But there is no danger in daring a bit

It is fall and I have been travelling. Fall already! Time for apple pies, pumpkin pies, orange landscape, red maple leaves and perfect light for photography.

I love fall. So I have been busy with work and exhibitions and exploring my beautiful Montreal and the unexpected beautiful cities and landscapes around Quebec.

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Our little tent on a cliff in Les Escoumins

 
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This could be anywhere

When I stepped back in Montreal there was a feeling of comfort. The fulfilment and excitement that arouses when we finish a task, a mission we were not sure how long would least but it was finally done and we are  finally coming back home.

Unbeknownst for most and myself there was also an anew feeling, as if all was the same but not, a book you remember very well but now the narrative is a movie sort of feeling, do you know what I mean? If not, try reading Game of Thrones and watching the series. You will understand that although is the same story the story isn’t the same and so far we can not say for sure that they will both end the same way.

But back to coming back to Montreal… It felt old and usual but with some missing characters and suddenly all was different, I was in some other story that wasn’t mine or that I was unaware I had to write (or rewrite). On the midst of all those feelings it seemed to me that Montreal could be anywhere, the streets were the same but the people on it made it look like and feel like anywhere. Maybe a dystopia, maybe just a resemblance with some other part of the world, regardless! I wasn’t home anymore.

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Diane Arbus/The Estate of Diane Arbus LLC. 

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Son regard

I got in the movies a little late but I am always on time, or early. In fact I am early most of the time. To all events.

The theatre was empty and I chose my favourite row. It is the one not too much on the higher part of the theatre, but not to low neither. It is on the perfect high, the one you can see the screen without too many heads in front of you and you have the feeling that the room is small enough and the screen big enough. Or maybe is a feeling that you are home, with a big screen, you don’t see much of the room. I was alone on that late sunny afternoon. It is always sunny here on the sunshine coast, no kidding.

My heart was heavy so I was at the movies. Art in general seems to help with my rampages of depression and desperation. I sit in front of a paint, a photograph, a music, a movie, and it feels that it all makes sense, it is ok that there is no sense. They have it all figured out. And I keep moving.

And I was alone at the movies until a guy walks in, curly hair (was he blond? I couldn’t see anymore), popcorn, coke? He walks as if there are rocks on the floor, is he afraid to stumble? I am not sure. I wish for a moment he would walk pass me, sit very far because I don’t appreciate popcorn eating noise when I am at the movies. In fact I can barely handle any noise at all at the movies. But he walks in rocks and sits beside me (perhaps we share the same preference for middle row seats?). He should be at the beach I thought. But heavy hearts are heavy hearts after all.

I can see his eyes and they are black, and his hands are light and feverish. But I pretend I don’t see. I pretend he is not there and I am not there neither. Could I just silently move to another seat or that would be too mean? I decide to stay because the movie is starting, and I don’t like noises in the movies. (I think he doesn’t like it neither, although he has popcorn).

The movie is so beautiful that I forget everything. I forget he is too close, so close in fact that  I can feel his arm touching mine. I forget I can see his eyes crying, son regard, son regard qui veut. He wishes so many things. Untouchable things.

He cries beside me like we were forever friends. And I cry too, but I hide it, I hide everything.

He cries because it is beautiful. Is the beauty that hurts both of us, is too much, too unbearable, too unreachable, too beautiful.

Youth by Paolo Sorrentino

Youth by Paolo Sorrentino

Life, the big unknown. All our emotions are so important, including the fears – perhaps most importantly. Fear is also such strong feeling. Is it what keep us moving? “Emotions is all we have left”. And love.

I left before the credits. I usually stay until the last word, but not this time.

The movie is called La giovinezza. And it ends with this song,

K

The Displacement – Part I

Paint by Monica Rohan

Yeah right ok, by Monica Rohan. Photo credit Poshdrosofila Thibault

“It is all like an ocean, said Dostoevsky. I say it’s all like cellophane” (Kurt Vonnegut – Breakfast of Champions)

It can be a choice sometimes, to be displaced. Like when staring at a paint, or a sculpture, or listening to a song. Art has this strong power of taking you away from your common views, common places, common self. It invites you to introspection and to contemplation, to questioning.

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The Promised Land of Michael Parekowhai – Space and the Construction of Memory

Almost a month ago GOMA was opening a great exhibition on Michael Parekowhai’s more than 20 years of work – from photography to sculptures. As I wandered and wondered into the the alleys created on GOMA for this exposition I couldn’t stop but think about Walter Benjamin and his writings on the construction of memory. I guessed (and somehow hoped) that Michael had read Benjamin when working on his pieces.

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“Knowledge and experience through combine opposites”. My meeting with David Lynch

 

David Lynch

Mr Lynch on installation after a drawing , photo by myself.

QGOMA is hosting one of the most anticipated exhibitions this year: David Lynch, Between two Worlds, a collection of his 50 years of diverse art. From photography to paints and installations the exhibition invite us to reflect upon the unconsciousness, the limits that we accept and how they set boundaries that are dangerous to the creative process, the value of freedom on creativeness and the importance of ideas. Yes, Ideas are what guide us or at least what should guide us. Continue reading

Salgado and Wenders, The Salt of the Earth

A few weeks back I saw The Salt of the Earth, a film about the photographer Sebastiao Salgado by one of my favorites film makers Wim Wenders at the Asia Pacific Film Festival here in Brisbane. I met Salgado for the first time 10 years ago with The Other America and his work had a profound impact on me,  so profound that I left on a backpack trip to all South America that same year.

Google images, Other America

Google images, Other America

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