Yesterday my friend went to a Savages concert and came back with an album with this dialogue on the cover, from Opening Night, John Cassavetes:
The world used to be silent
Now it has too many voices
And the noises are constant distraction
They multiply, intensify They will divert your attention from what’s convenient
And forget to tell you about yourself We live in an age of many stimulations If you are focused, you are harder to reach
If you are distracted, you are available You are distracted, you are available You want to take part in everything And everything to be a part of you Your head is spinning faster at the end of your spine Until you have no face at all And yet if the world would shut up, even for a while Perhaps we will start hearing the distant rhythm of an angry young tune And recompose ourselves Perhaps having deconstructed everything
We should be thinking about putting everything back together
Era sencillamente deseo de viajar; deseo tan violento como un verdadero ataque, y tan intenso, que llegaba a producirle visiones. Su imaginación, que no se había tranquilizado desde las horas del trabajo, cristalizó en la evocación de un ejemplo de las maravillas y espantos de la tierra que quería abarcar en una sola imagen. Veía claramente un paisaje: una comarca tropical cenagosa, bajo un cielo ardiente; una tierra húmeda, vigorosa, monstruosa, una especie de selva primitiva, con islas, pantanos y aguas cenagosas; gigantescas palmeras se alzaban en medio de una vegetación lujuriante, rodeadas de plantas enormes, hinchadas, que crecían en complicado ramaje; árboles extrañamente deformados hundían sus raíces hacia el suelo, entre aguas quietas de verdes reflejos y cubiertas de flores flotantes, de una blancura de leche y grandes como bandejas. Pájaros exóticos, de largas zancas y picos deformes, se erguían en estúpida inmovilidad mirando de lado, y por entre los troncos nudosos de la espesura de bambú brillaban los ojos de un tigre al acecho… Su corazón comenzó a latir aceleradamente, movido de temor y de oscuras ansias.
The film has a gentle intensity to it, and is composed of changes of light across the sea, sky and mountains. It shows movement where there is apparent stillness, whether in the formation of weather patterns, movement of stars, the illumination of a building by passing car headlights or boats darting back and forth across the sea’s horizon.
- Hus is a film which attempts to reveal the private and hidden layers of our habitation (…) It is a film about time and processes, about disintegration and construction. -In Hus I was interested in physically deconstructing and reconstructing one object. I imagined the house as a shell that separates “private and public spheres”. Through the use of animation I could open up this “shell” and examine it.
(I’ve recently wrote a proposal where I explained something very similar about the “house layers”)
One her incredible upside down landscapes (excerpt from Travelling Fields):
‘individuals should be protected by capsules in which they can reject information they do not need and in which they are sheltered from information they do not want, thereby allowing an individual to recover his subjectivity and independence’ – kisho kurokawa
Maybe she likes you back. Maybe she wants you back, maybe she says she’s attracted to you but she’s confused, but you doubt yourself anyway. Because why would she want you, broken rough-edged you, when she could be “normal”? Why would she want to be with you when she could be with a nice man that her mom will like? Why would she choose you when she could choose him, someone that she can take home to her family, that she can marry in a big field with flower girls and a ring bearer. Everyone at that wedding will be happy because they’ll feel like she’s safe with this man, she’ll have a beautiful life with this man, someday she’ll have babies in the image of this man and of her and of a future that doesn’t involve shame, confusion, having to jump through hoops, having to lose family or friends, having to make sacrifices and tough decisions just to hold a hand on the street. She could be normal, she could be blissfully normal, and all you have to offer is a pair of empty palms with the lines all out of order.
But god, you can do things with those palms. That’s what you wish you could tell her when you’re staring at your shoes or finishing that drink or pretending there’s nothing else to say. You can do things with those hands and those fingers, you’ve spent a lifetime in bedrooms preparing for a body like hers. You learned to love her on a sea of skin and spines that spelled out “soon, you’ll meet her soon,” and you want to show her with your own skin, your own lips, your rough and soft edges, that you can give her something no one else can. You learned how to desire and pleasure in your own way, and you want to show her life through that pleasure. You want to turn her towards your window and let her see the view.