Another doozy of a letter, which makes me think of letters I’ve written lately, and none of them have been so positive as this or Sue Lyon’s letter, though none were positively negative either. Rather, there’s always some caveat, some hedge against happiness, and I don’t know if that’s because of my brain’s chemistry (something close to the opposite of capacity) nor if it’s because of my brain’s prejudices against the world and my being in it thus far (something like being open to capacities that lay dormant or neglected). Either way, the desire to be better at life persists: I want to write my old boss a note that says, guess what, thanks for giving me a chance at life, and I’m doing pretty well with what I left you with because I’ve got a few other things now. But even those clauses are wrong, because of that word “thing” and that verb-idea of ownership. If ownership were all it took to create a good mood—and for it persist!—prostitues wouldn’t exist. And neither would award shows, for that matter. I will risk saying: we are incomplete.
8:02 pm • 28 February 2013 • 4 notes
Bring It On, Step Up 2 The Streets, Miss Congeniality, Black Swan, Amour, American Beauty, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Help, etc
(She wasn’t in any of those movies)
4:36 pm • 28 February 2013 • 5 notes
INSIDE PUSHING PAST (+1)
A series of digital images pushed past what’s real into what one hopes approaches a form akin to painting where the means are as legible as the subject is shrouded, here in light, to sublime the physical world.
1:39 pm • 28 February 2013 • 2 notes
WASH 1 on Flickr.
Not every night do you get to film two beautiful boys fighting with spray wands in a car wash.
3:13 pm • 24 February 2013
Not every day you get to get scared out of your mind looking at inanimate bronze in a field of red behind a wall of plexiglass.
2:54 pm • 24 February 2013 • 1 note
Rooney Mara could have just as easily starred in any number of Val Lewton movies as any made now.
9:32 pm • 19 February 2013 • 4 notes
There comes a moment in all hangovers when the sufferer comes to a fork in the road. To the left lies death. To the right, madness. Brunch is down there too. For let us be plain: The perfect hangover cure is a cold Coke and a swim in the ocean, followed by a nap. Brunch in contrast offers only lukewarm coffee and watery bloody mary mix, harried servers and shoe-leather bacon. It may promise redemption. It generally delivers nothing of the sort.
Here is the food-world luminary and former line cook Anthony Bourdain on the subject, in his “Kitchen Confidential”: “Brunch is punishment block for the B Team cooks, or where the farm team of recent dishwashers learn their chops. Most chefs are off on Sundays too, so supervision is at a minimum. Consider that before ordering the seafood frittata.”
10:00 am • 17 February 2013 • 1 note
Look at what the light did then (just over a year ago, in Tahoe).
Been going through a ton of old moving images since I quit my day job, trying to fashion some version of a précis on light (what’s new), and it’s a lot harder than writing (cf). Learning to write with light is a whole new thing. And collaging snippets has become somewhat cloying in the age of HD and Vimeo and all those little “portraits” we see here and there. So: to find a way that makes the expressive seductive without being boring, rhythmic but unpredictable, affective yet not (overtly?) affected, a constellation of associations building an argument I’d be unable to make in words, one that, simply, requires images and movement and time. I’ve also been doing some obvious JLG freeze-frame-slow-mo stuff that tickles me silly but may have to go in the end unless I can somehow justify it against the rest of the stillness and activity. But that’s just it: learning the rules of something I may not even fully understand, trying for that new grammar we want from digital—it’s tough! Thank G-d there’s no due date.
11:24 am • 16 February 2013 • 2 notes