Art

those failing bullet points....

The mind and body work in mysterious ways in the "projects" realm.  One of the best pieces of advice I've ever gotten about life in the arts is that, "your story is never linear".  You cannot force your idea of plot unto the real thing.  And when you do, life is a constant and consistent burden, one that always fails to satisfy, along with falling short of these preexisting narratives.

 

Terrence Malick Yo Momma

Terrence Malick is the silent type.  The myth of the artist who lives on his own terms, without the need to do interviews, photographs, premieres and anything  else having to do with the world outside of his own.  (addendum: fucking spoiled brat)

I respect that.  In a perfect world, that's what I would want.  Or, at least, that's what I thought I wanted.

We live in the extreme opposite of that world nowadays.  Everything now is about connecting.  Everything is about being honest, raw, out in the open.  Dignity separates the attention whores from the sincere.     

If you were like me, one who wished that they could get even a small slice of that Malick land, or even the Daniel Day Lewis world of compartmentalized secrecy, best of luck to you.  

Times have changed, and we don't travel to a place we once were culturally.  No, only time we do that is when we pick up pieces to throw in our post-modern potluck.  It doesn't stay, nor last.

More important however, is that it's not about Malick or Daniel Day Lewis, or anybody.  It's about you.  And your choices. You're under no obligation by some force field of protocols that you need to behave someway to be some idealized version of what YOU SHOULD BE. 

First step, kill your heroes.  Not figuratively.  But really, destroy them.  They are just like you.  They worked hard.  They got some breaks.  

Work hard.  That's what you can control.  Learn.  Do. 

Make your own rules.  (yeah, we got cheesy toward the end, but, I'm on that caffeine 101 and some pent up aggression from losing a rap battle last night)

Terrence Malick Yo Momma.

Terrence Malick Yo Momma.

The Good Girl.

She was a good girl.  Full of the ethereal and effortless.  An experiment, named one of Darwinian's favorites.  A winner as far as any society was concerned.  

But, she had secrets.  And without a pass into the frontal lobe, the rest looked just like a lizard.  

"Even the best ones look convoluted on the insides", said a grizzled beast downing his tall can inside a black hole, once.  

"Not always, but sometimes", I fancied.

Be careful when you envy perfection.  

Image courtesy of the artist,  Ali Sabet  © 2013

Image courtesy of the artist, Ali Sabet © 2013

35 YEAR OLD MAN plays at IFF

Just got back from a short trip to SF to catch 35 YEAR OLD MAN screening at the 5th annual Iranian Film Festival.  I did miss my screening as usual, but catch the tail end of the program.   I meet Saeed Shafa, the festival director (he also runs a few other festivals), whom was a very cordial and nice man, from my brief estimation.  This has become a very literal update.  And, here is an obligatory picture from the Bay Area.

A nice picture, with a nice filter.

A nice picture, with a nice filter.