Phenomena: art meets science in spectacular and profound mini-documentary series

Director Josef Gatti blurs the line between artistic expression and scientific experiment in the visually amazing Phenomena – or perhaps makes the point that in certain circumstances they can be one and the same. In this nine-part short form YouTube series for ABC Science, which has an additional 28-minute compilation episode screening on ABC iview, his art is science and his science art, and he conducts experiments that create striking ocular effects through manipulating matter and energy rather than the magic of film-making.

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In other words: no digital trickery beyond basic editing techniques such as cutting and montage. An expansive electro soundtrack from The Presets’ Kim Moyes adds a journeying, exploratory element to the show, enriching a kaleidoscopic and frankly astonishing experience that reminded me of an evening many years ago when I ate magic mushrooms and spent several hours staring at a fire.

At the heart of the series (produced by Rob Innes and made in consultation with scientist Dr Niraj Lal) is a sensation similar, in fact, to recreational drug use, derived from the thrill of observing things from daily life from a different perspective, revealing the extraordinary in the ordinary. The show’s declaration that “the story of the universe is visible all around us, written in the patterns of nature” might by itself have read like an airy statement scribbled down by a stoned philosophy student. But after watching Phenomena, you will be convinced it’s bang-on.

Each episode is separated into a different scientific field, such as energy, matter, electricity and magnetism. A narrator provides a brief overview of the subject – so you don’t feel like an idiot for forgetting everything you learnt at high school – plus an explanation of the ensuing experiment.

The first episode shows energy at work through the interaction of alcohols, oils and inks, which cause molecular bonds to be broken and “the liquid to billow and swirl and change in composition”. The visual splendour begins with a single drop, which lands on a surface and creates a stunning pinkish-purple circular form, looking a bit like a human brain from above, that pulses and moves and dances, marvellous shapes expanding and contracting as Moyes’ uplifting electronica bangs away on the soundtrack. The camera soaks up all the tiny details (all episodes are viewable in Ultra HD/4K) including teensy-weensy circles and inkblot-like blobs that bounce around with a life of their own. The simple additions of other colours (Green! Blue! Orange!) feel like triumphant innovations.

Episode five visualises the flow of electricity in real-time, using a piece of wood “connected to an electric circuit”, which is “made conductive with a salt solution”, creating a current that flows “along the path of least resistance”. Aesthetically, this takes the form of two elements stretching across the brown surface, from either end, coming towards each other, looking like sparklers crossed with trees, shooting off branch-like elements that fizz and catch fire and come to life before fading away almost instantly – ephemeral art (science?) at its purest.

There’s lots more where that came from – including transforming matter that looks like ice-covered leaves (episode two), sound waves visualised into geometric patterns (episode three) and psychedelic colours reflected on the surface of bubbles (episode four).

Writing about a program like this poses issues for critics such as myself, and also more generally the way audiences comprehend moving image productions. They challenge the ideas we have been conditioned to accept as mandatory aspects of the viewing experience and add new meaning to the language we use to describe them.

Take for instance the concept of realism: isn’t this totally tripped-out show, by nature of its content, the most realistic true-to-life experience possible? Or take the concept of narrative cause and effect – an ancient way of understanding plotlines, involving one dramatic action prompting another in the creation of a causal sequence. In Phenomena we have chemical rather than narrative cause and effect, replacing invented actions in an imaginative universe with actual elements from our own.

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As the influential literary theorist Roland Barthes has observed, narratives exist in countless forms – from obvious ones (films, plays, novels etc) to varieties that may be overlooked such as stained glass windows, news bulletins, conversations and ... test tubes? Liquid formations? Mountain ranges? Barthes would surely concur, given his view that narratives are present “in every age, in every place”; that they exist in an “almost infinite diversity of forms” and are “simply there, like life itself”.

When I hear or read those words – “life itself” – I sometimes think the speaker/writer has thrown their arms up and resorted to generalism, as if to say: “This is too hard to describe; it’s life itself.” Phenomena presents a different way of thinking about those words. There is nothing general about it: this representation of life itself is utterly specific, down to tiny molecular details.

It raises fascinating questions about concepts of language, not in written or spoken form, but in formation itself: of arrangement and structure, of the patterns of nature – from individual grains of sand to oceans, mountain ranges, even (as depicted in the specular final episode) in the composition of the planet itself. There’s nothing quite like it – yet the elements that make this amazing series possible are all around us, all the time.

• Episodes of Phenomena are released weekly on ABC Science’s YouTube and a 28-minute compilation is available to stream now on ABC iView