i wrote this in response to a silly online personality quiz question (where you jot down your thoughts in thirty seconds when shown a nifty painting). i found the sheet and forgot what it was for a moment. this is what i noted word for word, spacing and all, which is kind of funny in hindsight:
sky, like earth
creation
egypt and all the
world
earth colors
pool
ancient
okay so it's not really good but oh well.
thoughts/aspirations of the day:
--i want my photographs to become more like words, and I want my words to become more like photographs.
--comics are a lot like photo stories. read (receive/perceive) this sweet book
--anime is kick-ass.
--i'm going to watch unico tonight. need to rewatch princess mononoke.
--i've been reading about anime for my visual culture class and had one of those moments today where i got excited about the vast vast vast vast vast x infinity amount of knowledge/creation in the world! there's this whole unexplored area expression like anime/cyberpunk/comics/graffiti that i don't really know a thing about and couldn't possibly absorb 5% of it in my entire lifetime.
--apparently i'm an innovater. that's what the personality test said, and we all know personality tests are infallible.
--closure is a concept storytellers know how to exploit. didn't realize this.
--I want to be a better storyteller.
come to open eye tonight to hang out!!!!
Showing posts with label visual culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label visual culture. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
dear words, my old friends:
I don't understand how people who make pictures for a living can update their blogs with images, images images. all the time. don't get me wrong, I love pictures (and I love the people who have legit photo blogs--they are some of the most talented, beautiful and inspiring people I know), but I can't eat, breathe and sleep photos they way I ought* to. There's so much naked experience to be embraced, without sewing fig leaves for myself out of my digital SLR.
isn't it funny that this is photo blog, but all I want to do is write? Admittedly, I've felt trapped by photojournalism and its academic demands. I know I'm not experiencing the real thing, because I was happy as a clam this summer while adventuring in naples with my camera and new visual friends. but i just don't want to make pictures right now. I would rather make pictures with words--old friends, neglected by the courtney on the right for a time. I have not forgotten you! In fact, I need you!
what I love about writing in this instant is I don't care much about its quality. I'm not writing for personal gain, I'm not writing to prove, strive, achieve, compare, beat, smother, conquer. I'm just writing because I haven't exercised verbal muscle in quite some time, and it's delightful rediscovering this pleasure. In the worn texture of the keys beneath my fingers, in the way my mind is simultaneously soothed and stimulated. It's like revisiting the backyard of my childhood home, with the three oak trees and tire swing. I haven't pumped, back and forth, back and forth, beneath those autumny branches in some time.
not that I don't love photography. I just need a sabbatical from images for a bit; enough of media commodities and mechanical reproducibility. Expression's playground is really the Amazon, and photography is just one Pourouma. I want to frolic and be a spirit-child for a bit.
spring break is coming. shall I travel to montreal?
*I am trying to recognize negative thought patterns (see earlier blog post on Wendell Berry and expectation) in myself. I impose ridiculous requirements on myself; I must go through forty "oughts" and "shoulds" and "ought nots" and "should nots" a day! Who says I ought to have a photo blog with images? Pat? Future employers? God? No one. I think this is a still a photo blog. or expression blog or venting blog or seeking inspiration or respite blog or something. whatev.old
isn't it funny that this is photo blog, but all I want to do is write? Admittedly, I've felt trapped by photojournalism and its academic demands. I know I'm not experiencing the real thing, because I was happy as a clam this summer while adventuring in naples with my camera and new visual friends. but i just don't want to make pictures right now. I would rather make pictures with words--old friends, neglected by the courtney on the right for a time. I have not forgotten you! In fact, I need you!
what I love about writing in this instant is I don't care much about its quality. I'm not writing for personal gain, I'm not writing to prove, strive, achieve, compare, beat, smother, conquer. I'm just writing because I haven't exercised verbal muscle in quite some time, and it's delightful rediscovering this pleasure. In the worn texture of the keys beneath my fingers, in the way my mind is simultaneously soothed and stimulated. It's like revisiting the backyard of my childhood home, with the three oak trees and tire swing. I haven't pumped, back and forth, back and forth, beneath those autumny branches in some time.
not that I don't love photography. I just need a sabbatical from images for a bit; enough of media commodities and mechanical reproducibility. Expression's playground is really the Amazon, and photography is just one Pourouma. I want to frolic and be a spirit-child for a bit.
spring break is coming. shall I travel to montreal?
*I am trying to recognize negative thought patterns (see earlier blog post on Wendell Berry and expectation) in myself. I impose ridiculous requirements on myself; I must go through forty "oughts" and "shoulds" and "ought nots" and "should nots" a day! Who says I ought to have a photo blog with images? Pat? Future employers? God? No one. I think this is a still a photo blog. or expression blog or venting blog or seeking inspiration or respite blog or something. whatev.old
mediocrity
mediocrity is snapping pictures at
college parties of
half-empty bottles: their contents
billows: forts and blankets
mirages of acquaintances
their broken graffiti signatures on the living room wall.
Wonder-- asleep in red technology caves; the images
fulfilled her momentary soul
thirst
now in temporary graves
the magic was buried alive.
college parties of
half-empty bottles: their contents
billows: forts and blankets
mirages of acquaintances
their broken graffiti signatures on the living room wall.
Wonder-- asleep in red technology caves; the images
fulfilled her momentary soul
thirst
now in temporary graves
the magic was buried alive.
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