In James Benning’s film Concord Woods (2014), we watch a replica of Henry
David Thoreau’s famous cabin at Walden Pond. The cabin is first shown at summer solstice, graced by the golden sunlight. The shot lingers for sixty minutes while the sun gently sets. Next we see the same cabin at winter solstice, from time to time under gently falling snowflakes. Again the shot lasts for sixty minutes, but this time the daylight does not give way to darkness. Over the first shot Benning’s voice reads from Thoreau’s ‘A Plea for John Brown’ (1859), an abolitionist who led an insurrection against slavery and was later hanged for his violent act of civil disobedience. Over the next frame he reads from Economy (1847-1854), the opening section to the same author’s Walden. Concord Woods points back to the equally picturesque cabin in Benning’s Stemple Pass (2012). This film begins in spring, where the cabin almost disappears in the lush green forests of the Sierra Nevada. The image becomes more disturbing once Benning’s voice begins to recite tales of survival, freshly killed animals and gum infections. The words that Benning is reading now come from the journal of Ted Kaczynski, better known as the Unabomber, for a while American’s most feared terrorist. Through these two lovers of nature, one worshipped, one reviled, the landscape is presented as the locus of various forms of violence. In so doing the constellation of cabin projects (which includes other filmworks and installations too) subtly explodes the stories we tell each other about each other, our environments and our actions.
Originally trained in mathematics and converted to art by a chance encounter
with John Cage at the University of Wisconsin, James Benning has been making films since the early 1970s. Over the years, Benning has developed a highly original language, which, together with his privilege for uncommon landscapes, make him a unique filmmaker in contemporary moving images. Benning’s language is marked by durational static shots and natural sound. At times duration takes over and, in BNSF (2013) and Nightfall (2012) for example, the film is simply one single extended shot (BNSF lasts for 3 hours and 13 minutes). Even in those films that do not push duration to such extremes, Benning creates exacting, compositionally rigorous frames that leave the audience to confront the natural choreography of the world for periods of two up to sixty minutes. The director has described his films as ‘found paintings’: not only do they offer striking pictorial qualities, but they also toy with the idea of returning the moving image to its original stillness. The films also offer a systematic investigation of the relations between man, landscape, and the filmic medium. During the last decades it has become increasingly clear how much these investigations have to offer to key contemporary debates about ecology, the age of the anthropocene and the development of digital technologies. It is fair to say that Benning stands today as an important precursor to the non- pastoral attitude to environmental thought required by the Anthropocene, in the sense that what we could (once) call the “natural environment” in Benning is a complex, ambiguous, politically charged field, which is both always entangled with man and technology and capable of resisting and reversing man’s designs. As the opening examples demonstrated rather than being conciliatory and aesthetically appeasing Benning’s films are – whether subtly or explicitly – often concerned with the murderous, the destructive and the ruinous. The entire California trilogy for instance (El Valley Centro (1999), LOS (2000), SOGOBI (2001)) is a geovisual investigation of the many consequences of water politics in southern California. Over the six hours of the trilogy agro-industrial processes are observed in relation to the intense desertification they cause. Whether he is reminding us that unequal access to resources is one of the main sources of war or showing nature as the locus of social antagonism - from civil disobedience to terrorism - Benning’s durational shots keep us waiting just long enough to see how much violence is stored in our landscapes.