Lives of the Saints
Delivered: 2007
Lives of the Saints is a small collection of video pieces that follow on from Mr. AAA Hot Water, made in 2005. That was created as an extrapolation of the opening credits for Kriv Stender’s feature film The Illustrated Family Doctor, replacing the original credits with a longer unrelated narrative. It appeared on the soundtrack DVD.

I needed text to fit the existing name, and intuitively decided on the story of Werner Erhardt, charismatic founder of the E.S.T. movement. If you knew the story it would seem familiar, if not, it would hopefully be entertainingly enigmatic.
Since that time I have been engaged in ‘video signage’ for the Powerhouse Museum and others, and have been curious about using this as a means to tell more stories about the modern ‘saints’. Video signage is not filmic – more like a set of designed pages presented on a video screen. The text has to be brief, bold and to the point. There can be fades but the actual media is static. That sets the rules for this collection.
I see this is as poetry, combining a few carefully chosen words with typography, image and pacing. I hope you agree.
You may wish to know the background for these pieces, as they are a bit pithy.
Lives of the Saints is a small collection of video pieces that follow on from Mr. AAA Hot Water, made in 2005. That was created as an extrapolation of the opening credits for Kriv Stender’s feature film The Illustrated Family Doctor, replacing the original credits with a longer unrelated narrative. It appeared on the soundtrack DVD.

I needed text to fit the existing name, and intuitively decided on the story of Werner Erhardt, charismatic founder of the E.S.T. movement. If you knew the story it would seem familiar, if not, it would hopefully be entertainingly enigmatic.
Since that time I have been engaged in ‘video signage’ for the Powerhouse Museum and others, and have been curious about using this as a means to tell more stories about the modern ‘saints’. Video signage is not filmic – more like a set of designed pages presented on a video screen. The text has to be brief, bold and to the point. There can be fades but the actual media is static. That sets the rules for this collection.
I see this is as poetry, combining a few carefully chosen words with typography, image and pacing. I hope you agree.
You may wish to know the background for these pieces, as they are a bit pithy.
Haus belong John Frum.
February 15th is John Frum day in Vanuatu – the anniversary of the god’s first appearance at an all night kava drinking session in the early 40’s. John promised that if the locals gave up western life and went back to the old ‘kustom’ the local volcano would erupt with endless wealth. Which they did, but it didn’t.
Until the US Navy arrived to set up base in 1942, filling warehouses with cargo and employing the locals for good pay. And there were black faces amongst the service men, unlike the missionaries. Surely John Frum was an American. And once the war was over; surely the best way to bring back John was to build airstrips, planes and wear what passes for the US uniform. He has yet to come home, but then again so has Jesus.
Me.
Me was inspired by Adi Da, also known as Da Free John, and Franklin Jones. While there’s some controversy about his personal life, I am more impressed by his wonderful self-obsession. To not exist through Franklin Jones is narcissism. You have not lived until you have been at one with Adi Da. Or one of a parade of similar beaming gurus.
I decided that rather than risk the ire of a ‘7th Level Adept’, I’d create my own team of gurus. I used a quite advanced 3D version of a police identikit. Their healing rays are created out of manipulated images of a candle flame. It’s very simple and works mostly on eye contact. The words are from no one and everyone. I wrote them, but felt a phantom monk’s staff whacking the back of my head.
Haus belong John Frum.
February 15th is John Frum day in Vanuatu – the anniversary of the god’s first appearance at an all night kava drinking session in the early 40’s. John promised that if the locals gave up western life and went back to the old ‘kustom’ the local volcano would erupt with endless wealth. Which they did, but it didn’t.
Until the US Navy arrived to set up base in 1942, filling warehouses with cargo and employing the locals for good pay. And there were black faces amongst the service men, unlike the missionaries. Surely John Frum was an American. And once the war was over; surely the best way to bring back John was to build airstrips, planes and wear what passes for the US uniform. He has yet to come home, but then again so has Jesus.
I Believe in Jim Jones.
The story of Jonestown is well known, near mythical. Such that I felt no need to be accurate, and used images from a 1963 college graduation instead of the actual folk. Jim himself is hidden amongst the ‘dead’. Customarily he’s shown in high contrast with his deep black sunglasses – I used a similar look on his flock. They’re also double exposed, which expresses their decomposition. The green jungle peeps through the dark areas.
I found the image of the lady holding her sign and thought it needed extra pages. Jones asked his people to send him ‘Dear Dad’ letters to let him know their thoughts. I thought to compose one sent a little after the revolutionary suicide. He often told them the Russians would come take them to Moscow, but I think they ended up elsewhere.
Major Jealous Golden Airplane.
Jones was inspired by Father Divine, a black charismatic from the great depression who bought up hotels and turned them into ‘heavens’. At a heaven anyone could get a meal, and Father Divine made sure they knew the food was God’s love made tangible. Divine HIMSELF being the ‘tangiblized’ GOD, the BODY. Whether he was a charlatan or a racial activist doesn’t matter – there was such a thing as a free lunch.
One time Father Divine told his people that a golden airplane was coming to fly them all to heaven. He gave the date and the address. When the time came and the crowd arrived there was parade of followers dressed in gold, decorated floats and razzle-dazzle. No plane – but no one really minded, as there was a fine dinner. Had they made it to heaven I have shown it as a shopping mall.
L Ron Hubbard visits ‘Heaven’.
L. Ron founded Scientology, sometimes church, sometimes technology centre depending on tax laws. His e-meter allowed Ron to look far back into his previous lives, and he uncovered an astounding memory ‘at 43,891,832,611,177 years, 344 days, 10 hours, 20 minutes and 40 seconds from 10:02½ PM Daylight Greenwich Time May 9, 1963’. At this time we each were taken around an alien movie set and implanted with false memories of pearly gates, atomic angels and a heavenly township populated by badly animated dummies. The presentation ran backwards.
Recently the Church of Scientology has denied the existence of this report, which seems to me a great shame. I decided to represent it here, illustrated and highlighted for added effect. The words are mostly from the original, with a little poetic license.