Earth - moon

Wow. That little shit is actually really far away... :/

Stage fright

I am getting a lot better at public speaking. Certainly, there are several factors to be taken into account, but I had a coffee date with a professor yesterday and he told me several things I’ve been doing wrong – and I am a fast student. Example. I hated not getting feedback from students – because 250 teenagers forced into a theatre aren’t the sort of a group you can really engage – so now I am not making eye contact but instead focusing on the rim of the balcony and speakers. Second. I had no idea what to do with my hands, especially having to hold the mic with my right – so I started holding a book in the other. (A comic book. Doesn’t matter.) I have a post-it on it, to check my facts, but mostly I know what I’m talking about, so I don’t really need that either. Third, I noticed this on my own, I needn’t really look at someone to listen to them, so I no longer feel strange when people are “sleeping” in the front rows. The guy told me that before I can project my love for movies onto a group of strangers, I have to have stage presence – which you simply cannot have if you’re scared. But by now halfway through the fist in my gut releases and I start having fun. Not feedback fun, just talking about movies kind of fun. The deepest thing he said was a reference to a snacks machine – you can a lot sooner talk about a machine that gives you food than your relationship towards eating. That was awesome. I can explain anything about the works of a theater, lights, seats, sound system, projector, screen, movie statistics… But talking about what it means to me and what it should mean to them…

Remaining: I still have to learn how to talk slower. And stand like a man. I mean a girl. I mean a hot babe. Ah, fuck it. I should just sit or lay down.. :P

Zbigniew

Alrightey then. Some people.

Grande bellezza

Too tired for bilingual version, I'm posting this in my native tongue... Sorry, folk - just go see the movie, until I translate. You'll know what I mean ;))
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Fotografi – no, nekateri, … no, jaz, ampak si ne drznem govorit posplošeno in v prvi osebi, ker se bojim, da me bo Jep zmlel v prah – fotografiramo lepe ljudi, da nam jih ni treba poželeti in lepe stvari, da ne rabimo biti odgovorni zanje.

Po čistem naključju sem ravno začela brati Jakubianovo hišo, ker sem med prodajanjem kart v kinu v starem NGju ujela intervju z avtorjem.. In po prvih nekaj straneh me blazno spominja na Marquezove Žalostne kurbe mojega življenja – ta film pa je tretja tretjina sozvočja – pripovedi o prepametnem plejboju, ki se skuša spomniti, kaj je to čustvo, kakršnokoli čustvo. Na koncu filma v palači spomina spet izbrska svojo prvo (oziroma, kar on skuša sebe prepričati, da je njegova velika) ljubezen, ni ta nič lepša ali čudovitejša od milijona kadrov v dvournem filmu pred njo. Krasna deklica s krasnima dojkicama, meh. Postarala bi se, tako kot on, v eno izmed babuh na žurih. Preglasnih žurih. Performanskih žurih. Tam so bili vsi videti, kot da so popolnoma nori. Čeravno… če bi s tako širokokotnim objektivom kdo snemal mene, kako pijana plešem, če bi pijana plesala v javnosti, bi bila verjetno videti enako tragična. Bili so torej popolnoma navadni ljudje.

Vsak prizor v tem filmu je narejen, kot da je zadnji – kar dvomim, da je naključje, zagotovo pa je zelo domiseln način, da sočutiš kako razstave  in poznanstva – vsak vreden romana, vsak žrtev kanibala, naslednjega prizora, polzijo staremu Jepu  med očmi. Moj najljubši, eden redkih res zgovornih, je, ko v treh minutah zbije svojo kolegico v kupček eksistencialističnega drekca – namreč strga make-up s popolnoma vsake njene prejšnje izjave, ki naj bi jo naredila večjo, boljšo od njega, od vseh na onem diner partiju. Ampak take reči si Josepe upa samo na lastnih zabavah, samo svojim kolegom. S tujci stresa puhlice o modi, z ženskami se samo spogleduje. Spodbuja jih, da se fotkajo v selfije. Spravlja se na umetnice, ki živijo od tega, da se z glavo zaletavajo v zid. V resničnem svetu začudeno strmi in se očarano nasmiha. Celo otroškim skrivalnicam. Ker se ne spomni, zakaj bi jih moral razumeti.  Ker jih ne zna ubesediti. V resničnem svetu je hudimano majhen – tako pred slabo osvetljenimi bogovi, krstami glupih znancev, kot žirafami. Okej, žirafe so slab primer. Nič ni večje od žiraf. Ne drzne si pisati o ničemer – ne drzne si niti pisati o »ničemer«, o  niču. Len je, namesto odeje se domače počuti pod oštevanjem svoje stare hišne pomočnice. Čudovito govori, ampak samo, ko je izzvan. Ne zna namesto nje same napisati recenzije o 471 let stari svetnici, ki mu zadrema na tleh v dnevni sobi, medtem , ko si on slači steznik. Celo, ko končno stoji pred tisto nesrečno Costa Concordio, se mu žaganje le-te zdi kot performance. Zdaj sem skoraj prepričana, da ne maram performanceov. Nekaj vulgarnega, podlega, vojeurističnega je na tem, da bi navaden smrtnik gledal, kako nastaja umetnina. Tega se naj ne bi počelo. Ampak človek se navadi, si najde opravičilo za svojo nekulturnost. Ko partnerka starega Jepa (ki je, mimogrede, v tistem kadru oblečena v goloto, ampak tega vam ne znam razložiti, morali bi jo videti, da bi razumeli in se strinjali) na žurki ne more več gledati, kako otrok besno in v solzah riše milijone vredno sliko, da bosta njen očka in mamica »srečna družina«, stari Jep le skomigne. Meh. Videl je že hujše.

Ne maram arhitektov, tudi to zdaj zagotovo vem. Rim (pa ne samo Rim, ampak še prav posebej Rim tega filma. Čakam, da vidim njegovo protiutež, Sveto Obvoznico) so spremenili v galerijo megalomanije, ki nikoli ne more biti topla na dotik. Vse je tako prekleto veliko – mostovi, vrtovi, stropovi, tista groteskna škrbina, osvetljena kot tiara - kolosej, napeta lica odvisnikov od botoksa, (ki so iz svojih obiskov mojstra pikanja tudi naredila performance),  postelje. Vsi so skulpture, pozabljene med kipi, ki se starajo malce počasneje, ampak ne dovolj počasi, da bi se jih v resnici občudovalo in častilo. Edino, česar se bojijo je, da so prestari, da bi njihovo mnenje kaj štelo. In kako krasno je v zgodbo vtkana vera – še en neskončno velik, teatralno osvetljeni kolos, v katerega glavi je restavracija ali mondena trgovina s čevlji.

Vsakič, ko vidim tak film, me pograbi panika ob snemanju mojega. Moj film je narejen na polovici, pa bi ga najraje nekam skrila (čeprav ga še nihče ni videl), in bila o njem čisto tiho, da ga tudi nikoli ne bo poskušal. Skozi mojega se po naključju ne sprehodi Fanny Ardant. Meni se moji karakterji ne smilijo. Kako si torej drznem sestavljati zgodbo iz črepinj nekih preteklih, ne markantnih življenj? Mi, ki gledamo tako lepe filme in potem o njih razglabljamo v dolgih stavkih? Edino, kar me dela boljšo od naftalinskih kneginj in debelih narkomank na rave partyju pri Gatsbyju je to, da se po odjavni špici zavlečem domov, v Celju, v brlog natrpan z barvicami in stripi in napol dokončanimi umotvori. Tu me čakajo tople, kosmate stvari, ki raje vidijo, da ne govorim preveč. Da o vsem skupaj naglas ne rečem nič.

Drawing and more drawing

Making vector graphics for a French Revolution project

and watercolors for the little witch picture book.

And posters for Gorgi :))

Alverde...

I know I sound, say, uh, 7000 years behind my time, but Alverde products are really getting me into makeup and beauty products. I can't get enough of their stuff. Maybe because it's really inexpensive, agrees excellently with my skin, natural and really good stuff, pigments-wise, or maybe because it's making showering fun. I have about five different shower products (stressing at this point that I absolutely hate showering and never ever bathe, because I cannot stand being wet), for five different parts of my wholesomeness, and i apply each in an order, depending on duration of supposed appliance... this sounds stupid, I know, but what I'm saying is - suddenly, for the first time ever, I have fun while showering. There was once a time when i was married to a gay asshole, and his fussing about beauty products made me steer clear of anything remotely cosmetic for a decade... Which i am now evidentally getting over. There were also times when I would never ever consider a pale pink lipstick... And yet, here I stand. Smelling and looking like a gentle vintage garden. :D

Ran into a person I haven't seen in a while today... There were times I actually wanted to do something about it and there were times when I figured some people feel better without having me in their lives. What amazed me about this encounter, though, is that i didn't recognise her. The features were familiar, so i though, ah, this is the sister of a person I used to know. But the voice locked straight into my memories and the looks were all the right kind of half careful, half cold, with a little bit of an opened door looks.. It was the person. Considering the first thing I did when I got home was send her a private FB message, I must have missed her a whole lot more than I'd admit... But if nothing ever comes of it, it will just be a story from times past... With vanilla waffles in it. And my first vibrator.

Random thoughts

I sometimes get the feeling that if I were a guy, I'd be mean. Like, a real dick. I would probably be Cole or worse. Dunno why, I just think someone who has such little regard for rules might take advantage of his morality fatigue and act out. Also, every time I write about a man, he does something mean. I suppose power corrupts. And having a dick feels like having power - in your hands.
    Something tells me nature would have enabled men to reproduce on their own a long time ago, but they'd all just kill one another, so nature is cleverer than that...

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I ODed on whipped cream last night. I haven't had it in so long my tummy forgot how to handle it and then I had too much and am still sick :/ General calls this one of his 'told you so's.

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The fourth person has recently asked me to have an exhibition. I have to come up with better excuses than "I don't really like exhibitions, I'm shy." This time I said that I am not really exhibition material (we were talking illustration, not photography), because I am not a painter. That painters are proud of their work whereas illustrators love ours. Their work belong on the walls whereas ours belongs among people.
But I really should think of something better to say. "Sorry, i really don't like being in the centre of attention" isn't hitting any credibility lately.