Mike Kuchar Movies

Videomaker and spoken word performer David Finkelstein sleepwalks down into subconscious corridors.

A cavalcade of characters in conflict with consciousness is conjured up within the confines of Studio 8 at the San Francisco Art Institute and...

Blue skies, babbling brooks, and a big book in a field full of flowers is the departure point for this video.

His written letters will fade at the first light; if indeed he is dreaming the world!

"...will somebody lend him their sins, because his old worn out ones have become tiresome."

Amid the silence of a pastel hued room, a soul, fully-fleshed, gathers secrets whispered by the moon over his cool bedsheets.

He peels away layers of secrets to you for what you are, and he likes scars because they tell stories.

A broken god on the stone slab in a desert, waiting for "he" that will dig for him; wipe the sand from his handsome face.

Masked men prowling in the bushes and not touching anything but satin, dandelions and flesh.

A wide-ranging look at pictures I collect on my walls and in my head. A look at pictures I concoct with my students at the San Francisco Art...

A vain, self centered mother competes with her daughter in the world of carnivorous men and sleazy movies.

Childhood dolls and adult toys populate this moody yet picturesque lullaby.

Many a man has tried to leave the prison of his hide; it's no "paradise" living in skin!

An early masterpiece by Mike Kuchar, in which Babette tells all, leaving no turgid stone unturned.

A woman discovers her husband cheating.

"Devils"..."Angels," when they sleep they dream not of Heaven, but of us. —Mike Kuchar

He made some 'love'....where has it all gone? --Mike Kuchar

From here to there.

The stimulus for this dissertation on the reason behind the creative impulse is taken verbatim from an author's preface to his book.

He sighs for strange and hidden cities whose walls are pink stone, inlaid with opals, ebony and silver, and for altars where the body is worshiped...