoetrope is a pre-cinema optical toy -- a slitted drum with a sequence of animations drawn on its interior. Spin the drum, look through the slits, and the animation pops to life. After many years of working as a freelance animator, music video director, and experimental filmmaker, I ached to get away from the computer screen and get my work off of the TV or cinema screen and into physical spaces. When progressive-scan digital video cameras came out, I discovered that using a fast shutter-speed acts like the zoetrope slits. This allowed me to make films (videos) from drum-less zoetrope-like sculptures. Because I use them to make films, I dub the sculptures "cinetropes".
GM: Many of your films center around a cyclical motif, speaking to both the imagery presented, and the cinetrope shape and rotation. How does this theme, along with other interests and outside stimuli, influence and inspire you as an artist?

ED: Inspiration often comes from living the journey of project production. For example, while making Copenhagen Cycles, my family and I took a train trip south through parts of Europe. Berlin holds both monuments from a dark past, like the bombed out cathedral nicknamed the Broken Tooth, and richly creative present. Having the loops of Copenhagen kinetic woven into my thoughts, I naturally considered the destroy-create-destroy cycle humans find themselves continuously reliving. These thoughts, along with the desire to move my process into 3D printing, lead to The Bellows March.
GM: Your exhibits of works such as The Bellows March concurrently display both the physical cinetrope, viewable with the use of shutter-glasses, and the same animations, filmed and shown on screen. How do you feel an audience experiences each type of these animations? What are your desired reactions to each?
ED: When I first started making cinetropes, they were a means to the end of making a film. At festivals, audiences were fascinated by the process and wanted to see the sculptures that created what they saw on the screen. This led me to present the project as both a loop of the film and an installation of the cinetropes-- the installations were an exposé of the filmmaking process. Having witnessed audience's reactions to string the animation pop to life on the sculptures, along with loving the intriguing notion of how visitor's explore the work non-linearly and at their own pace has me now starting with the installation and allowing the film to follow at a later production stage. It's been exciting to create the installations for their own sake and also to make films that don't begin with cinema's language as the starting point. I hope I can continue to break new ground in filmmaking by following such unusual creative paths.
GM: While we are on the subject of breaking ground, your film, Copenhagen Cycles, screened at the Sundance Film Festival as a New Frontier piece in 2007. What was it like for you as an experimental artist to have your work presented at Sundance?
ED: Sundance's roots are in daring indie works, but the festival has become increasingly commercialized by the outside world. New Frontier is a gallery-based section that aims to put an edge back on the festival. That exhibition lead to unparalleled exposure for my work, and the film-savvy audience really connected with my pre-cinema-based process.
GM: Your exhibits of works such as The Bellows March concurrently display both the physical cinetrope, viewable with the use of shutter-glasses, and the same animations, filmed and shown on screen. How do you feel an audience experiences each type of these animations? What are your desired reactions to each?
ED: When I first started making cinetropes, they were a means to the end of making a film. At festivals, audiences were fascinated by the process and wanted to see the sculptures that created what they saw on the screen. This led me to present the project as both a loop of the film and an installation of the cinetropes-- the installations were an exposé of the filmmaking process. Having witnessed audience's reactions to string the animation pop to life on the sculptures, along with loving the intriguing notion of how visitor's explore the work non-linearly and at their own pace has me now starting with the installation and allowing the film to follow at a later production stage. It's been exciting to create the installations for their own sake and also to make films that don't begin with cinema's language as the starting point. I hope I can continue to break new ground in filmmaking by following such unusual creative paths.
GM: While we are on the subject of breaking ground, your film, Copenhagen Cycles, screened at the Sundance Film Festival as a New Frontier piece in 2007. What was it like for you as an experimental artist to have your work presented at Sundance?
ED: Sundance's roots are in daring indie works, but the festival has become increasingly commercialized by the outside world. New Frontier is a gallery-based section that aims to put an edge back on the festival. That exhibition lead to unparalleled exposure for my work, and the film-savvy audience really connected with my pre-cinema-based process.

GM: Your piece, Media Archaeology 2110 incorporates 35mm film. In this digital age, it is rare for independent and experimental artists to work with such a time-consuming and expensive medium. What inspired the piece’s message and what influenced you to work with this outdated, chemical medium?
ED: That film was a commission for the Animasivo festival and conference in Mexico. I'm by no means a purist, but the loss of tactility we're now experiencing with cinemas switching to digital projection weighs on my soul a bit. I visited a friend and fellow filmmaker who owned the wonderful Charles Theater here in Baltimore-- he took me to the projection booths and a storage 'cavern' that was filled with 35mm film trailers. Juxtapose that sight with today's modern, clinical, humanless projection systems and you may well feel the same profound sense of loss I felt. So, the theme for the commissioned works was "Life in the Year 2110". I imagined an Earth flooded by melted icecaps (Waterworldesque, sans Kevin Costner) and scuba-diving archeologists uncovering reels of celluloid-- old 35mm films. The archeologists got their histories mixed up a bit and attempted to view the prints as zoetropes. That's the ambiguous premise for the film-- we are seeing their 35mm film zoetropes, assembled in a variety of ways. It also served as a way to reclaim this 'trash' and to memorialize a disappearing medium.
GM: A careful combination of digital technology and handcrafted paper are what set your work apart from the increasingly all-digital norm of animation. Overall, how long does it take to produce one cinetrope animation? What is the most difficult aspect of the process?
ED: Because the process involves so many layers of work it's tough to put a time on each cinetrope, but to give you an idea-- 25 cut-paper cinetropes were created for Copenhagen Cycles and the project took 18 months. The Bellows March is made from 18 3D-printed hand-painted cinetropes-- that project took 3 years. Maintaining a sense of play while piecing together a cohesive concept is the hardest part of every project-- trusting oneself and enduring through stretches of uncertainty are challenges that will never go away.
ED: That film was a commission for the Animasivo festival and conference in Mexico. I'm by no means a purist, but the loss of tactility we're now experiencing with cinemas switching to digital projection weighs on my soul a bit. I visited a friend and fellow filmmaker who owned the wonderful Charles Theater here in Baltimore-- he took me to the projection booths and a storage 'cavern' that was filled with 35mm film trailers. Juxtapose that sight with today's modern, clinical, humanless projection systems and you may well feel the same profound sense of loss I felt. So, the theme for the commissioned works was "Life in the Year 2110". I imagined an Earth flooded by melted icecaps (Waterworldesque, sans Kevin Costner) and scuba-diving archeologists uncovering reels of celluloid-- old 35mm films. The archeologists got their histories mixed up a bit and attempted to view the prints as zoetropes. That's the ambiguous premise for the film-- we are seeing their 35mm film zoetropes, assembled in a variety of ways. It also served as a way to reclaim this 'trash' and to memorialize a disappearing medium.
GM: A careful combination of digital technology and handcrafted paper are what set your work apart from the increasingly all-digital norm of animation. Overall, how long does it take to produce one cinetrope animation? What is the most difficult aspect of the process?
ED: Because the process involves so many layers of work it's tough to put a time on each cinetrope, but to give you an idea-- 25 cut-paper cinetropes were created for Copenhagen Cycles and the project took 18 months. The Bellows March is made from 18 3D-printed hand-painted cinetropes-- that project took 3 years. Maintaining a sense of play while piecing together a cohesive concept is the hardest part of every project-- trusting oneself and enduring through stretches of uncertainty are challenges that will never go away.

GM: Your film, The Bellows March, and the upcoming interactive installation Short Ride incorporate 3D printing. These works seem quite different, one being a film and the other involving entry into a rotating tunnel. Can you talk a little about your decision to use this technology for both of these mediums? What are some of the advantages of using 3D printing for this art?
ED: Straddling the worlds of installation and film, which have very different languages, I hope is leading to unique results. One incredible aspect of the 3D-printed cinetropes is the bridge that is created between digital and physical worlds, allowing for art that in many ways reflects the increasingly blurry boarder between virtual and real in the human experience.
GM: Now that we know more about your creative thought processes, tell us a bit about who inspires you and why.
ED: Paul DeMarinis and Chris Burden for their playfulness and ability to join content and form into an elegant whole. Gregory Barsamian because of his incredibly crafted and artful sculptural zoetropes. Oskar Fischinger because of his excitement about experimental processes in animation.
GM: In speaking of playfulness in art, we are reminded of your piece, Coversong, which features photography of manhole covers from around the world. Can you tell us what initiated the concept for this work, what kind of manipulation was involved, and how the process differed from your 3D cinetropes?
ED: I was teaching a workshop at Connecticut College. The students used a Copenhagen Cycles-like process (collaged cut-inkjet-paper cinetropes using video and photos as source material) to re-present their town New London. One concept I discussed was 'pre-existing radial and non-radial patterns' -- that is, finding objects that contained patterns that might produce interesting kinetics when spun and shot. They ran with this idea, and I was transfixed by the motion that resulted from a couple manhole covers they shot. Over the next few years I collected photos of manhole covers, and when friends got wind of the project, they sent me photos from their travels. The final process was all digital-- I spun the photos in Adobe AfterEffects at various rates. I liken the film to my 2002 short Kinetic Sandwich-- both films reveal secret motion hidden in inanimate objects.
GM: We want to ask about your work as professor at University of Maryland Baltimore County. You bring students and symphony orchestras, such as the Brooklyn Philharmonic, together to create music visualizations with animation performances. Can you tell us about the kind of role music plays in working with your students and with your own work? What attracts you to the music selected in your work?
ED: Nearly every animator I meet is also a music composer. There's a connection between these practices-- control over tempo, manipulation of each fraction of a second, constructing a work of art from tiny building blocks. The student-symphony collaborative projects have always felt very natural because of this similarity, I believe. The music has always been provided by the orchestra-- resulting in a playful experience for the animators. Music selection in my own work varies quite a bit. With Copenhagen Cycles, John Adams' Phrygian Gates popped up randomly while I was shooting early tests-- it was perfect… I couldn't escape it… cyclical, minimal, progressive but non-narrative. All the characters and objects in The Bellows March are made from concertinas, so I worked with a composer, Nik Phelps, to create a soundtrack that felt like it was emanating directly from the action on the screen. Coversong was similar to that-- I wanted the sound to feel like it was being generated by the kinetic forms. We were moving to Los Angeles for my sabbatical year at CalArts. During the stress of packing, my 7-year-old daughter was bored, so I handed her my iPod and asked her to go around and record sounds she could make with any kind of metal. She did a brilliant job, and I layered and cycled those recording to create the film's soundtrack.
GM: As an instructor, what have you learned from your students and colleagues that has influenced or changed your work?
ED: One of the most wonderful things about teaching is being constantly immersed in a creative environment with eager enthusiasm about the art form-- it keeps one from ever creating in a bubble, and energizes one's own practice.
ED: Straddling the worlds of installation and film, which have very different languages, I hope is leading to unique results. One incredible aspect of the 3D-printed cinetropes is the bridge that is created between digital and physical worlds, allowing for art that in many ways reflects the increasingly blurry boarder between virtual and real in the human experience.
GM: Now that we know more about your creative thought processes, tell us a bit about who inspires you and why.
ED: Paul DeMarinis and Chris Burden for their playfulness and ability to join content and form into an elegant whole. Gregory Barsamian because of his incredibly crafted and artful sculptural zoetropes. Oskar Fischinger because of his excitement about experimental processes in animation.
GM: In speaking of playfulness in art, we are reminded of your piece, Coversong, which features photography of manhole covers from around the world. Can you tell us what initiated the concept for this work, what kind of manipulation was involved, and how the process differed from your 3D cinetropes?
ED: I was teaching a workshop at Connecticut College. The students used a Copenhagen Cycles-like process (collaged cut-inkjet-paper cinetropes using video and photos as source material) to re-present their town New London. One concept I discussed was 'pre-existing radial and non-radial patterns' -- that is, finding objects that contained patterns that might produce interesting kinetics when spun and shot. They ran with this idea, and I was transfixed by the motion that resulted from a couple manhole covers they shot. Over the next few years I collected photos of manhole covers, and when friends got wind of the project, they sent me photos from their travels. The final process was all digital-- I spun the photos in Adobe AfterEffects at various rates. I liken the film to my 2002 short Kinetic Sandwich-- both films reveal secret motion hidden in inanimate objects.
GM: We want to ask about your work as professor at University of Maryland Baltimore County. You bring students and symphony orchestras, such as the Brooklyn Philharmonic, together to create music visualizations with animation performances. Can you tell us about the kind of role music plays in working with your students and with your own work? What attracts you to the music selected in your work?
ED: Nearly every animator I meet is also a music composer. There's a connection between these practices-- control over tempo, manipulation of each fraction of a second, constructing a work of art from tiny building blocks. The student-symphony collaborative projects have always felt very natural because of this similarity, I believe. The music has always been provided by the orchestra-- resulting in a playful experience for the animators. Music selection in my own work varies quite a bit. With Copenhagen Cycles, John Adams' Phrygian Gates popped up randomly while I was shooting early tests-- it was perfect… I couldn't escape it… cyclical, minimal, progressive but non-narrative. All the characters and objects in The Bellows March are made from concertinas, so I worked with a composer, Nik Phelps, to create a soundtrack that felt like it was emanating directly from the action on the screen. Coversong was similar to that-- I wanted the sound to feel like it was being generated by the kinetic forms. We were moving to Los Angeles for my sabbatical year at CalArts. During the stress of packing, my 7-year-old daughter was bored, so I handed her my iPod and asked her to go around and record sounds she could make with any kind of metal. She did a brilliant job, and I layered and cycled those recording to create the film's soundtrack.
GM: As an instructor, what have you learned from your students and colleagues that has influenced or changed your work?
ED: One of the most wonderful things about teaching is being constantly immersed in a creative environment with eager enthusiasm about the art form-- it keeps one from ever creating in a bubble, and energizes one's own practice.
Find out more about Eric Dyer on his website: http://www.ericdyer.com/