segunda-feira, fevereiro 28, 2011

old meets new @ oscar night...


It was an Oscar night tricked out as a meeting of Old Hollywood and New, a contest between the heart (King George VI) and the brain (Mark Zuckerberg), and most of all, a melding of old-school network tradition and Internet age connectivity. 

so they say here

Indeed, a floppy celebration of the movie industry. Lacking all the magic and glamour that makes one stay all night awake just for that. I still remember having 10 y.o. and dreaming of how my speech could be... now ... we keep the Black&White memory of old movies that made us dream. No tweets. No Facebook. Just the dream of all that...

the hosts

domingo, fevereiro 27, 2011

tonight

Gloria Swanson (Oscar nominee for Best Actress in “Sunset Boulevard”), at the 23rd Annual Academy Awards.
Moments later, Judy Holliday (left), won for "Born Yesterday".

upper hand

Ia escrever algo sobre o facto de estarmos sempre a girar na mesma expressão “na mó de cima...”. Ia escrever em Inglês. Ia deduzir a partir das minhas experiências que é um ciclo contínuo, infinito e incontrolável, até ver/ouvir o texto/peça/espectáculo “SNAPSHOTS” de Carlos J. Pessoa pelo Teatro da Garagem  e então decidi escrever isto...
Em “SNAPSHOTS” fala-se mais uma vez do teatro. Das personagens. Da realidade que não existe e que é a todo custo imposta ao espectador... admoestada ao espectador a partir daquilo que é feito e dito pelos actores em cena. Pessoa, um autor dos seus erros, exerce a sua escrita sobre o trabalho de improvisação dos actores, das suas vivências, das suas experiências, da sua relação com o teatro. Com a arte. Com a sua maneira de estar perante a criação artística – que é, na minha opinião, algo indissolúvel na vida real de cada um, é uma metáfora eterna para capturar os momentos que melhor descrevem a humanidade, que melhor escrevem a humanidade, seja por aquilo que é dito, ou por aquilo que está para lá das palavras –.
O autor/encenador pede aos actores (intérpretes das suas próprias vidas) que independentemente da sua visão do Teatro, o vejam aqui como algo que entra nas suas vidas de forma “desejavelmente feliz”, que os complete, que os questione, mas que não o matem antes de o experimentar, que o experimentem de forma a poder exorcizá-lo, ainda que da forma mais excêntrica e falsa possível, ainda que da forma mais Indiferente possível (como o faz Dinis Machado, ele próprio como representação de algo, ao justificar a Arte à luz de um isqueiro num blackout de energia que contrapõe as "brancas" comuns, as "brancas" que fazem desta arte visual – onde a palavra se desenha – algo que entra em metamorfoses e “dissectrizes” que o conduzem a uma história cheia de justificações académicas, quase médicas, definitivamente cientificas que estudam na Arte uma forma de classificação humana).
Não somos todos nós personagens que andamos perdidas a querer guardar eternamente momentos que são importantes para nós. Cada um de nós uma pequena e singular história de amor solitária que se inscreve na própria maneira de ser, mais tarde descrita e escrita em histórias, em romances, em adaptações de vida real em ficção para representar, novamente, a vida real.
Somos o próprio Morfeu, somos o próprio Goethe, somos a história de vida de todos os autores clássicos que em bláblá’s mergulhados em pós-significância são o espelho da nossa sociedade, são uma multiplicação de todos nós, desde o mais intelectual às tribos desconhecidas que agem com os nossos impulsos, que sofrem os nossos medos, que perguntam de forma simples as mesmas perguntas retóricas e indefinidas que nós colocamos perante um crânio despido de Schiller em dialectos que se assemelham a um alemão ininteligível (dependendo da intenção...) e que, bem fundo, são os desafios que nos colocamos numa maneira muito pessoal de sermos o próximo Ultimate Survivor para nós próprios.
Numa indiferença muito própria, “na mó de cima” não significa absolutamente nada porque, ou já lá estivemos, ou vamos estar lá de novo e isso não retira qualquer importância ao resto de tempo que passamos com “ausência de doença”, estejamos atentos.

true grit: 10 nominations and the surprise of Hailee Steinfeld...

John Wayne in "True Grit" (1969) by Henry Hathaway

in 1970...

Won the Oscar for Best Actor in a Leading Role: John Wayne

and plus the Nomitation for:
Best Music, Original Song: Elmer Bernstein (music); Don Black (lyrics) - "True Grit"

Jeff Bridges and Hailee Steinfeld in the remake of "True Grit" (2010) by Ethan Coen, Joel Coen

this year...

Best Achievement in Art Direction: Jess Gonchor; Nancy Haigh
Best Achievement in Cinematography: Roger Deakins
Best Achievement in Costume Design: Mary Zophres
Best Achievement in Directing: Ethan Coen; Joel Coen
Best Achievement in Sound Editing: Skip Lievsay; Craig Berkey
Best Achievement in Sound Mixing: Skip Lievsay; Craig Berkey; Greg Orloff; Peter F. Kurland
Best Motion Picture of the Year: Ethan Coen; Joel Coen; Scott Rudin
Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role: Jeff Bridges
Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role: Hailee Steinfeld
Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published: Joel Coen; Ethan Coen

noise and public space three years later -- [Ultra-Red]

We shall amuse ourselves by ideally orchestrating together the crashing down of metal shop blinds, slamming doors, the hubbub of crowds, the variety of din...

Luigi Russolo
(Michael Kirby and Victoria Nes Kirby, Futurist Performance (NY: Paj Publications, 1986), p. 169)
"WHAT’S THE SOUND OF THE BORDERS IN PORTO? / QUAL É O SOM DA FRONTEIRA NO PORTO?"
Ultra-Red @ Serralves
Equivalent to the articulation of a space, [sound] indicates the limits of a territory and the way to make oneself heard within it, how to survive by drawing one's sustenance from it.

Jacques Attali
(Jacques Attali, Noise: The Political Economy of Music, tr. Brian Massumi (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1985), p. 6.)

sábado, fevereiro 26, 2011

letters


via gaws.tumblr.com

quinta-feira, fevereiro 24, 2011

far too close

















MARTINA HOOGLAND IVANOW

aren't we all?

terça-feira, fevereiro 22, 2011

JF the [slash] self replicated artist

Untitled (Double third portrait polaroids), (detail) 2009
James FRANCO
in, "James Franco: The Dangerous Book Four Boys" @ PERES PROJECTS

read more:
NYTimes/Art Review
Guardian.co.uk

And listen to him:

"I Love You" by James Franco and Kalup Linzy

segunda-feira, fevereiro 21, 2011

about video in a chainreaction...


mirandajuly.com

Luhrmann's "Gatsby"

Robert Redford and Mia Farrow in The Great Gatsby (1974)

in 2012...the film (Directed by Baz Luhrmann) will star Tobey Maguire as protagonist/narrator Nick Carraway, Carey Mulligan as Daisy Buchanan and Leonardo DiCaprio as Jay Gatsby for the iconic Fitzgerald tale—which itself has been adapted several times...

bret and buttered: Jennifer Lawrence for the oscar...

Every now and then a Indie film about America's nowhere disturbed and fucked up lives comes along...

Debra Granik's 'Winter's Bone' runs for the Oscars.





Nominations:
Best Picture: Alix Madigan-Yorkin & Anne Rosellini
Best Adapted Screenplay: Debra Granik & Anne Rosellini
Best Actress in a Leading Role: Jennifer Lawrence
Best Actor in a Supporting Role: John Hawkes

domingo, fevereiro 20, 2011

the desert of the real...

The simulacrum is never what hides the truth - it is truth that hides the fact that there is none.
The simulacrum is true.
                                                                                                                    -Ecclesiastes

If once we were able to view the Borges fable in which the cartographers of the Empire draw up a map so detailed that it ends up covering the territory exactly (the decline of the Empire witnesses the fraying of this map, little by little, and its fall into ruins, though some shreds are still discernible in the deserts - the metaphysical beauty of this ruined abstraction testifying to a pride equal to the Empire and rotting like a carcass, returning to the substance of the soil, a bit as the double ends by being confused with the real through aging) - as the most beautiful allegory of simulation, this fable has now come full circle for us, and possesses nothing but the discrete charm of second-order simulacra.
Today abstraction is no longer that of the map, the double, the mirror, or the concept. Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being, or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal. The territory no longer precedes the map, nor does it survive it. It is nevertheless the map that precedes the territory - precession of simulacra - that engenders the territory, and if one must return to the fable, today it is the territory whose shreds slowly rot across the extent of the map. It is the real, and not the map, whose vestiges persist here and there in the deserts that are no longer those of the Empire, but ours. The desert of the real itself.
[continues here]


Jean Baudrillard - Simulacra and Simulations - I. The Precession of Simulacra
Translated by Sheila Faria Glaser

Modern Shakespeare: Dramatic Readings of Pop Songs

sábado, fevereiro 19, 2011

All Delighted People



Sufjan Stevens

All Delighted People

Tomorrow you’ll see it through
The clouded out disguises put you in the room
And though I wandered out alone
A thousand lights abounded on our home
And I remember every sound it made
The clouded out disguises and the grave
So yeah I know I’m still afraid
Of letting go of choices I have made

All delighted people raise their hands

And I took you by the sleeve
No other reason than to be your leading man
And you woke up with a fright
Our lives depended on the visions through the night
All we had always, all we had always wanted to before
The hurricane inclined us, grappling on the floor

All delighted people raise their hands

Still the force of nature spurned
Ideas of strength and style abated by the burning basement

All delight people raise their hands

I’m not easily confused
The trouble with the storm inside us grew
But I had so much to give
In spite of all the terror and abuse

And the people bowed and prayed
And what difference does it make for you and me?

All delighted people raise their hands

And the people bowed and prayed
And what difference does it make?
It doesn’t matter anyway
The world surrounds us with its hate

Hello darkness my old friend it breaks my heart
I’ve come to strangle you in spite of what you’d like
And don’t be a rascal, don’t be a laughing dog in spite of odds
All I’m deciphering from the spirits in the light within

All delighted people raise their hands

In restless dreams I walked alone I walked alive
The clouded out disguises left me in a dream of lightness

All delighted people raise their hands

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And what difference does it make?
I love you so much anyway
And on your breast I gently laid
Your arms surround me in the lake
I am joined with you forever

And the people bowed and prayed
And what difference does it make for you and me?

All delighted people raise their hands

I’m not easily confused
I feel alive I feel it glowing in the room

All delighted people raise their hands, all delighted people
All delighted people raise their hands, all delighted people
All delighted people raise their hands, all delighted people
All delighted people raise their hands, all delighted people

And the people bowed and prayed
Oh I love you a lot; Oh! I love you from the top of my heart
And what difference does it make?
I still love you a lot; Oh! I love you from the top of my heart
And on your breast I gently laid. Oh! My head in your arms
Do you love me from the top of your heart?
I tried my best I tried in vain. Do you love me a lot?
Do you love me from the top of your heart?

And the people bowed and prayed
Oh! I love you a lot; Oh! I love you from the top of my heart
And you can see through my mistakes
Oh! I’ll tell it to you now; Oh! I’ll tell it from the top of my heart

And what difference does it make
If the world is a mess; if the world is a mess?
And on your breast I gently laid
Oh! I’ll tell it to you now; Oh! I’ll tell it to you now

When the world’s come and gone shall we follow our transgressions
Or shall we stand strong?

I tried to save the things I made
Oh! But the world is a mess, Oh! But the world is a mess
And what difference does it make if the world is a mess?
If the world is a mess!
I tried my best I tried in vain
Oh! But the world is a mess! Oh! But the world is a mess!

Suffer not the child among you or shall you die young
when the world’s come and gone
Suffer not the child among you or shall you die young
when the world’s come and gone

quarta-feira, fevereiro 16, 2011

terça-feira, fevereiro 15, 2011

HURTS - Live


@Hard Club

running for the oscar... JAMES FRANCO



James Franco in Boyle's adaptation of Aron Ralston's autobiography Between a Rock and a Hard Place - "127 Hours"

Oscar Nominations:

Best Picture
Best Actor, James Franco
Best Adapted Screenplay, Danny Boyle & Simon Beaufoy
Best Editing, Jon Harris
Best Score, A.R. Rahman
Best Song, "If I Rise", A.R. Rahman, Rollo Armstrong, Dido

segunda-feira, fevereiro 14, 2011

apps

the_BirdWatcher_2011.02.13_18:20



Abstract
Approaching twitter from a behavioral perspective

more here:
www.andregoncalves.info

on sex and religion

CHAPTER FOUR / Third Dream, "the dream of piercing the roof of a cathedral." Conversation in the park with a priest. I exchange my rosary for a ball.

H - To choose a priest to answer my own message, seems to me... it reminds me - if you will permit my frankness, Father - of the not entirely rational conventions of sexuality. I mean, that I cannot altogether see the reason for coupling when anyone can procure for himself an equally intense and purer pleasure alone."

in, "The Benefactor" (Susan Sontag)

sweet misfits

sexta-feira, fevereiro 11, 2011

turbulence > i am unable to tell you...

Solipsism (pronounced /ˈsɒlɨpsɪzəm/) is the philosophical idea that only one's own mind is sure to exist. The term comes from Latin solus (alone) and ipse (self). Solipsism is an epistemological or ontological position that knowledge of anything outside one's own specific mind is unjustified. The external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist. In the history of philosophy, solipsism has served as a skeptical hypothesis.
(from Wikipedia)
Turbulence Commission: I am unable to tell you by Benjamin Dean:

I am unable to tell you is an experiment in collective solipsism. It’s about leaving your fingerprints on the glass you were trying to clean. It’s only someone else’s experience. It’s about the closure property of sets. It’s just the referents. It’s depth-first search. It’s about being face to face. It’s about not talking. It’s turtles all the way down.

quinta-feira, fevereiro 10, 2011

NYC 1966

terça-feira, fevereiro 08, 2011

strange air

we are our own elephant(s)

Alan Clarke's Elephant (1989)

Suddently you hear a gunshot... Think. What should I do?!. Suddently you realise there's nothing you can do. There's nothing you can think more about. It echoes in your head between the two moments of silence that isolate this one. You don't talk about it. You stay still, waiting to know if something happens. Maybe you'll hear another gun, maybe the shot you heard was the right one; was because justice had to be made, and the "good" one has shot first. Or not... you think. You keep it to yourself and Thank God I don't have a gun..., otherwise you could be the one in the middle of that second of still life, where everything stops and the camera keeps filming and someone (a nameless someone that could be you) lies there on the ground.
Instead you write about it in your blog. You try to be immortal in this immaterial space we still have left to let our spirits grow, this immaterial property (which some of us transform into an artistic place to become and add some value - we think). But we don't have any more space left, or do we?! Are we adding layers towards a limit that is in fact unattainable?
We make politics look like art, we make art about politics, we discuss art and politics, we...
(...)
You’ve been warned, my thanks and greetings.
Judgement under deliberation.

A Tale for Creating A Legal Precedent (by Patrick Bernier; translated by Simon Welch)
We produce material and transform but there's something that always stays unscreamed, that always remains silently boiling. We rebel against the things that are happening around the world, and we call the Prime Minister, we defend our beliefs, we post them and wait for a comment that soothes our restless soul.
One day we wake up and someone has taken over our life, someone (the nameless person an immaterial existence) is living for us looking for perfection, fighting and we look, we stare and hope everything goes well, we cross our fingers and wait, and think, and wait and... What's the point?! ...think.

[Unfinished... and maybe that's the way it should be... That's the way it always looks.]

segunda-feira, fevereiro 07, 2011

his own private black swan

sexta-feira, fevereiro 04, 2011

“making people symmetrical since 11/1/11”


Echoism.org plays with the notion of your own identity. What do you look like? What are the things that make you look like you – your identifying features?
If you are made symmetrical, do you consider yourself more beautiful, less so, or is it just weird? Or is it you at all? Do you have a best side? What is to be said of left and right brain dominance?”
itsnicethat.com/articles/julian-wolkenstein-echoism
julianwolkenstein.com

skip town

quinta-feira, fevereiro 03, 2011

"My solitude is entirely voluntary, I assure you."















Gena Rowlands in Cassavetes’ Opening Night


"...we artists must avoid the temptation to isolate ourselves, to lose contact with . . . ." 

"I'm no artist, dear Maestro. You mistake me. I have no inner wish to unload upon a passive audience. I do not wish to contribute one jot to the fund of public fantasy. Perhaps I have something to reveal, but it is of so intensely private a nature that it could not be possible interest anyone else. Perhaps I reveal nothing, even to myself. But I know I am on the trail of something. I am crawling through the tunnel of myself - which takes me farther and farther from the artist's base craving for applause. I am looking for silence, I am exploring the various styles of silence, and I wish to be answered by silence. You might say, that I am disembowelling myself."

in, The Benefactor - Susan Sontag

terça-feira, fevereiro 01, 2011

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