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callooh callay
Rainy day. Dim. Spent much of the morning comforting my oldest friend, Kristina, who has been left out of the blue by her girlfriend at a moment when she was feeling pleased with how her life was going; it was this more than the girlfriend leaving that left her feeling horrible. My main job was to reassure her that being a successful artist is not antithetical to having a love life -- that an individual choice made by an individual person was not a moral indictment of her character.
One of the main thrusts: there are some people who are highly curious and metacognitive and innovative, and there are other people who would like to relax and bask; the latter would like to sit comfortably by the fire, and the former can do that for about a minute before starting to wonder about fire and different types of fireplaces and how human beings respond to fire and whether a hearth is still relevant to a modern room, or whether the shifts from hearths to televisions has created social change or been a reaction to social change or neither . . . an approach to life that does not really have a resting point. Thus the curious person terrifies the relaxed one by disarranging the calm, and the curious person finds the relaxed approach unbearably dull.
Continue to plod through the Hayseeds script; I should be able to go much faster than I do, because I know mostly what happens and can write dialog until the cows come home, but I have some sort of mental block where I can only make myself do two pages at a time.
Something that occurred to me subsequent to work at the museum this week is that narrative film is a uniquely literal artform. A man in a duck suit is a man in a duck suit full stop. He is not a duck. He is not a man in a three piece suit. A kid is not an old man and a man is not a woman, accessories or no. Things may represent other things symbolically, but they cannot pass as other things. This does not mean that photographs are true, because I can show you one wall of a hotel and say "this is a hotel" without revealing there is no more hotel than the wall, or that the reverse angle was shot in a different room; all I can't do is show you an athletic field and say "this is a hotel."
Later tonight, plans to convene with Chad and play Jotto, my instinctive response to rainy days.
One of the main thrusts: there are some people who are highly curious and metacognitive and innovative, and there are other people who would like to relax and bask; the latter would like to sit comfortably by the fire, and the former can do that for about a minute before starting to wonder about fire and different types of fireplaces and how human beings respond to fire and whether a hearth is still relevant to a modern room, or whether the shifts from hearths to televisions has created social change or been a reaction to social change or neither . . . an approach to life that does not really have a resting point. Thus the curious person terrifies the relaxed one by disarranging the calm, and the curious person finds the relaxed approach unbearably dull.
Continue to plod through the Hayseeds script; I should be able to go much faster than I do, because I know mostly what happens and can write dialog until the cows come home, but I have some sort of mental block where I can only make myself do two pages at a time.
Something that occurred to me subsequent to work at the museum this week is that narrative film is a uniquely literal artform. A man in a duck suit is a man in a duck suit full stop. He is not a duck. He is not a man in a three piece suit. A kid is not an old man and a man is not a woman, accessories or no. Things may represent other things symbolically, but they cannot pass as other things. This does not mean that photographs are true, because I can show you one wall of a hotel and say "this is a hotel" without revealing there is no more hotel than the wall, or that the reverse angle was shot in a different room; all I can't do is show you an athletic field and say "this is a hotel."
Later tonight, plans to convene with Chad and play Jotto, my instinctive response to rainy days.