Monday, 21 April 2014

Immanence and Transcendence in the Cinema of Nature

 El Sol del Membrillo, VICTOR ERICE

Everything that exists is a modulation of a single and unique Being and is defined by the affects of which it is capable... one and the same Being prior to any differentiation between man and nature; animals and humans, machines and organic life, thoughts and memories are defined not by form, substance or species but by intensive magnitude and affective capacity.

por aqui viajo eu neste caminho

When my feet are coming of the ground, and I can almost feel—inch by inch—as you’re reading through the damn thing, that you’re floating up into the room, and slowly you come back down. And it’s a selfish thing, but that’s the only feeling I care to chase...

let the wind blow

Mexico - Naomi Kawase

Shadows of trees were cast on the wall of Frida Kahlo's house. 

Sun is very strong here. 

Here in the past, What did Frida think of? A freedom? 

A man called Louis invited me to the film festival. 
He looks like a character in the Simpsons. 
He smiles very warmly. 

We had a drink that night. I tried Mexican local pulque and got tipsy. 
I was taken to the floor for dance. 
I felt like cells of my body got activated. 

I miss Mexico now. 
It was very good travel. 

um diário em forma de pequenos haikus 
 demasiados lindos para reproduzir

how can we be joyful in a world full of knowledge

Ce questionnement intime dévoile l’univers de la cinéaste Naomi Kawase. Il interroge aussi notre propre rapport au monde, la fragilité de ce qui nous entoure, la fuite du temps et tout ce qui, malgré tout, s’arrache à l’oubli.
"This is why true beauty never strikes us directly. The setting sun is beautiful because of all it makes us lose."
Just as her documentaries work on her own personal issues and become marvelous takes on universal feelings, in Kawase’s fiction films feelings emerge from deep rooted places and are slowly and calmly unfolded until they become transparent.

Naomi Kawase’s films heal and sweep us away with comfort. They go to cathartic extremes, but they are nevertheless smoothening and eased by a sweet and calm feel of tranquility, making us feel – as we watched people struggling with the purest of hardships - that still everything is going to be ok.

❁ pausa para recuperar o fôlego ❁

Memorizing a poem

(...) I still was shocked by the poem’s palpable effect on me. I think we’re biologically impacted by language. It can be deeply, deeply nourishing. And I don’t mean that as a metaphor. It can feel like something cellular gets fed. When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing, it’s rejuvenating. This is not the way we typically think about literature, which tend to talk about as taking place inside the head—even if it’s the emotional part of the head. To feel energized by Stevens was a singular experience that reminded me how words register in our physical bodies, too. It felt like concrete proof that literature is important. 

I think a good poem will always stay a little mysterious. The best writing does. The words that click into place, wrap around something mysterious. They create a shape around which something lives—and they give hints about what that thing is, but do not reveal it fully. That’s the thing I want to do in my own writing: present words that act as a vessel for something more mysterious. I know it’s working when I feel like there’s something hovering beneath it the verbal, that mysterious emotional place that Stevens wrote about.

 Language is limited, it’s a faulty tool. But how high it lights the dark.
...the Double, not of this direct, everyday reality of which it is gradually being reduced to a mere inert replica - as empty as it is sugarcoated - but of another archetypal and dangerous reality, a reality of which the Principles, like dolphins, once they have shown their heads, hurry to dive back into the obscurity of the deep.

Film can reveal the invisible, but you must be willing to let it show.