Instant Story: October Warnings

Driving down the highway I looked down and noticed the gaslight was on and that my car was just about to run out of gas. I pulled into the first gas station that could. I was lucky because I just passed a sign that said the next services were 100 miles away as there is not much when you are in the middle of nowhere New Mexico. This gas station was very strange. It was dimly lit and there was no one around. There was a very eerie feeling lingering in the cold air. Sitting in the empty lot of the gas station with my heater blowing at full blast my senses were all of a sudden heightened when out of nowhere a man riding a horse came trotting through the station. I stared with my mouth open at this bizarre event. With out stopping he turned his head giving me a look that I might be the one out of place, and then seamlessly disappeared back into to the black void where the station’s fluorescents couldn’t reach. A little shaken up and nervous I just sat there. My mom’s voice still played in my head driving my motivation to keep going, “Don’t waste your time with any men now, because you are going to meet your soul mate in Mexico!” Ok I thought…I have to keep going. As I stepped out to fill my car up with gas I noticed a small piece of paper taped to the pump and on it was a handwritten messaged that stated to pay inside only. I gasped as I turned and noticed an even creepier tin building that served as the location of operation for this so called business. It seemed as the flickering low porch light warned me to turn and run or to continue my journey on foot. I have no choice at this point. I take my time to approach the door. As I enter and slowly open the rusted tin door I become even more confused. This is not even a store. I’m not even sure what type of building this is at this point. It is rather large and very open inside. It is about two stories tall and you can see where the two sides of the tin roof meet at the top. On the left side where the second floor should be there is a row of framed broken windows that reveal the moon that provides the ambient light to see the definitions of this interior. There is a dirt floor and it seems almost like a garage or a place for cars to drive in. On the right side there are a few rooms and a rusted metal stair case to reach the other rooms on the second floor that overlook the opening I have found myself standing in. Seriously where am I? Just then from one room on the right I hear what sounds like a coffee pot brewing. A vague desk lamp shines from this door less room illuminating my steps. The smell of coffee instantly brings me back to my childhood. For this moment I feel warm and comforted as I reminisce of all the times I sat and drank coffee with loved ones in familiar locations that I hold dear. However, this false reality lasted only for a second due to the fact that my current location resembled anything but those familiar secure memories. I knew that I was far from safe. I proceeded to make my way to that room and…nothing. There was no one there but a pot of coffee and old mine surveying papers that lay out on the desk and scatter the floor in piles on each side of the wall. There was no sign of who was in here or when, as everything seemed dated beyond generations of my recollection. DING DING DING DING!!! This sound that alarmingly pierced the eerie silence with out pauses in-between could be nothing other than a doorbell. With my throat now in my stomach I took the few steps towards and then answered the door to this building where I was just previously the only occupant. As I pull open the rigid tin door I notice what seems to be a middle-aged woman. I quickly surveyed what stood before me. She resembled a stereotypical librarian with ratty hair in a makeshift bun where pieces of hair made their own decisions. She wore an old grey sweater covered in cat hair and thick brown panty hose under a plain brown skirt with loafer esc dress shoes. “Yes?” I asked. “The nest!” she screamed! I replied, “What nest?” “That one!” as she then pointed to an old abandoned bird’s nest in the corner of the overhang over the dimly lit gas pumps. She continued, “The birds, the poor birds!” With my heart racing out of my chest I stared at her very confused wondering what the hell she was talking about. A loud clank in the back of the building quickly stole my attention to identify the source of the noise. Nothing… I turned back to the lady and…nothing. As quickly as she showed up she was gone again. I took a deep breath as I stood in the threshold of this tin location that I so randomly stumbled upon.  A cool breeze rushed passed my face and chilled my cheeks on this cool fall October evening. Scared and feeling more isolated and trapped than I ever have in my entire life I closed my eyes. Fear and anxiety filled my insides while the brisk fall atmosphere surrounded me on the outside. I wished that I was anywhere in the world except for that deserted gas station in the middle of nowhere. This deep rumbling began to grow louder and louder and…

So that’s the last time I smoke a “chooty” before zumba class. Apparently I passed out and hit my head on the floor during the aerobic workout. Isn’t that the craziest trip? Said my unintelligent co-worker as I gazed upon her with disbelief… 

Evocative Object: Big Muff

He lives on an audio world of electronics where Analogue rules with seniority and digital gangs come and go and grow with strength as time passes. His tattered metal and scratched surface reveal authenticity of its existence. You can see the years of experience on the road and in bars and venues all over the country just based off of his exterior. With all the circuits, digital boards, and multi purpose devices, Big Muff lives for one purpose. He has one goal and objective. When people are watching he has to be the loudest around. With rich saw waves of processed audio reaching new decibel levels with each progression everyone stops. The crowd goes silent and listen with eager anticipation. Then all at once they erupt with applause and this is where Big Muff lives. Today he is king, today he is heard, and today people tip their hat in respect to the legend.

Monika Bravo exhibition

She says in a description of her work that it is a seduction and illusion where introspection of the exchange in conditions where the mind goes from one reality to the next. Specifically the installment on natural phenomenon's, I get. Very strong sense of introspection. There are several parts to the loop of natural events that take place on two symetrical screens. Each image is altered in a way to simulate a painting and joined with that is an etherial soundtrack with no clear defining points. I feel this is the process of the human mind and phsycy. We have more going on than we realize and it's very hard to eatablish what it is exactly. We have two parallel sides of our brain often working against each other creating a natural phenomenon. Just like the exhibit it is impossible to focus on both at the same time but neither one can be ignored either. At times they are to similar subjects with similar pallets and terain but never line up in exact sync. I believe we all have an inner battle of what we want to do be and express that contrasts with what we define as responsibility. You can clearly see in individuals which "animal" they feed more. Though these images are easy to make out they still live in an etherial world where no borders end points or clear definitions exist.

A side note- in class Tom made the comment that he didn't think it was art because she manipulated other peoples material. So that means we've been misguided and need to inform everyone out there that anyone who is an "Editor" specifically in film, is not an artist *according to Tom...

Dream Journal : Gas Light

A man and women are driving in a car late at night. All of a sudden they run out of gas on the side of the road. That is all the man can remember because it is a dream. That next day the man and his wife are talking in reality in their living room in the evening. It is very dimly lit and out of nowhere they get into an argument. Once the tension reaches its climax and the girl starts to cry he stops and realizes that the dream was an emotional foreshadowing to the events of that evening. They were going full speed for so long that metaphorically they eventually ran out of gas and hit an emotional wall. Now he knows and proceeds to comfort her.

Altered States

Evocative Personal Object

This is a vintage analogue overdrive guitar effects pedal. It is no longer working but sits as decor on my desk. To me however, it is more than an artistic piece of metal. It is a symbol of the importance of music in my life and the journey of where it has taken me.

Readings

I love the idea of Inquiry. It says in the book that "Intuition may be nothing more than the first thing that comes to mind." But it is important to look at this through the lens of Inquiry. Everything in the creative process is a balance and a rhythm. I believe we have the best ideas within us but it is the over-processing thoughts that creatively "stop us up" and we just need to learn to let go. Im my own experience my greatest ideas just came to me and then were expanded upon from there.

Just as similar in the reading from "what is is" I believe that the over-processing comes from the fear of failure or the reputation to hold up as an artist. We tend to define ourselves by what we create and peoples reaction to it. This is very natural. We have a desire to be evaluated and thought highly of amongst our peers. If we do not get past this, we may stay in mediocracy for the rest of our lives.

Observation: Evocative Object

It just lies there. It is very sad and abused. Almost like an exotic animal in captivity. This feather is not from around here but yet it is bound to ever fly again. It longs for the air. To be weightless in gravity joined by all its brothers and sisters from the same core joined in unison to defy the impossible. Tattered on the edges, rough down the center, and bound by artistic metal and decor at the bottom, it is now a prisoner. No longer free in the open. You can still see its beauty beyond the scars and bruises. This thing of foreign desire, now a mere pet in every sense. Will  there ever be liberation or has the destiny of wilting away by mere fashion been set forever. Whatever the case, life lives within. WIld lives within the captivity, within the chains. However short the life of the feather it will die in honor for it has seen places we will never go. Who knows the sites it has seen. The mountains of Kilimanjaro, the tops of the redwood trees, or the sands of the desert, we may never know. But the memory will always live on within each strand of colored fiber within its being.

Clipping File:Work Life

This is a topic that hits a little close to home. Often times creative types, especially those working in time consuming motion positions,  are often taken advantage of. This phrase was literally printed and put on the door to our office in my last job, " Possible can be done immediately. We're already working on the impossible. But please allow 48 hours for miracles. " This is because people in these positions are often given very small windows for the most difficult of projects. These individuals are more than often overlooked and something needs to be done about it. This article posted on "Motionographer" goes much deeper into this subject.



http://motionographer.com/2011/10/03/worklife-from-the-comments/

Dream Journal Entry

A few nights ago I had a dream that I vividly remembered. I was driving full speed in a vehicle that did not belong to me and then something happened. Then next thing I remembered was that I looked down and noticed the gas light was on. Just then it suddenly ran out of gas and came to a sudden halt.
That is all that I remembered, but I knew that it had a deeper meaning as so many of my dreams tend to do. That next day I ended getting in an argument with my wife. We had both been going full speed for so long that we literally ran out of gas and hit an emotional wall. It was destined to happen at any point and my dream was a clear signal that the event was about to take place.

Observation(myplace): The Salute

Here we are again. I sit amongst old friends and after moments reminiscing over the past few weeks we are caught up again. The ravine still here, still flourishing for the time being. We can find the same rhythms of life in every season. The ups and down come in the most unexpected moments. After a few grimly cold weekends the plants hold on. Today is another victory of the battle in the war that they are slowly losing. To me they are soldiers. They have fought brave and strong, have loved and laughed, but hope is slowly fading. Limbs are missing and color is fading as the day is coming to a close. Loved and dear ones wait on the other side. There their legacy will be reunited and will live on in the next generation. As I start to leave I give them a quick glance signifying my respect and admiration for how hard they have fought to live and to love. This could be a last look, or a salute and farewell for I know not which enemy lies just around the corner.

Observation:Character

I wanted to write about my neighbor who I am very intrigued by. His nam is Demetri and he's a Russian painter who speaks with broken English. If you saw him you would think he was a homeless person based off of his appearance. His hair is always a ratted mess and sticks out on both sides of his massive bald spot. He wears tattered outdated clothing that is always tagged with spots of paint. He is however a nice guy. He just always seems a little odd and is randomly wandering around the complex. He is an abstract painter that is inspired by nature so he is always just standing in a random natural location just starring for hours. It's quite comical. Also you can see in his house and he has hardly any furniture but just white walls and stacks and stacks of his paintings leaning up against the wall with a giant easel stealing all the attention in the middle of the living room.

Observation: Scenerio

A friend of mine visited me the other day and told me about an encounter he had on the way here. He had stopped in Las Vegas, NM because his alternator went out. He realized it when he had trouble starting his car at a random gas station in the middle of nowhere New Mexico on the interstate. The gas station was very low lit and sort of erie. All of a sudden out of nowhere a man came from behind him riding a horse in the middle of the night. He just trotted through the gas station and disappeared into the darkness. This seemed like such a random/awkward/comical moment.

Creative Film Making: Doing The Research

We have been learning the importance of finding personal connection to the things we work on. This chapter in Creative Film Making also show the significance of the proper research per project. It is a way to trigger our inspiration of detail and broaden our sense of connection with it no matter what it is. To me this is obvious, If you are going to write or portray details about any particular subject, you should know what you are talking about.

Clipping file: Synth Barrier

Being a musician myself I am always intrigued by the mentality and perception of musicians from themselves and others. To me it is a very diverse yet easily typecast sub group. One issue that is often highly overlooked is sexism within music. Especially in what seems to be a male driven profession if you will. Here is a link to an article from the New York Times discussing this matter but more specifically "Women and Synthesizers.


http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/09/arts/music/female-artists-with-a-penchant-for-synth-sounds.html

Green Team Project: Asterix

"Turn"

It was an early day in Autumn. A young bird sits in its nest warmed by the finely constructed walls of its interior. There was a sense in the air that  the weather was just about to take a turn for the worst. Though the storm wasn't there yet, the anticipation was. The trees were uneasily still. The bright yellow leaves of aspens freshly changed from the summer green lay still and motionless. Everything for the moment is fine except for the fact that the young bird sits alone. The fear of the storm is drowned by the fear of being trapped in a perch of imprisonment. A stir of leaves raise some noise just beyond the the curve in the path that lie underneath the tree. The emotions in the young bird reached a new height and just then something changed. As it turned its head from side to side a new perspective was stirred. There has been some sort of change over time. There is an unexpected strength within its wings and it knew what it had to do. The little bird stepped to the edge of the nest, lifted both wings, and took the biggest breath of its life for it realized that security laid beyond this next risk. Then the bird leaped, because it knew…it was it's turn to fly. 

Ideation:Clustering

Cluster brainstorming for the short story "Turn."

the frontier of friendship

As I sit and try to get myself going with a warm cup of legal stimulants I notice several familiar faces. These faces are not familiar to myself but to one another. Though I cannot hear what they are saying it seems that they are joining in on a familiar melody. Not in the literal sense, but there are shared rhythms, patterns and harmonies to this bond that dates decades upon one another. Three friends, in what seems to be their late sixties, sit and share a coffee. I believe this ritual to date long before the reign of circular green mermaid logos when the frontier of roasted beans lived in the booths of the local diners. Whatever the venue, the coffee is not the objective but rather the medium for their relationship to flourish. There is a sense of unconditional trust and happiness. I can feel the positive vibes reach me from where I sit in the corner by the window, and I don't want to let go of them. I want to carry them with me and ration them out with every afternoon of friendship shared over a cup of coffee until I am as old as they are.