Peter Horvath reigns in the interweb. November 28, 2007

I was first introduced to Peter Horvath’s work in a digital art class I am taking this semester at Emily Carr, seeing his work and hearing a bit about him sparked some serious curiosity, and inspired me to find out more about Horvath’s work and his practice.

Peter Horvath is a film and video artist who personally brings his work to a place where most filmmakers are trying to prevent their work from appearing. The Internet. He creates short vignettes which are able to capture the audience with their unabashed simplicity and tenderness. The colour schemes appearing in his films are carefully chosen, the illuminated sepia-golds and contrasting steel greys of his latest work, Boulevard, provoke reflection of the altercations between memory and current reality.

Viewing a film by Horvath on the Internet is the farthest thing from viewing something on You-tube or any other Internet video database. Horvath has carefully constructed every part of the viewing experience in order to present his work in exactly the way he chooses, everything, including the choice of browser, has been considered. Viewing one of Horvath’s films will prompt a full screen window to appear, this window is not navigable, preventing the viewer from the typical itch to multi-task. There are also no control buttons to be found when watching one of his films - the viewer is left without the ability to pause, rewind or fast-forward- an idea that is very foreign to anyone accustomed to viewing video content on-line.

In Tenderly Yours, Horvath also makes use of an item that plagues most Internet users. The pop-up window. By streamlining the styling of the pop-up, it’s appearance in the film both reminds us of the technology we are viewing the film on, and also acts as another perspective to the film. Thus creating another layer of meaning.

The experience of viewing a film or video on-line is very different to that of viewing in a cinema. Many regard film as a ‘warm’ media, while computer technology is often regarded as cold and sterile. Perhaps Horvath’s decision to distribute his work using computers is because the hardness of the medium can play in contrast to the video footage (during times of warmth in Tenderly Yours) or to further enhance the coldness of the action unfolding (the windy dark car ride of Boulevard).

When one goes to the cinema to view a film, it is a monumental experience, in the sense that you are with a large group of people, experiencing something together on a huge screen. There is a sense of companionship and shared experience, there is also a comfort in knowing that the 200 people around you are also seeing what you’re seeing. The cinema is also a place that is removed from your home, somewhere you travel to in anticipation of what you are about to see. Horvath shows his work on the most private screen possible, your personal computer. In this way, you are allowing the artwork out of a gallery space and into a personal one. The act of viewing his films on such a personal level can be chilling, Boulevard especially, made me realize the dimensions of the screen in relation to myself, as well as the lack of any companionship to share the experience with.

We are not used to being alone when using technology, having friends on Facebook and programs like MSN Messenger to share even the littlest thing with. The solitary experience of Horvath’s work can be sobering and even meditative, at once accepting the technology being used and preventing the viewer from using it.
Truly, John Horvath’s films are an experience, not to share with many, but rather to experience alone.