Monday, October 26, 2009

Film

SSSSSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOOOOO

hi world im a little shaken up by random writing right now so this will be a little off. Overall, I really enjoyed the experience of Be Kind Rewind. I liked how much acting it surprisingly took. It was silly but you had to make quick character choices, and all the characters mattered. Thus, all of their choices mattered.
My group worked really well together, and I was very upset that I missed a day of the workshop. I really felt that i missed out on a lot because of that one day. But my group came up with some great stuff while I was gone.

Shooting it in order made it feel a lot more real watching it. It was like "o yeah i was there" even though I was in character as apposed to the choppiness and canned feelings that sometimes come with shooting and then editing.

I surprisingly really like working newbies and oldies separated. I'm not quite sure what it added to it but it added an extra layer of learning that can't be named. It also put everyone int he group on the same level. The lack of editing also leveled the playing field. No one was relied upon as the primary editor and thus overly in charge.


Once upon a time

VARIATION 1:
Once upon a time
there was a girl.
and every day
this girl gave her lunch

to a homeless man
on the corner.
until one day

the girl
starved to death.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Variation 2 (haiku style)
Once upon a time
there was a girl. and daily
this girl gave her lunch

to a homeless man
on the corner. until once
the girl was not there

the girl physically
the girl disappeared.
the girl starved to death.
~~~~~~~~

So why did i post this? It just popped in my head and i want to create something from it but i don't want to forget it so i blogged it. it's not quite a poem, not quite a story, not even good. but...i wanted to post it. so yeah. hope it's acceptable.

I just took a risk. i'm shaky again. i don't know why. it happens when i write something that i think will be worthwhile, or is worthwhile.


Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Magazine Ideas

You'd think i'd be able to come up with a better title now wouldn't you. anyways, onwards!

Ideas:

1. Keeping with the culture theme, I'd like to write about Postsecret. While it doesn't get you out of the house, it is art and does make you think a lot and you'd be surprised as to how many people don't know about it.

2. Making your own holiday presents: knitting and sewing.: I know i'm like an 100 year old lady but seriously knitting is awesome and scarves are easy and make great gifts and I can make an easy pattern to follow. Also, I can make instructions to how to make bags out of old t-shirts, something I also make.

Hope at least one of these is decent.


Sunday, October 11, 2009

A question for artists

What do you do when your mind moves too fast for the rest of you and you just wish a tape recorder could be shoved into your head to capture all this art?

No one reads these, so here's my day

"Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me"
-sia

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Wondering what you will think if you don't know

After my last blog, the most personal one yet, i started thinking "o wow maybe i should delete that so people don't start making assumptions about me." but although it's painful, I won't let myself delete it.
I always found peoples' perception interesting because it's often so off.
So frankly, i'm anxious as hell about posting that blog and thus almost baring my soul but i'm going to do it. because putting myself out there is a part of my art.
i guess this is a kind of disclaimer, which is bad (though i won't apologize. see, i'm learning) and i'm not making any sense but i just had some most things to say.

Inspired by Molly's recent blog

This doesn't really make up a poem, just a few poetic thoughts i suppose.

A bent, crooked lock.
A bent, old, crooked, rickety lock.
The type of lock that can be opened.
opened
opened.

The small hands.
the big hands.
Female hands are not always beautiful.
Femininity does not guarantee us gentleness

Bulbs like the type you see on fire flies.
Flashing into your starry young eyes.
Those eyes of conformity.
and of youth.

The cold porcelain on your frozen thighs.
Matching only to your frozen breath
as your anxiety laughs and says
"...yes?"