My friend Will Corwin is a sculptor and painter. These pursuits have taken him places ranging from Germany to China, so it was a thrill when he invited me to join him in an exhibition at the most exotic location of all: Queens. (In fairness, it is where Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall specifically elected to go in Coming to America.) I accepted his offer to participate in a show at the Queens College Art Center and then set about creating some art.

Not to get all highbrow, but I define “art” as “stuff that’s worth looking at, yet doesn’t require reading glasses.” Hence writing — which I do quite a bit of — is not an art, because text on a page is simply not inherently interesting.

(Related to this, I recently saw a play that involved a writing seminar where people were occasionally required to read silently on stage — yes, this is as exciting as it sounds. The play solved this problem by having a topless scene in the first five minutes, which was shrewd because I found myself thinking, “I am bored…but the playwright has established the convention that breasts may be exposed without warning, thus I shall not look away.” Also, there was Alan Rickman.)

There are ways to present words in an intriguing manner; sadly, there are only one or two of those and fellow gallery contributors NY Times bestselling author Ellis Avery and Brooklyn Rail editor Ben Gottlieb beat me to them. This meant I was required to do something visual and, as I do not draw and have made few sculptures in my life that did not involve uncooked macaroni, Will and I decided it was best I write, direct, and edit a short video.

By “short”, I decided “four minutes tops”, because no matter how awful something is, people can tolerate it for 240 seconds. I also decided to film in the gallery space itself, so that if I failed to create art personally at least it would be prominently featured in the background. Finally, I decided it would be done without sound, because I believe a gallery is meant to be a place of silent contemplation and whenever I’m at a museum and I see a video monitor with head phones I think, “I can’t be bothered to put those on.” Those three decisions reached, I entered the most important aspect of filmmaking: imposing on people.

Until you reach the Spielberg level, filming is less about innovative cinematography or helping actors discover their motivation than it is a matter of tricking people into doing stuff for you, whether being in your crew or giving you access to locations or just lending you a camera in the first place. I enlisted as actors Will, Conrad Smietanka (who, as a Queens College student, had to spend a good deal of time in the area already), and Jack Richer (who, in addition to being a Queens College student, is my brother, meaning I could play both the convenience and the family loyalty cards). I borrowed a flip video camera and tripod from the photographer Tommy Mintz (who’s also in the exhibition), then I proceeded for the first time to create cinematic art. Here’s what I learned:

1. It’s hard to shoot lengthy sequences that don’t look like crap. I respect Martin Scorsese and his Copa tracking shot in Goodfellas even more now; I have also acquired a strange sympathy for Michael Bay and his cut-a-second Transformers movies, which always struck me as being akin to staring at a strobe light, only with less plot.
2. There is something inherently interesting about a close-up of a person chewing. Watch The Godfather; talk about the horse head and the toll plaza ambush all you want, but the best parts of the best movie ever are when you just have Italian men in wife-beaters gumming away. At least 10 percent of the footage I shot involved people chewing; it should have been higher.
3. Will’s hair is strangely photogenic. Seriously, it’s right up there with the ‘do in Eraserhead and Samuel Jackson’s afro in Pulp Fiction before it wound up coated in Marvin.
4. Make sure all the legs of the tripod are secure before you start shooting, unless you can justify why the camera suddenly has a single violent wobble. (For instance, an earthquake of impressive brevity.)
5. It’s satisfying to work as writer, director, and editor, because as the director you can go, “This script’s not up to my high standards; I shall shoot something else”, then as the editor you can muse, “This footage is awful; happily, I can hack it into something new and unique and above all short”, then as the writer you can watch the final product and cry.

How did it turn out? Come see for yourself. Utopia: In Perpetuum runs through January 13, 2012 and is curated by Tara Mathison (thanks again to her and Suzanna Simor for all their help) and features the written words of Ellis Avery and Ben Gottlieb, site-specific wall drawing by Carin Riley, photography by Tommy Mintz, music and sound art by G. Lucas Crane, installations by Shervone Neckles, Anne Sherwood Pundyk, and Will Corwin, and my thing (which, at the risk of bragging, runs barely three minutes).

Click here for more details, the work by the other people is fabulous, and, remember, there’s an excellent chance Prince Akeem and his faithful servant Semmi will be there, provided they aren’t at their place in Zamunda.

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