The Lost City of Z - my take on

Quoting from Wikipedia: 'The Lost City of Z is a 2016 American action adventure biographical film written and directed by James Gray, based on the 2009 book of the same name by David Grann. It describes real events, about British explorer Percy Fawcett who made several attempts to find an ancient lost city in the Amazon and disappeared in 1925 along with his son on an expedition. It stars Charlie Hunnam as Fawcett along with Robert Pattinson as his fellow explorer Henry Costin and Sienna Miller as his wife Nina Fawcett.'






I'm no film critic, in fact I have very little knowledge of cinema, and never wrote a film review in my life. At the same time, I am very fortunate to be able to attend film previews, every now and then, so I feel sort of an obligation to share my impressions.

This film is amazing and deserves to be seen on a big screen, so, don't wait for the DVD to come out, like I usually do, go see it big, the bigger the better.

It's 1.40 minutes of total immersion into a world of adventure, discovery, war, deaths, births, love, envy, friendship and poetry, and what makes it extra magical is that it is a true story. Photography and settings are extremely powerful, and convey more than just a sense of history and place, there are human emotions, fear, horror, the unknown and the totally surreal, like an opera performed on a log stage in a settlement in the middle of the jungle.
Fawcett's journeys to charter uncharted territories are followed at a distance by his wife, whose poems accompany him and his companions. But the strongest piece of poetry is her quotation from John Browning: '...A man's reach should exceed his grasp'. In other words, you never entirely fulfil your dreams.

I have recently attended a workshop on mobile journalism where the photographic rule of thirds was, maybe rightly so, strongly advised. So, I took special interest in the framing of the scenes, because in most cases it seems to be crossing over to almost centre frame, leaving space between the character and the edge of frame. I think that conveyed a double effect, exposing the character to the unknown surround him, and crowding the centre of the frame to convey the sense of claustrophobia that the jungle gives together with its sense of vastness. Contrasting elements of old world and new world, 'civilized' austere world and dynamic, fluid and terrifying wilderness, snakes, panthers, piranhas, mosquitoes, but, most of all, humans in their might and vulnerability. The end of the story is almost a spiritual transition. Enjoy, be scared, angry, elated and mesmerised.

And, if you have a spare hour, it's definitely worth watching this talk by David Grann, the author of the book on which the film is based.

Basingstoke

  

Ideas and how to retain them

Where do I get my inspirations from? Easy. I get inspired by a lot of things. I see or read or hear something, and I get an idea. The problem is how to retain it. I might go to an art gallery and see a painting that inspires me. The inspiration I get very often has little to do with the original work. I don’t want to copy a certain painting, I want to retain and work and pass on the inspiration that came to me by looking at that painting. So how do I do that? Taking a picture of that painting doesn’t seem to work. When I look at it later, it doesn’t talk to me in the same way. The other solution is key words, but on their own they also lose strength. I tried different apps, like Evernote, OneNote, google keep. They are definitely useful but what I would need is an app that helps me identify and retain my mental process, that goes from the trigger, i.e. the painting or book or conversation, to the excitement that precedes the idea, to the idea itself. I somewhat think that it would work in columns or panels. Brief description or picture of the work; raw impressions, ways of translating it into my creative world. While I wait for somebody to come up with this ideas app, I might just stick to a notebook, and then read it aloud into google docs and organise it later .

Why do I find it more useful in retaining ideas than writing on Evernote on my phone? Two reasons: I can’t type as fast as I think, but also in my notes I doodle and also my writing changes with my emotions and so the written note seems to retain more of my mood at the time of writing.

As I said, I get inspired by a lot of things, so I’m never short of ideas, but still, a lot of thoughts get lost and perhaps some of them are good thoughts.

Originally posted on medium

Reflections upon 2016

I'm at a bloggers meetup, there are about ten people around a white table with colourful jellybeans that I seem to be the only one eating. We are all writing about last year and next year. So, here goes. In January I found it more difficult to walk. In February I went to Malta on a cricket trip with the Eccentrics cricket team. Malta was amazing, like something I've never seen and yet remember. It was medieval and full of imaginary Knights roaming the dusty streets. Hubby injured his ankle at the cricket match and I almost laughed thinking that now I had to help him walk. In April I got a brand new hip, hubby cooked and I spent the days weaving,
making jewellery and relearning to walk. I then walked in Italy and in the California desert. 2016 was good. 2017 will be my blogging year, where I won't let validation sickness get in the way of my creativity. I'll keep on growing like a tree, twisted and torn, but with many new branches, a few dead leaves and lots of new green ones. I will be like my cherry tree in the winter. Proud of change.

Colours

We walked into the little hut that is David Hul's Scrimshaw Studio in Julian, Ca. While we were admiring all his decorated skulls and knives and learning about scrimshaw, David said to me, 'You are very colourful!'. I'm not sure it was meant as a compliment, but it made me smile, because the more I travel, the more I tend to accumulate layers of colour, mementos, souvenirs, gifts, in a happy, wild confusion. While I move through space and time, the stationary residents look at me with amusement or, rather, bemusement. When I think of this layering, tattoos of experience and memory, good and bad branding on the skin or the heart or the wrinkles, I think of my long lost copy of Superslave, gone AWOL sometime at the end of the Seventies. I always thought of buying it again, but never did. What I remember of Superslave is that he was going on a lot of adventures. These adventures changed him, his hair was shorter or longer, the clothes different. In most of the adventures Superslave died, and came back to life with a new tattoo that symbolised his new death - if he drowned, he would have a tattoo of waves, etc. He ended up covered in tattoos.

I didn't ask David Hul what tattoos he might have accumulated in his life as a California scrimshaw artist, but his studio was layered with so many things, bones, pictures, books. I could have spent hours in there, but I didn't. I guess I thought I could just 'look him up later', but David is an off the grid type of guy, so I lost a great opportunity for learning. Perhaps because I was momentarily blinded by protagonism, I forgot how to be an explorer and discover more. All I could find online later was this amazing picture of him in his studio.

Interesting

Others have an otherness that seems so perfect. Otherness is the only thing I cannot achieve. I wonder if others can achieve it. Or if it's the limit of being self that you can never quite surprise yourself as novelty can. There is a mystery in other that I don't quite find in self. A new dress before it is worn promises things that dissipate once worn. I guess that, although I am a very curious person, I don't seem to have much curiosity for self, I don't believe there is a mystery about me, just a work in progress. Hence, I have to move on, all the time. Other, well, other cannot but move all the time, blurred like trees from a train. I want to stop the blur, I want to remember, but as soon as I do, it becomes self.

Location:Deal, Kent

On identity, value and more

First of all, this is not one of my works, it's Bernard Meadows. I believe. In a way it could be my work. I spend my days looking for mirrors, stories that could be my stories, I collect, to save memories, mine and others', in pleasant confusion, happy to lose my boundaries between me and my story. I don't remember the titles of the books I read. I don't remember where that pebble or that trinket comes from. But I do remember that everything I collect is there because it's important to me, it informs who I am. I'd like to think that others might be collecting me as part of blurring their own boundaries. Sometimes I feel that it's so hard to be collected, one pebble on a shingle beach. That makes me sad and makes me question my collection and my value. And then I start losing things, moments, creations. Because the round peg doesn't fit in the square hole I feel like giving up to avoid bashing it in. But perhaps the solution is to leave the peg sitting on the box with the holes and let others try to make it fit or not, while I keep on collecting.

Location:Mayfair