No sleep. Days turn gray. The outside world roars by on a track across the window. Light trickles through the white sheer curtains, and passes through a glass of water, exiting as a glorious spectrum onto an otherwise monotonous wall. The image seems almost frightening in contrast.
So I don’t plan to evaluate my progress and patterns every week (probably at the end of each moth though), but I thought I might just reflect on the first week of my Task.
The first thing I have noticed about attempting to write on a consistent basis is it becomes difficult when you don’t plan for it. Obviously there is no moment like when inspiration blind sides you, but trying to force yourself to practice consistently requires some sort of writing schedule that works around your other obligations, such as work and school. I’ve heard this rule before, but like many wise words, I ignored its validity until I struggled miserably attempting to write on a whim every day last week. Now I have set a schedule for each day of the week, where I have at least one hour to scribble away at my small black moleskin notebook. I hope this makes the process easier and even helps accelerate my progress as a writer.
As for the first week of photos, I tried to avoid my comfort zone in terms of cinematic pictures versus photography, but I think I still need work on that. I even shot all of my photos from the video mode on my dslr because I knew it well and feared switching from what i was comfortable using. I used gimp to edit all of my photos.
Thanks for reading and if you would like to help me in my journey in search of creative progress, please subscribe and leave me your thoughts on my work.
In an earlier post I discussed my feelings toward technological progressions and my recent embrace of the digital community. Although I completely accept and take part of the many technological advancements of today, I think they often leave behind a detrimental mindset to the nature of art. The mindset? Progression. Not necessarily the idea of transforming cinema into a new innovation such as 3-d but the idea of completely leaving the past as a result of it. Although new forms of art develop over time, and technology changes the way we approach it, pressures shouldn’t prevent an artist from returning to old conventions and art forms to express themselves. Art should never be considered a linear entity but a strange vessel of expression where the past, present and future coexist. We mustn’t leave behind art but continue to celebrate its perpetual relevance in human culture. Two films, who I think everyone should go see simply because of their excellence, comment on this idea in two extremely different ways.
The Artist, made by french filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius, tells the story about a struggling actor during the transition of cinema into sound in the late 1920’s. Is this why it relates to my point about preserving the past? No. What makes The artist so special, beyond its pure quality of a film, is that the movie itself was made as a silent film. A silent film that has won awards at the Canne film festival for best actor, and even best movie at the New York Film Critic’s Circle, proving that art harnesses a power above time, and forcing us to consider the choices of leaving behind certain stages of art because of technology. One orther movie this year makes an interesting comment about celebrating the the history of film. how does it do it? 3-D
Hugo, The new Martin martin Scorsese film, follows a boy on a mysterious adventure in a Paris train station. The movie celebrates the beginning of cinema, and does it in beautiful 3-D fashion, literally shoing the coexisting timeline of art. I don’t want to say much more about either film to avoid ruing, what were truly magical experiences for myself, the journey of these movies. I hope you will find time to see both, or even one, of these movies that I consider the artistic statement of the year in cinema. Enjoy the trailers below.
Childhood dreams caught in an esophagus underneath his bed.
No, he’ll never recover from those devil fights, those nights, and the other things they said.
He wears nice suits like Louis Armstrong stuck in the alligator house.
He packed up his things, and was far gone as he headed south.
He met a girl on the highway who said she was bounded for Tennessee.
She had golden hair, and lost her teeth while swimming in her sleep.
The woman carried a bag of clocks and gave him one with hands made out of stone.
Childhood Dreams in an esophagus still caught underneath his bed below.
I’m awake. I know it is true,
which frightens me all the more in my monent of numbness.
NO! NO! NO! (scribble)
I’m asleep. I know it to be true,
yet others forever preach of the opposite.
“You’re awake in the world’s dream,” they tell me,
“The dream is all we know, therefore we sleep when the world wakes
and wake when the world dreams.”
(Writer’s Block) Sorry, the inevitable has caught up with me but here are today’s scribbles that i’m calling the poetry of writer’s block.
Please share your experiences of writer’s block or maybe tips for overcoming it.
How Strange it is that one can have a thought about another and never reach those ears.
Every word, lyric, poem that does not escape the mouth, dies in the mind.
Such a thing as a worthless thought? Or all thoughts unshared worthless.
A simple “I love you” remebered forever by the one you shared it with,
a word kept in permanence by the ink of the pen,
but what happens to those thougts left to our nuerological prison,
left solely to thyself .
What proof does an idea’s emotional exisitance have,
without the definate space shaken by its waves.
To think of beauty, to think of love,
simply nothingness unless given life.
Like the remarkable dream forgotten by next sleep.