11.3.10
a wrinkle in time..
...after the night ends and before the day starts. when the streets are finally quiet. when all the shoppes and bars have closed, and the bakeries haven't opened. when the morning light first bleeds into the black of night and distorts the streetlights, who know not whether to be on or off. when the birds open their eyes, but not their mouths--still trusting silence to be safer--is this why they sing so with the sun? when the snow sighs its warning, watching the sun drift into being; staking its claim on the cold, and the dead, of the night. it's when beauty remembers that after the darkness there is light, and turns the world in anticipation. it's when i like best to wake... when the day holds its breath and waits for the wrinkle in time to fold again and usher in the sun.
6.3.10
snapshot
i don't enhance my photos. and it really bothers me when other people do. photography is an art form--a perspective representation of the world and how an artist views it. to distort and maim the photograph is to lie to the viewer. i hate looking at a photo and not trusting the photographer because the beauty of the photo may lie in the the skill of the photographer, but more likely lies in their particular adeptness in photoshop. get real. i mean really. get real. there is nothing like taking a beautiful photograph and knowing that it came to be through the magnificence of nature/people/events and your photographic eye--your artistic perception. THAT is art. those are the photos that deserve appreciation. not the photos that were concocted in a second and doctored in photoshop for ten minutes. sometimes they turn out better--there's no denying. but they lose the essence of a photograph--the snapshot of a moment in time that will never return. by changing the moment, we lose it altogether. photoshop creates a moment that never existed--therefore making it surreal and untrue. no moment is captured, rather it is distorted, along with the personal and photographic memory of that moment.
think back to the world war photographers. they captured moments in time--horrific ones--that were immortalized. they showed the world what it was unable to see and shared the terrors of war. in a sense, they made it real--something that seemed like a far away, bad dream. if they could do so much with cumbersome cameras, equipment and relatively little knowledge of the art of photography, then why can't we? why MUST we adjust and shift and change and ruin what already works so nicely?
i love my camera. i love the archaic quality that the film brings to a photograph, the scratches on the lens and on the film that make characteristic squiggles on everything i see. i love taking my time with each shot, careful not to waste film, and seeing the results afterward. i love composing shots and seeing the possibilities of what i can put in the frame to make something new. capturing light as it slips below the horizon, or someone in motion when they think you aren't watching--and seeing all these as they were in the moment; being reminded of the times they represent--good and bad.
photoshop is like plastic. it looks good at first, but it ruins the essence of what is real. i just wish everyone would stop forgetting the magic of film and the beauty of a real photograph. let it remain an art--go poison something else.
think back to the world war photographers. they captured moments in time--horrific ones--that were immortalized. they showed the world what it was unable to see and shared the terrors of war. in a sense, they made it real--something that seemed like a far away, bad dream. if they could do so much with cumbersome cameras, equipment and relatively little knowledge of the art of photography, then why can't we? why MUST we adjust and shift and change and ruin what already works so nicely?
i love my camera. i love the archaic quality that the film brings to a photograph, the scratches on the lens and on the film that make characteristic squiggles on everything i see. i love taking my time with each shot, careful not to waste film, and seeing the results afterward. i love composing shots and seeing the possibilities of what i can put in the frame to make something new. capturing light as it slips below the horizon, or someone in motion when they think you aren't watching--and seeing all these as they were in the moment; being reminded of the times they represent--good and bad.
photoshop is like plastic. it looks good at first, but it ruins the essence of what is real. i just wish everyone would stop forgetting the magic of film and the beauty of a real photograph. let it remain an art--go poison something else.
27.2.10
25.2.10
24.2.10
surfacing
the past week has been an absolute blur of bright lights, ideas, moments and eternities. smoke machines, sound checks, minute fights and fake, real guns. the weather was my creator and destroyer all in a second--living by light quality, sound obstructions, space restrictions, snow possibilities and prop disasters... and i have no idea how it's going to turn out.
on monday i dropped off nine rolls of 16mm super film to be developed at vision globale. in their hands are three months of my life, hundreds of my dollars, my final mark for a year long foray into film, and the hard work of a lot more people than i expected.
have you ever worked on something really hard, and put a lot into it, but not realised the magnitude of what you were doing until it happened? this film shoot blew me away. the people--everyone working for free--the costumes, the makeup, the hair, the set... last year i made a two minute film about a prostitute (not by choice). the film was awful. the set was awful; the acting was embarassing at best. the makeup was clownish and the costumes were boring and undefined. to say the least, it was a disaster.
this year we had a cast of entirely professional actors, minus my boyfriend who filled in for an actor who opted out because of surgery; we had a makeup artist, hair stylist and costume designer (who had to find clothes for a 1920s speakeasy scene) who went miles beyond anything i could have fathomed. everyone involved put 500 percent of themselves into the project with the most astonishing enthusiasm. i still can't understand why everyone was so wonderfully passionate about this project that i dreamed up over a year ago... but they were.
andreia and i began back in december when i asked her to join me in making the film i'd had lingering in my mind for some time. she came on as production manager and turned what should have been a modest student production into something of a much larger scale. it's not that i didn't think we were capable of such fantastic ambition, i just hadn't considered it. andreia brought possibilities to the project and made them happen. our one weakness was cinematography. both of us had done small amounts of photography and felt secure in our composition, but neither one of us had a lot of experience working with the bolex camera--namely camera movement. when brian separated from his group and previously ambitious project, i grasped the opportunity to bring him on to our team. as someone who has a lot of experience with cinematography, he was a huge asset. he joined. from that point on, things escalated. andreia and i held auditions for two main actors and eight speakeasy patrons, and were frankly blown away by the enthusiasm of every person who showed up.
alison, our last audition of the day was the most surprising. as a member of actra (the actors union) we had been hesitant to cast her--or any of the others--because of the amount of paperwork they demanded if their actors were participating in a student film. when she showed up she was a bundle of energy and we clicked immediately. she launched into the story of mary gallagher a prostitute from the 1800s in griffintown--the area the film is based in--who was decapitated by her best friend, another prostitute. alison had taken particular interest in the story, and by larger extent the area of griffintown. it is said that mary gallagher's ghost appears every eight years about a block and a half from where i call home. fantastic.
after talking for about twenty minutes, we had alison audition for one of the 1920s characters, having already decided on our lead female. she did a great job, and then asked us if she could audition for the main role because of her particular interest in griffintown, and in our project. she was so enthusiastic we couldn't say no. her audition was exceptionally well done, and combined with her love of the area and incredible interest in the project we decided to cast her as the lead female. it's amazing how a stranger's confidence in what you are doing can change your mind and influence what you are doing. there's no doubt in my mind that the production fared better for having alison as our lead character.
ironically, the man we cast as the lead male--a bad guy who commits a murder in the 1920s that alison, the main girl, witnesses through a hole in a wall that allows a bizarre time loop--was one of the nicest people i have ever met. alejandro was wonderfully patient, but still able to exhibit the characteristics of an evil mobster type. he brought a magnanimous quality to the film. he was understanding and kind, and put up with our student filmmaking naivety and even gently offered suggestions that improved upon our own ideas. on the last day of filming, he made breakfast for the crew and cast while brian and i were out measuring windows, cutting drywall and securing a location. and when we got back, alejandro chopped up an avocado, some spinach, onion, goat cheese and apple to make me some food as well. he also made lunch--a meat stew for all the meat eaters. it was quite the feast; alison made plantain fries (i saw mini plantains on sale at the supermarket and got excited because they were 'cute').
what struck me the most about the entire production, was the camaraderie that formed between everyone working on the film. from the first day of shooting--friday--we were all laughing and having a wonderful time, but working as hard as we could and putting all of ourselves into the project. there wasn't one person who slacked, or took the mickey out of what we were doing. we all put in our absolute effort, and i think, i hope, it shows in the film. by the last day our wits were withered and our tempers short, but we still laughed and had a wonderful time.
bare with me if this is a little bit sappy. i am just so impressed by the people i encountered this weekend. i never imagined that people could come together for no money, and to work so hard to achieve something--and at that something that i conceptualised. though i am in no way taking any credit for this, other than the original idea. i suppose i am just amazed that people actually listened to me. not that they shouldn't... but just that they haven't on a scale like this before.
anyway, the long of the short of the short of the long, short.... is that i'm super chuffed.
wrap party on thursday!
here's a few photos of the 1920s scene:
on monday i dropped off nine rolls of 16mm super film to be developed at vision globale. in their hands are three months of my life, hundreds of my dollars, my final mark for a year long foray into film, and the hard work of a lot more people than i expected.
have you ever worked on something really hard, and put a lot into it, but not realised the magnitude of what you were doing until it happened? this film shoot blew me away. the people--everyone working for free--the costumes, the makeup, the hair, the set... last year i made a two minute film about a prostitute (not by choice). the film was awful. the set was awful; the acting was embarassing at best. the makeup was clownish and the costumes were boring and undefined. to say the least, it was a disaster.
this year we had a cast of entirely professional actors, minus my boyfriend who filled in for an actor who opted out because of surgery; we had a makeup artist, hair stylist and costume designer (who had to find clothes for a 1920s speakeasy scene) who went miles beyond anything i could have fathomed. everyone involved put 500 percent of themselves into the project with the most astonishing enthusiasm. i still can't understand why everyone was so wonderfully passionate about this project that i dreamed up over a year ago... but they were.
andreia and i began back in december when i asked her to join me in making the film i'd had lingering in my mind for some time. she came on as production manager and turned what should have been a modest student production into something of a much larger scale. it's not that i didn't think we were capable of such fantastic ambition, i just hadn't considered it. andreia brought possibilities to the project and made them happen. our one weakness was cinematography. both of us had done small amounts of photography and felt secure in our composition, but neither one of us had a lot of experience working with the bolex camera--namely camera movement. when brian separated from his group and previously ambitious project, i grasped the opportunity to bring him on to our team. as someone who has a lot of experience with cinematography, he was a huge asset. he joined. from that point on, things escalated. andreia and i held auditions for two main actors and eight speakeasy patrons, and were frankly blown away by the enthusiasm of every person who showed up.
alison, our last audition of the day was the most surprising. as a member of actra (the actors union) we had been hesitant to cast her--or any of the others--because of the amount of paperwork they demanded if their actors were participating in a student film. when she showed up she was a bundle of energy and we clicked immediately. she launched into the story of mary gallagher a prostitute from the 1800s in griffintown--the area the film is based in--who was decapitated by her best friend, another prostitute. alison had taken particular interest in the story, and by larger extent the area of griffintown. it is said that mary gallagher's ghost appears every eight years about a block and a half from where i call home. fantastic.
after talking for about twenty minutes, we had alison audition for one of the 1920s characters, having already decided on our lead female. she did a great job, and then asked us if she could audition for the main role because of her particular interest in griffintown, and in our project. she was so enthusiastic we couldn't say no. her audition was exceptionally well done, and combined with her love of the area and incredible interest in the project we decided to cast her as the lead female. it's amazing how a stranger's confidence in what you are doing can change your mind and influence what you are doing. there's no doubt in my mind that the production fared better for having alison as our lead character.
ironically, the man we cast as the lead male--a bad guy who commits a murder in the 1920s that alison, the main girl, witnesses through a hole in a wall that allows a bizarre time loop--was one of the nicest people i have ever met. alejandro was wonderfully patient, but still able to exhibit the characteristics of an evil mobster type. he brought a magnanimous quality to the film. he was understanding and kind, and put up with our student filmmaking naivety and even gently offered suggestions that improved upon our own ideas. on the last day of filming, he made breakfast for the crew and cast while brian and i were out measuring windows, cutting drywall and securing a location. and when we got back, alejandro chopped up an avocado, some spinach, onion, goat cheese and apple to make me some food as well. he also made lunch--a meat stew for all the meat eaters. it was quite the feast; alison made plantain fries (i saw mini plantains on sale at the supermarket and got excited because they were 'cute').
what struck me the most about the entire production, was the camaraderie that formed between everyone working on the film. from the first day of shooting--friday--we were all laughing and having a wonderful time, but working as hard as we could and putting all of ourselves into the project. there wasn't one person who slacked, or took the mickey out of what we were doing. we all put in our absolute effort, and i think, i hope, it shows in the film. by the last day our wits were withered and our tempers short, but we still laughed and had a wonderful time.
bare with me if this is a little bit sappy. i am just so impressed by the people i encountered this weekend. i never imagined that people could come together for no money, and to work so hard to achieve something--and at that something that i conceptualised. though i am in no way taking any credit for this, other than the original idea. i suppose i am just amazed that people actually listened to me. not that they shouldn't... but just that they haven't on a scale like this before.
anyway, the long of the short of the short of the long, short.... is that i'm super chuffed.
wrap party on thursday!
here's a few photos of the 1920s scene:
14.2.10
i love new words.
Brobdingnagian: gigantic!!
how do you even say that?!
in lieu of my vastly approaching film date, i keep refreshing the weather network in hopes that next weekend's snow-laden forecast will change.
i'm also wracking my brains to try and remember what i might have done to deserve the methods of torture inflicted upon my self under the guise of fiction 226. what ever it was, i'm sorry. i wouldn't have done it if i'd known that this was the consequence.
Brobdingnagian: gigantic!!
how do you even say that?!
in lieu of my vastly approaching film date, i keep refreshing the weather network in hopes that next weekend's snow-laden forecast will change.
i'm also wracking my brains to try and remember what i might have done to deserve the methods of torture inflicted upon my self under the guise of fiction 226. what ever it was, i'm sorry. i wouldn't have done it if i'd known that this was the consequence.
13.2.10
9.2.10
8.2.10
august two thousand and eight
i distinctly remember how long it took us to pose this picture. we laughed along the way.
jacob and i begin to text one another on monday mornings. the first is always a general, 'god this will suck,' but by the end of the second hour we've escalated to real insults. every week it's the same routine. i ignore the problem until sometime on monday afternoon, a few hours before class, when i realize my homework isn't going to do itself. i spend a few hours procrastinating then text jacob to ask how he is doing. we spend the rest of the time before class exchanging vicious gripes about the ineptitude of our classmates--i often wonder if i am too hard on them, until i get to class and remember what they've written. i've met high school students who write better.
it's not that i'm particularly adept myself, but these guys.... they just kill me. jacob too. it's the basis of our entire friendship so far. that's changing, but for now we've bonded over common disgust at the creative untalent. marta too, though she's a bit nicer and only weighs in half the time.
it's like being stuck in a washing machine full of bleach--the bleach is the dulling agent/ the mind wiper. the machine just keeps spinning and spinning and the bleach keeps wiping that space behind your eyes where all the ideas used to sit... you can feel yourself getting dumber, and it hurts too. the worst part is that you go somewhat voluntarily every monday and wednesday night--electric shock treatments for university credits. what a trade off.
this week we critique marie's story. alexa's too, but this is my procrastination tool so i haven't read hers yet. marie's story is about a girl--a lesbian, sort of--who was in a relationship with caitlin. caitlin broke it off some time ago and the main character spends the entire four pages recounting the hurt and the love they had between them. even i know lesbians that would be offended by the insinuations of gentle womanly tenderness combined with free loving lesbian. not even the L word would have dared to be so cliche. nothing actually happens in the story as it is the main character's reminiscence that we read... there is no curve, no hook, no event even to read of... just four pages of superfluously flowery prose.
with a teacher who hardly tolerates critique, where can we possibly go from here?
jacob's favourite line, sent via text (that takes time): 'it was the end of another relationship, in which i had forgotten about the core of my beliefs.'
it's not that i'm particularly adept myself, but these guys.... they just kill me. jacob too. it's the basis of our entire friendship so far. that's changing, but for now we've bonded over common disgust at the creative untalent. marta too, though she's a bit nicer and only weighs in half the time.
it's like being stuck in a washing machine full of bleach--the bleach is the dulling agent/ the mind wiper. the machine just keeps spinning and spinning and the bleach keeps wiping that space behind your eyes where all the ideas used to sit... you can feel yourself getting dumber, and it hurts too. the worst part is that you go somewhat voluntarily every monday and wednesday night--electric shock treatments for university credits. what a trade off.
this week we critique marie's story. alexa's too, but this is my procrastination tool so i haven't read hers yet. marie's story is about a girl--a lesbian, sort of--who was in a relationship with caitlin. caitlin broke it off some time ago and the main character spends the entire four pages recounting the hurt and the love they had between them. even i know lesbians that would be offended by the insinuations of gentle womanly tenderness combined with free loving lesbian. not even the L word would have dared to be so cliche. nothing actually happens in the story as it is the main character's reminiscence that we read... there is no curve, no hook, no event even to read of... just four pages of superfluously flowery prose.
with a teacher who hardly tolerates critique, where can we possibly go from here?
jacob's favourite line, sent via text (that takes time): 'it was the end of another relationship, in which i had forgotten about the core of my beliefs.'
2.2.10
28.1.10
22.1.10
homeless at your wake
Leave your shell for the men who roam.
Pick up sticks, the coffins of the playground.
Like mankind through the ages
you've moved,
leaving behind frail porcelain figures
that wane at your wake.
Poems follow you like rivers,
writing your path in the sand.
Hands draw your reflection as they whittle away the clouds.
Camels sip at puddles as they form behind you--
drinking your thirst for their lives.
After this they'll go without water forever;
their tears forming tunnels in the molten leftovers of your design.
Some would fight time to pull you back.
We follow your coffin like lost soldiers on the Saharan plateau.
Pick up sticks, the coffins of the playground.
Like mankind through the ages
you've moved,
leaving behind frail porcelain figures
that wane at your wake.
Poems follow you like rivers,
writing your path in the sand.
Hands draw your reflection as they whittle away the clouds.
Camels sip at puddles as they form behind you--
drinking your thirst for their lives.
After this they'll go without water forever;
their tears forming tunnels in the molten leftovers of your design.
Some would fight time to pull you back.
We follow your coffin like lost soldiers on the Saharan plateau.
19.1.10
Photo Contest
View - Travel tips and inspiration - British Airways High Life
I entered a photo contest! head to the link and vote for me.... first contest ever. thaaaaanks
I entered a photo contest! head to the link and vote for me.... first contest ever. thaaaaanks
15.1.10
14.1.10
P.K
Today my world is crumbling a little...maybe just breaking off around the edges—falling into obscurity. The granite that held it so solid has shifted, and underneath i only see black nothingness.
The world is so grotesquely unfair.
I wanted to see you—i needed to see you, to tell you i love you, to tell you i see you. But i couldn't or i didn't try hard enough and now i never will. You aren't hiding around the corner on the wet cobblestone streets. You aren't waiting for me to find you like a big game of hide and seek. You just aren't anymore.
When i think of you, i think of light. I think of the universe and all the little pieces that become so inconsequential when you look at the larger picture—how they seem so irrelevant from far away, but up close they're integral to all that we know. This isn't a comparison. You always were relevant you always made something, said something, did something to love. With a gin in your left hand, you conquered the world with metaphors and assonance—you drew parallels to vertical eternities and sipped with a lemon.
You have changed the world and I'm so frightened to see it wither away without you. You are a beauty beyond ages, stronger in spirit than most are in ephemera. I'll miss you, along with so many—and those who didn't meet you will never understand the magnitude of what they missed.
Bonne chance, à bientôt.
12.1.10
8.1.10
friday night
it's 9pm. i'm drinking a beer and doing my fiction homework. i'm completely naked under a bathrobe after taking a shower that's been due a couple of days. the giant owl on my desk stares back at me over his right shoulder, unflinching, while the sun never manages to set behind him.
i occasionally open my mouth to curse tess, the new teacher who assigns too much homework. i haven't yet had the chance to tell her that she shares her name with my dog.
i occasionally open my mouth to curse tess, the new teacher who assigns too much homework. i haven't yet had the chance to tell her that she shares her name with my dog.
6.1.10
underwhelmme
i am underwhelming, at best. a classic underachiever. coasting on passable talents, cultivating--nothing. i follow whims for a couple of footfalls and get distracted by paw prints in the sand. they lead me to dead ends dammed to all heights, waterfalls on every side. even when i turn around, something is stopping me--"a person who can't even regress?" it's absurd, but i'm her.
to everyone else in the world, i'm full of potential. untarnished, unbridled, bursting potential...that never seems to dissipate, but never goes anywhere either...that one who is plugging away at things as they come.. working her way toward something, never sure what. still, after all this time, not sure what. i could... so many things. i do.... nothing. not yet, not ever it would seem. those fucking beavers in my head building walls so high birds dare not cross, nor snowflakes, or clouds or any manifestation of great height that might overcome these walls. nothing may pass.
i lull in my cradle full of porcupine spines and thorns with no roses, i rock so hard i cling for my life, though never manage to fall out. i twist in nightmares of dreams gone astray--plundering angels searching for prey--never me, but always almost... like a curse that hasn't quite worked out the kinks, trying to wreak havoc but only managing a mild form of blindsided torture. i exist.
underwhelming, at best.. and for what? who wants to procreate with an intellectual circus--undecided and untamed, unruly, unkempt and potentially disastrous. these things are fun to watch, from afar. but from inside, a whirling dirvish of dissolution. of unknowing, of fruitlessness and laziness. going nowhere but round and round caught in dust, disgust and indecision for ever and ever. and ever.
to everyone else in the world, i'm full of potential. untarnished, unbridled, bursting potential...that never seems to dissipate, but never goes anywhere either...that one who is plugging away at things as they come.. working her way toward something, never sure what. still, after all this time, not sure what. i could... so many things. i do.... nothing. not yet, not ever it would seem. those fucking beavers in my head building walls so high birds dare not cross, nor snowflakes, or clouds or any manifestation of great height that might overcome these walls. nothing may pass.
i lull in my cradle full of porcupine spines and thorns with no roses, i rock so hard i cling for my life, though never manage to fall out. i twist in nightmares of dreams gone astray--plundering angels searching for prey--never me, but always almost... like a curse that hasn't quite worked out the kinks, trying to wreak havoc but only managing a mild form of blindsided torture. i exist.
underwhelming, at best.. and for what? who wants to procreate with an intellectual circus--undecided and untamed, unruly, unkempt and potentially disastrous. these things are fun to watch, from afar. but from inside, a whirling dirvish of dissolution. of unknowing, of fruitlessness and laziness. going nowhere but round and round caught in dust, disgust and indecision for ever and ever. and ever.
2.1.10
what happens...
here's zipper looking regal:
here's me taking a picture of myself in a mirror:
here's april watching me take a picture of her in the mirror:
here's a lame sign:
here's me taking a picture of myself in a mirror:
here's april watching me take a picture of her in the mirror:
here's a lame sign:
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