Mike Wolkow

"A l likeness is a gift... it avoids... or confuses time if your prefer." said John Berger. Following this premise, 81.92 is a structuralist inquiry into the notion of presence and absence as it reveals archival radio broadcasts from former Montreal radio host Mike Wolkow. The former (the audible) is left invisible while the later (the visible) seeks to find the missing elements that trace the passage of this vocal presence. Past and present interplay in this piece that shifts between epochs, thus mimicking a radio signal that is being tuned in.

The world’s museums are closed. What are you missing?   Take a real-time walk through the Louvre towards the “greatest painting ever” and contemplate what it would be like to be there yourself.

A dramatization to promote the Territorial Army.

Originally produced anonymously and distributed by RTMark, Untitled #29.95 tells the story of the commercial art establishment's attempt to turn video art into a precious commodified object through the release of limited editions during the nineties.

A visual essay on contemporary Kiwi architecture.

A dash of youth, a pinch of age, and an unrecorded recipe: Mudder's Hands is a charming documentary conversation about arthritis, centered around the tradition of baking Newfoundland raisin bread.

The six-hour essay in four parts examines the history of regimes and revolutions, leaders and martyrs, from a philosophical perspective. The collage of personal memories, staged scenes and archives of collective memory compares the Prague Spring to the Velvet Revolution and shows the exposure, conflict, crisis, and catharsis of the post-communist society. Democracy can be saved through creative laughter, dissolving the untouchability and hypertrophic egos of the representatives of state institutions. The Internet frees the society from representatives of the non-functional connecting link that prevents direct communication between citizens and institutions of power.  “I can see you until I spot you. Once I spot you, I cannot see you anymore.” K. Vachek