Where is My World?

In my childhood, computer game was a fixed space, without time or location. There was an event, and game items, but it was a fixed spacetime. During the game, I was able to divide the space inside the computer and the real physical space. As much physical time was frozen, computer game space was frozen as well, despite flowing and moving images. One event or one story continued endlessly, and spacetime repeated until my character beat the last monster where the character died again and again. It was a space of the death rather than a space to survive. The endless death represented the passage of time, and how many hours of character life has left represented how much time has passed.
We now watch the movie through computers, mobile phones, or other devices like the iPad. But movie space is no different. Even though there is no room for me to interrupt in the movie, except little mouse and remote control (but can we say it is real interruption? Even in the movie theatre, I can just rush out from the black box) through ending credits, I can feel that one event has ended and another block of time has passed.
The events never end. The small spaces are repeated without end.
Perhaps this is where my research question began. How many pieces of events, time, and space can coexist? How can this schizophrenic space have a relationship or construction? If I am no longer just an observer but an active user or producer, where is my position in this network?
The start was perhaps mechanical eyes, as Dziga Vertov’s work, it was camera vision, giving the third gaze to the division of culture and nature. Through the mechanical eyes, the human world is no longer culture, and no wild animal world is nature, and two worlds are merged as a third spacetime on the screen. It is not the question of real or virtual anymore, but how many worlds we have or we can have now. As much human exist on the earth new world is created. Then, where is my world? What is my world?
I look at my room. My room is the maximum size of the world that I can compose and perceive as a physical reality, that is the limit of the range of action I can perceive. “We no longer know what is imaginary or real, physical or mental, in the situation, not because they are confused, but because we do not have to know and there is no longer even a place from which to ask” (Cinema 2 7 ). The moment I leave my home, the spacetime of the world is indiscernible its size and scope. The moment I become more than my house, I only reconstruct them through the abstracted notions. If, as Deleuze says, movement-image and time-image have represented time indirectly and directly with the movement of active actants and the observation of actants, I can no longer do both. I’m just looking at a network of relationships that I am part of it.
I recognise the ground that I am standing on, but the relationship with that ground is not connected to how I construct them. The village I live in is not made up of the networks I have created. Postcodes, addresses, and street name indicate how this place connected with the Country, Korea. It has already been set up, and I only can borrow or use that same code to place myself in it.
Isn’t this too passive? What role do I play? Am I not too passive? Will I be satisfied with this set of my position? Will I be happy with the time of piled up characters’ death? How can I construct my time and space?
The practice, for me, is active participation. I do not passively place me on the network. I am concerned. I connect my network. Eisenstein repositioned history. Vertov repositioned the human eye. The two approaches are very different but desires toward the same direction. The two directors pursued a transition from a passive position to an active, and for both, it was reconstruction through the practice of editing. It is Eisenstein’s way of seeing the past, rather than the additive effect from the editing technique that causes emotional ecstasy. He chose to become a producer and observer himself while making films. I am a producer and an observer.