Multimedia Art. Video Art-Music

7/24/2019 Multimedia Art. Video Art-Music

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MULTIMEDIA ARTVideo Art-Music

Holly Rogers

Video art is often considered a visual genre. But the electromagnetic basis of thevideo format enabled sound and image to be recorded and projected simultaneously

in an easy, portable way. As a result, the medium could produce a live form of audio-visual synergy rarely possible before. As earlier chapters in this volume point out,attempts to capture temporal elements in the static arts proliferated as the twenti-eth century progressed, with movement and transient fluidity becoming prominentthemes for many Impressionists, Cubists, and those involved with Orphism, Vorti-cism, and Synchronism. And yet Karin v. Maur has argued that in many cases, thegoverning force was not simply time but, rather, musicalized time: “Never before inthe numerous programs and manifestos of the avant-garde did there appear so manytemporal concepts, such as rhythm, dynamics, speed, and simultaneity, or musicalterms such as cadence, dissonance, polyphony, etc., proving the existence of a closelink between the temporalization tendencies in art and the reception of musicalphenomena.”1 Film technology provided a significant boost to the possibility of

“musicalized time” as it enabled the static image to burst into life, a leap into tempo-ralization that manifested itself most clearly in the early visual-music films of OskarFischinger and Hans Richter and the mid-century experimentation of Californianvisual-music artists Jordan Belson, James Whitney, Hy Hirsh, and Harry Smith.Although film equipment allowed images to become temporally and aurally active,the arrival of the video medium onto the commercial market in 1965 encouraged aform of live, interactive audiovisuality able to significantly expand audiovisual, cin-ematic space. Video was cheap and easy to use: it could be managed by one person;it could manipulate sound and image in real time; it could use the space around it asa creative material; and it could engender a new mode of activated spectatorship.

While it is true that video became a useful tool for visual artists seeking to movetheir images through time, many early video protagonists actually began their

careers as musicians; Nam June Paik (experimental composer), Steina Vasulka(classical violinist), and Robert Cahen (electro-acoustic composer), for instance,all trained and worked as performers or composers before turning their attention tomoving image work. Others came to the format without formal training, but withan established working relationship with music: Tony Conrad, for instance, was amember of the Theatre of Eternal Music (also known as The Dream Syndicate)alongside La Monte Young and John Cale; Bruce Nauman explains that his ideas

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about time were fertilized by the music of Steve Reich and Philip Glass; and BillViola developed his audiovisual and spatial tropes during his time performing aspart of David Tudor’s experimental group, Composers Inside Electronics (wherehe became involved with Tudor’s “Rainforest” project). With the new audiovisualequipment in hand, these early protagonists produced highly musical pieces thatpaved the way for an intermedial aesthetic that would characterize video work forthe next fifty years.

As music and art came together, the spaces that had previously held them apartbecame an integral part of the new aesthetic. Using the Duomo in Florence toillustrate the dynamic spatial forces at play between sound, image, and visitor in hiswork, for instance, Viola explained how the ability of sound to travel “around cor-ners, through walls, or totally immerse, even penetrate the observer” could producean “aural architecture” able to physically activate the hinterland between paint-ing and music.2 Such interest in the spatial aspects of audiovisual work relocatedcreative and receptive emphasis from object to process—from artifact to audio-visual space—a relocation that lies at the heart of the popular tri-partite designa-tion “video installation art.” Audiovisual at a material level, and frequently used bymusicians, video technology gave rise to a genre able to command several levels ofaudio engagement at once: first, its technological make-up meant that sound andimage could be produced concurrently, and this demanded an audiovisual commit-ment from its user; second, video’s audiovisuality could be projected live to create atransient and site-specific intermedial space; and third, when displayed, video couldimmerse artist, performer, and audience within a single, interactive environment.

During the decades immediately preceding video’s commercial availability, thespaces in which art and music were received, and the strategies of listening andviewing encouraged within them, became an increasingly important componentof the creative process. This spatial curiosity not only called into question conven-tional concert- and art-venue decorum; it also pressed at the time-honored bounda-ries that separated the arts. Traditionally, visual art, unlike music, does not requirea spatio-temporal realization. But the emergence of installation art during the lastcentury questioned the silent, static nature of painting and sculpture by highlight-ing the spaces in which artwork was situated, a move that repositioned attentionfrom the piece presented to its contextual relationships. Visitors were encouraged tomove around the installed work at will in order to reconfigure its spatial attributesand their own bodily relation to it in a personal and unique way.

Performance art and Happenings took the ideas of spatial expansion and audi-ence activation even further. Speaking of his Events, the architect of the Happen-ing, Allan Kaprow, explained that people did not “come to look at things” but ratherbecame a fundamental part of the work, a change that replaced the artist-as-creatorwith a fragile, impermanent, and collectively articulated art event. According toKaprow, art no longer had to be a finite and collectable artifact: instead, it couldarise from the interaction between visual and audio components, audience mem-bers, and the space in which they all collided: “There is, therefore, a never-endingplay of changing conditions between the relatively fixed or ‘scored’ parts of mywork and the ‘unexpected’ or undetermined parts,” explained Kaprow: as a result,it is “possible to experience the whole exhibit differently at different times. Thesehave been composed in such a way as to offset any desire to see them in the lightof the traditional, closed, clear forms of art as we have known them.”3 Kaprow’s




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desire to blur the boundaries between art and life was closely connected to the ideasadvocated by members of the Fluxus alliance, artists and musicians who emphasizedhumorous anti-art gestures and impermanent situations. In 1964, George Maciunasexplained that “Fluxus is definitely against art-object as non-functional commod-

ity—to be sold and to make a livelihood for an artist. It could temporarily have thepedagogical function of teaching people the needlessness of art including the even-tual needlessness of itself. It should not therefore be permanent.”4 The promotionof art that encouraged a free dialogue between its “scored” sections and the “unde-termined” elements performed by its visitors initiated a shift between art-as-objectand art-as-process: according to Maciunas, a work not only reflected its context butcould also mediate it. Such mediation lay at the heart of early video work.

As artists began to move their work into temporal and spatial realms, composersstarted to demonstrate a new awareness of the ways in which sound could spreadthrough a performance arena and into the audience. Of course, an interest in thespatialization of music performance can be found throughout the centuries, from thecori spezzati (separated choirs) favored by Venetian polychoral composers AdrianWillaert and Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli during the sixteenth century, throughto the physical movements of musicians in works such as the final Adagio of Hay-dn’s Symphony No. 45 (the Farewell, 1772), which requires musicians to leave thestage one by one. Spatial effects can also be found in many orchestral works, suchas the feuding timpanists that flank the orchestra in the Allegro finale of Nielsen’sFourth Symphony (The Inextinguishable, 1916), or the chilling offstage trumpet andhorn cries that haunt the fifth and final movement of Mahler’s Symphony No. 2(Resurrection, 1888–94). As the twentieth century unraveled, the spatialization ofperformers and audience members became more pronounced. One of the first stepstoward a refreshed relationship between music and its spaces of articulation camein the form of works that discarded permanent and determined sequences of soundsin favor of performer-driven processes similar to the fluid events orchestrated byKaprow: Morton Feldman’s four Intersections (1951–53), for example, and TerryRiley’s In C (1964) give creative command to the performer, ensuring a differentinterpretation in every recital. John Cage took this idea further by proposing thatmusic is not something a musician produces but, rather, something a listener per-ceives: any sounds can be music, in other words, provided that they are heard assuch. In performances of 4'33" (1952), incidental, “environmental sounds” fromthe performance space become part of the experience, an inclusion that dissolvedthe physical and creative boundaries between composer, performer, and audience.5 Although working to a very different aesthetic, Luciano Berio often provided veryspecific stage directions for his performers: in Circles (1960), he asked the percus-sionists to execute “frantic gyrations,” while the singer was requested to trace a “halfcircle” rotation until she became “absorbed into the ensemble.”6 Asked to meanderat will between six small ensembles positioned all around her, the solo clarinetistin Pierre Boulez’s Domaines (1968) was afforded control over the structure of thepiece: as she reached each musical domain, a different segment of music was per-formed. Other composers sought to collapse not only the familiar seating formationsof instrumental performers, but also the traditional bifurcation of concert venues,in which audience members remain physically separated from the musicians. Inperformances of Terretektorh (1966), Iannis Xenakis dotted his orchestra throughthe audience, who were seated in a circle around the conductor. As a result, each




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listener received a differently spatialized version of the music.Even within this most cursory foray into the expanding spaces of early-twentieth-

century music and art, it is easy to identify for video work a dual lineage. Set againsta historical backdrop of intense experimentation that ranged from the conceptual

work of Marcel Duchamp and the performance-based practices of Kaprow on theart side, to the heightened spatialization of Cage, Boulez, and Xenakis in the arenaof music, the video format provided a new means by which to expand traditionalmethods of art and music consumption. As we have seen, the arrival of early videotechnology provided artists with the opportunity to easily sound their visual work,and composers the means by which to visualize their music. In so doing, those usingthe portable video equipment could become artist-composers, able to draw togetherthe expanding spaces of music performance and art exhibition into a single, inter-medial unit. Perhaps because it rested at the intersection between disciplines, videowas at first considered to be a facilitator for convergence, rather than as a genre inits own right. During the 1960s and early 1970s, for instance, the medium was pri-marily included in multimedia events, where it acted like an adhesive able to drawtogether audiences, performers, and technologies. This makes it difficult to identifya single orthodoxy at play within early video art-music, although shared influencesdid provide loose stylistic alliances—the Fluxus “dematerialization” of the object,for instance, or the desire for audiovisual synergy. Yvonne Spielmann refers to theseearly years as video’s “integrating birth,” arguing that any new medium, before itcan coalesce into a genre, must first define itself in relation to existing media.7 Butwe can take Spielmann’s idea one step further by speaking not only of integration,but also of amalgamation. While it is true that a new genre was in the processof becoming, two ancient disciplines were also beginning to merge physically andaesthetically.

Video’s place in the multimedia milieu of the 1960s can be seen in one of its firstpublic appearances as a creative medium. Nine Evenings: Theater and Engineeringwas a series of multimedia events staged at the 69th Regiment Armory, New York,during October 1966. Organized by Billy Klüver, an electrical engineer, Nine Eve-nings presented work created by New York artists and musicians, including Cage,Tudor, Robert Rauschenberg, Robert Whitman, and Merce Cunningham, in col-laboration with engineers from the Bell Telephone Laboratories. By bringing musicand art together with new technologies such as video, wireless sound transmission,closed-circuit television, Doppler sonar devices that could translate movement intosound, and infrared television cameras, Klüver hoped to develop integrated audio-visual performativity, an anticipation that was realized in Whitman’s Two Holes ofWater—3. To produce his highly theatrical piece, Whitman used seven cars, film,live performers, closed-circuit television, and a typewriter (Figure 43.1). A mini-ature fiber-optic video camera placed inside the pocket of fellow artist Les Levinecaptured real-time images of the performance, which were instantly relayed througha closed-circuit system to Whitman. The artist inter-spliced these images with foot-age from broadcast television to produce a live montage that was projected, viaequipment attached to the cars, onto large screens placed around the Armory. In asimilar way, sounds from the cars, typewriter, and audience were picked up by micro-phones and combined with pre-recorded noises, including the sound of crickets andthe soulful enunciations of Bertrand Russell. By videoing and projecting live imagesand sounds, Whitman not only made use of video’s ability to synergistically unite




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many disparate elements, he also drew the audience into the heart of the piece.Site-specific and interactive, then, the audiovisual space created by Two Holes ofWater—3rejected traditional methods of art display and music performance.

The first American exhibition given entirely to video and television work was

held a few years later, in 1969 at the Howard Wise Gallery, New York. “TV asa Creative Medium” included work by many early proponents of video, includ-ing Paik, Ira Schneider, Frank Gillette, and Aldo Tambellini, and represents anattempt to identify, or even to forge, an emerging video community. As DavidsonGigliotti explains, “TV as a Creative Medium was a catalytic event around whicha video art community began to coalesce. New names and faces had appeared onthe scene every year since 1965, but until the Spring of ’69 there had been nocenter, no real cohesion, no sense of a community of purpose. After the show atthe Howard Wise Gallery, it was possible to identify oneself as a video artist, andto recognize other video artists.”8 Significantly, this early attempt at identifying forvideo a cohesive community included several audiovisual pieces, an incorporationthat not only brought sound into the normally silent gallery world of art exhibition,but also indicated the musical direction in which video was heading. Included wereseveral pieces by Paik, among them a rewired television linked to two microphones.The monitor showed a moving cluster of colored lines which morphed and warpedin response to the sounds being received by the microphones. Here, sound andimage were created simultaneously by a single medium. Joe Weintraub’s AC/TV(Audio-Controlled Television), a device able to “[t]ranslate music into a complexkinetic image on the screen of any color TV” sought a similar fusion: “The bright-ness is controlled by the volume of the music. The colors are controlled by thepitch. The patterns are dependent on both … As soon as I became aware of theColor Cathode Ray Tube, I realized that the red, blue and green guns in the CRTwere ideally suited for audio control by the low, middle and high frequencies ofmusic.”9 As part of the show, Paik premiered one of his collaborative cello works:TV Bra for Living Sculpture was one of several intensely musical pieces that the art-ist-composer produced with avant-garde cellist and mixed-media performance artistCharlotte Moorman. Hailing from New York, Moorman was a key protagonist inthe city’s experimental arts scene and established the Avant-Garde Festival, a seriesof radical and influential events situated beyond the threshold (and remit) of tradi-tional venues. Described by one reviewer as “the show-stopper of this quite dazzlingexhibition,” TV Bra was intended to “humanize” and demystify the new electronictechnology.10 But it was also one of the earliest examples of audiovisual video com-position. For this piece, Moorman sported an undergarment made from two smalltelevision screens which showed live TV footage and a closed-circuit feed of theperformance. When she improvised on her cello, the sounds passed through a proc-essor, distorting and modulating both the live broadcast TV and her own, loopedimage. The unique ability of video simultaneously to record and play back musicand image was used to condense the performer and the broadcast world beyond intoa transient, interactive, and intermedial space.

These early uses of video, then, produced a unique moment in history. Thoseusing the technology could become (or invite their audiences to become) artist-composers, producing work able to collapse the space–time divide that previouslyhad held apart the visual and musical arts. As a result, creative practice could movefluidly between the space that traditionally separated and distinguished disciplines.




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By the 1980s, however, this moment was no longer unique, as video had become awell-respected and “aesthetically independent genre.”11 Although we must be waryof oversimplification and reduction, it is possible to distinguish between video’s firstwave of experimentation and its subsequent developments in terms of what Cather-

ine Elwes calls “contrasting spatial dynamics.”

12

During its first decade, video workwas sculptural. Artist-composers placed emphasis on video’s physical apparatus inorder to produce an activated mode of consumption. This could either be in theform of multimedia presentation, as we saw in Whitman’s Two Holes of Water—3,or sculptural, as demonstrated by the striking sartorial presentation of Paik’s TVBra or his later TV Chair (1968) and TV Bed (1972). Other artists placed all theirfocus on the TV monitor: for Untitled (1968), Otto Piene covered a television setdisplaying a diagonal line with silverpainted plastic pearls; Frank Gillette and IraSchneider created a bank of nine TV monitors that displayed different views of theaudience for Wipe Cycle (1969); and Nauman asked visitors to walk down a narrowwooden passage toward their own videoed image for his Live-Taped Video Corridor(1970).

Although audiovisuality and interactivity still resonate strongly in contemporaryvideo work, later trends have leaned toward what Liz Kotz describes as a “seductiveimmateriality.”13 While exceptions to this binary are not difficult to find—GabrielBarcia-Colombo’s recent interactive audiovisual items and Camille Utterback’sPotent Objects (2003) are just two examples—many artist-composers have embracedflat-screen technology to create more immersive, cinematic environments in whichthe apparatus blends with its surroundings. Using as a starting point Norman Bry-son’s belief that the Western oil paint tradition has been “treated primarily as anerasive medium” able to take attention away from “the surface of the picture-plane,”

Jay Bolter and Richard Grusin cite point-of-view television, webcams, and perioddramas as examples of genres that make us think we are “‘really’ there.”14 In suchinstances, they argue, “the logic of immediacy dictates that the medium itself shoulddisappear and leave us in the presence of the thing represented.”15 Viola’s workembodies the notions of immersivity and intermediality particularly well. Althoughhe also produces single-screen works, his most powerful pieces exist in multidimen-sional forms that reside in dark spaces cut off from the outside world. The StoppingMind (1991), for instance, consisted of four projection screens hanging several feetfrom the blackened walls of a dark room. Speakers nestled in each of the four cor-ners and another hung from the center of the ceiling. At first the room was stilland silent: then, in “a burst of frantic motion and cascading sound,” images takenfrom natural scenes began to jostle against urban landscapes.16 Spreading across thefour screens, the randomly generated images were delivered in short bursts, gainingin nervous haste each time. These visual bursts were presented with sounds takenfrom the original location. Like the image track, the electro-acoustic noises becameincreasingly warped and insistent with each appearance, until a level of ampli-fied distortion resulted in what Viola referred to as “frightening” sounds.17 Visitorswere asked to step into the heart of this alternation between stasis and “franticmotion”; to be thoroughly immersed in the evolving nightmare. With the edges ofeach screen disappearing into a “seductive immateriality,” visitors were thoroughlysutured into Viola’s audiovisual diegesis. During performances of the TV Bra, it waspossible for visitors to be included in the work’s closed-circuit feed, thus appearingon Moorman’s televisual clothing and assuming a degree of interactive engagement.




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However, the performance remained sculptural, rather than immersive. The “auralarchitecture” of The Stopping Mind, on the other hand, was immersive but not inter-active; the visitors were physically absorbed into the audiovisual creation but couldnot alter its course.

Other forms of recent audiovisual video place the interactive element at theaesthetic heart of the work. David Stout’s investigation into video noise—“a ran-dom grouping of black and white pixels changing position every 25–30 times asecond”—makes use of computer technology to create responsive forms of audio-visuality, for instance, and can be traced back to the early intermedial experimentsof Weintraub and Paik.18 In works such as SignalFire (2003–04), the artist producesfeedback loops and digital image processes through hybrid laptop instruments inorder to create a direct audiovisual response from video noise, a transformation thatsuggests “the potential power of artificially intelligent sound-image engines” (Figure43.2).19 Like the pieces by Whitman and Paik above, these processes could includean interactive element, as Stout explains: “This sound and any sound emitted fromthe ‘viewer’ in the immediate environment can be directed back into the system toeffect various mutations of visual form, color, scale and movement. Consequently,the individual works are unpredictable and capable of affecting the visual and sonicbehavior of each other, producing an ambient or environmental effect which trans-forms the viewer into a participant and the singular composition into a net-workedsystem. As these works grow in size they will more importantly grow in behavioralcomplexity.”20 Two of Christa Erickson’s installations that deal with the fragilityof memory play on the conceptual links between sound and image through moregentle forms of interactivity. Replay: Rewind (2002–04) uses an ultrasonic sensorto activate projected images and an audio counterpoint whenever a visitor sits ona piano stool in front of the screen; in Whirl (2007), the grainy moving images ofchildren at play and the shaky, distant sounds of nursery rhymes whispered througha record player become animated only when the visitor blows temporary life into apinwheel. Adi Marom’s interactive digital animation, Machinema, relied on a simi-lar form of physical interactivity. Spread over 120 flat screens at the IAC Building,

New York (2009), the piece lay dormant until a visitor assumed control over a largecrank: as soon as the gears began to shift to the sound of loudly protesting ratchetsand cogs, the installation ground into motion, sending birds, waves, clouds, and thesun across the screen to give the illusion of mechanical interaction.

The musical strategies at play in contemporary video art are particularly clear inwork that encourages interactivity through the use of touch-screen interfaces andsensors. Once visitors cross the normally forbidden threshold that separates art andlife in order to interact with a work, they become the material of the piece, ableto assume varying levels of compositional control. Cantique 3 (2004), a participa-tory video piece created by Marie Chouinard, for instance, allowed visitors to playthe installation. The profiles of a man and a woman rested dormant on two largescreens, each connected to separate touch-screen panels. On the screens—one eachfor the man and the woman—were five lines that resembled a musical stave: butinstead of musical notes, small snapshots of the characters rested on the lines. Visi-tors were invited to move the snapshots up and down and along the staves in orderto create a corresponding reaction in the faces on the big screens, which burst intoaggravated movement and harsh, extended vocalizations. When played together,the man and woman created an audiovisual counterpoint composed entirely by the




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visitors.At a time when even the youngest child can engage in audiovisual play on her

mobile phone, it is difficult to imagine a time when moving images and soundscould not easily be produced together. But before 1965, live forms of audiovisuality

were difficult to produce. Emerging at a time of cultural shift between art-as-objectand art-as-process, video technology provided a simple means with which to cre-ate visual music, or sonic images: as a result, it enabled several strands of creativeexperimentation to pull together to form a new audiovisual space that radicallyredefined the traditions of music performance and art exhibition. Video’s “acousticarchitecture,” then, represented a critical intervention, or coming together, of twospatially expanding disciplines. With this in mind, it makes sense to speak not ofvideo installation art, but rather of video art-music. Not only does this recognize theimportance of sound in video’s material make-up, the ways in which it has beenused, and the expanded spaces of its reception; it also acknowledges the histori-cal importance of a technology able to draw together two separate artforms. Onceestablished, this new form of art-music and the “activated spectatorship” it encour-aged has proliferated into sculptural, immersive, interactive, and virtual forms thatcan now be found in most major galleries and large-scale music events.

Notes

1 Karin v. Maur, The Sound of Painting: Music in Modern Art (Munich: Prestel, 1999), 44.2 Quoted in Jörg Zutter, “Interview with Bill Viola,” in Bill Viola: Unseen Images, ed. Marie Louise

Syring (Düsseldorf: Städtische Kunsthalle, 1992), 100. 3 Allan Kaprow, “Notes on the Creation of a Total Art,” in Essays on the Blurring of Art and Life, ed.

Jeff Kelley (California: University of California Press, 1993), 11–12. Kaprow’s essay was first pub-lished in 1958.

4 George Maciunas, “240.XXII George Maciunas (Fluxus objectives and Ideology) 1964,” in Fluxusetc. Addemda II: The Gilbert and Lila Silverman Collection, ed. Jon Hendricks, exh. cat. (Pasadena:Baxter Art Gallery at the California Institute of Technology, 1983), 166.

5 Wim Mertens, American Minimal Music, trans. Jan Hautekiet (New York: Alexander Broude, 1983),22.

6 Stage direction quoted in Robert Adlington, The Music of Harrison Birtwistle (Cambridge: Cam-bridge University Press, 2000), 48.

7 Yvonne Spielmann, Video: The Reflexive Medium (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2008), 117. 8 Davidson Gigliotti, “Video Art in the Sixties,” in Abstract Painting 1960–69 (Long Island City, NY:

Institute for Art and Urban Resources Inc., 1983), 43. 9 Joe Weintraub quoted in exhibition flyer. 10 Reviewer quoted in John Gruen, “Art in New York,” New York 2, no. 23 (June 9, 1969): 57. 11 Spielmann, Video, 87. 12 Catherine Elwes, Video Art: A Guided Tour (London: University of the Arts), 153. 13 Liz Kotz, “Video Projection: The Space Between Screens,” in Art and the Moving Image: A Critical

Reader, ed. Tanya Leighton (London: Tate Publishing, 2008), 379. 14 Norman Bryson, Vision and Painting: The Logic of the Gaze (New Haven: Yale University Press,

1983), 92; Jay Bolter and Richard Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media (Cambridge, MA:The MIT Press, 1999), 6.

15 Bolter and Grusin, Remediation, 6. 16 Bill Viola, “The Stopping Mind,” in Reasons for Knocking at an Empty House: Writings 1973–1994,

ed. Robert Violette (London: Thames and Hudson, 1995), 213. 17 Quoted in Bill Viola: European Insights, ed. Rolf Lauter (Munich: Prestel, 1999), 310.18 David Stout quoted in Spielmann, Video, 225. 19 Ibid. 20 Ibid., 226.




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Further Reading

Elwes, Catherine. Video Art: A Guided Tour. London: I. B. Tauris, 2005.Gaudreault, André, and Philippe Marion. “The Cinema as a Model for the Genealogy of Media.” Con-

vergence 8, no. 4 (2002): 12–18.Hall, Doug and Sally Jo Fifer, eds. Illuminating Video: An Essential Guide to Video Art. New York: Aper-

ture Press, 1991.Knight, Julia, ed. Diverse Practices: A Critical Reader on British Video Art. Luton: University of Luton/

Arts Council England, 1996.Meigh-Andrews, Chris. A History of Video Art. Oxford: Berg, 2006.Rogers, Holly. Sounding the Gallery: Video and the Rise of Art-Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press,

2013.Schneider, Ira and Beryl Korot, eds. Video Art: An Anthology. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,

1976.Spielmann, Yvonne. Video: The Reflexive Medium. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008.Youngblood, Gene. Expanded Cinema. New York: E. P. Dutton & Co., 1970.

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Multimedia Art. Video Art-Music