Samsara is a trip into the huge scale of the world and the effect the human race has had and is having on it. The beautifully shot images range from the macro to the micro: vast desert captured using time lapse to show the ephemeral art the sun and moon make as the skies darken and lighten overhead; the grains of sand sprinkled by monks to make an intricately beautiful picture of the endless cycle of birth and death. This theme is present throughout the film, unaccompanied by dialogue or descriptive text. The cinematography and sounds tell the stories.
The folds of my curtain suggest the nose and lips of a smiling face. The lines creating these suggestions straighten and continue up to the curtain rail. It occurred to me that it could be an analogy of an idea that we exist within 2D space but the illusion of light and shadow creates the suggestion of time and distance making us believe we exist in 3D space. And, if we do exist within a 2D plane, it might be like occupying space within a painting or a film. Images of something. Not quite real but almost.
The movie, Fade to Black: a conversation with my mother, was made using a process of random choice and using whatever was happening in the moment. It contains pieces of my side of conversations with my mother, music written by my son, and a visual study of the environment in which I live including the ordinary sounds that occur in and around it.
This strange configuration caught my eye as I crossed the road from Brighton Pavilion Gardens to the patch of green between University of Brighton and the King and Queen pub. How long had it been there like that? Looks like it might rise up to join the Zombie Walk at the end of October.
The rotting corpse contrasts with life bursting out of the ground around it. But does it?
The theatre set with its tall diagonally placed walls, upon which film was projected periodically, created a sense of surrealness. Actors emerged onto the stage from gaps between these walls, and through pieces of furniture: the fridge, the wardrobe, the bed. Littered with leaves that represented the garden, the floor showed no concrete boundaries between rooms or inside / outside. The actors responded to one another with exaggerated but realistic gestures. The camera rested on faces and hands, or pulled back to show relationships between people and things, or looked down from above. Movements, choreographed and practised, were executed with grace. It was a beautiful, enthralling, truthful piece of art. I watched it at Digital Theatre.
Last night I tangoed at Latest Music Bar, Brighton. It was my first lesson and it was free: a taster. A Latin American beat announced the beginning of the lesson. The teachers met in an embrace; he led her around the floor, pausing, shifting her weight. She moved only on his say so. Her eyes stared straight ahead but not at anything; they were slightly dazed in the act of listening to the direction of his energy. My heart beat faster as I watched them.
A documentary about Prince. He’s always done his own thing. Created his own world and invited others to play in it. Taken his experiences and learned from them. Been prolific all the time. Focussed. Free even when enslaved.
This article looks at the work of scientists involved in creating techniques for forgetting memories. They believe it might be useful for people experiencing post traumatic stress disorder. I wonder about the truth of that; surely PTSD occurs because a person has tried to forget painful events. I wonder how forgetting and suppressing are different. Perhaps suppressing causes PTSD and forgetting allows the memory but loses the bad feeling?