Sometimes you just need a title to make an article. Not a good article, OK, just “an” article. Or a chronicle. I realized (it’s never too late) that many bloggers just write chronicles, little things of life. I have to admit that it works, it gives a color, and somehow the reader can grab a little seed from it.
My daughters are discovering a movie : Forrest Gump. I could hear the drawling southern accent (now I hear that) from the first seconds (happening in Alabama). Remembering the “Life is like a box of chocolate you never know what you get” thing. Seeing Forrest finding a feather, delicately opening his suitcase to put her in a book. Yes, “her”. For a French, a feather is “une plume”, it’s absolutely and strongly feminine. Her.
I used to find feathers a lot, a long time ago, as signs and coincidences. At this time, I was writing hundreds of letters for Swanny – who never read them (of course). You never know what you get, right? Now when I see a feather I see a feather. I try to.
Just watched Pina, from Wim Wenders (the trailer is here). This movie (about the great choreographer Pina Bausch) needs to be seen in High Definition. It succeeds tremendously in making us understand that dance is telling us things out of ideas, out of subtilities of words or even concepts. Then I discussed about Hip Hop Battles with my daughter. Thinking two things :
- I don’t like improvisation. I have too much empathy for that. I can SEE the guy trying this and that, this is exhausting. Same in music. OK for masters, Coltrane and Monk, but generally I prefer written music. And rehearsed, organized dance…
- I said to my girl – watch Pina. Thinking about this idea, this tool : If you’re good in your Art, you should read and study OTHER Arts, or other branches of the tree. I’d respect a lot an architect studying harmony in music, or a rapper studying Verlaine.
Most of my American friends tend to dissuade me to visit “The South”. Nevertheless, I will go (if I visit the USA one day). And Atlanta too. I love Faulkner, and Tennessee Williams, you know? Yes it’s a paradox : I live in the North of France, and I think I’d be happier to live in Portland, Seattle or Minneapolis, my type of climate, my type of mood. I dislike sedativeness :
I read this morning a frightening article about San Andreas Fault (it’s here : http://www.latimes.com/local/california/la-me-lopez-jones-quake-05142017-story.html ). I just remember this paragraph :
It’s human nature to live in denial, especially in California, where natural beauty is a sedative. We know the state is cracked and creviced from head to toe, San Francisco once burned to the ground, and we’re overdue for another massive shaker that could take lives, cripple the economy and leave millions of people without water and power for months.
As I study English daily, I daily find difficult words, new words, or vague words, like mug (can be a large cup, to rob violently, a face, or a stupid person). That’s very confusing : a ugly mug lost his mug, mugged by a mug?! So I typed “mugged”. For my title, remember?
I watched a live moment from the always whispering Filthyratbag (Celeste, it’s on Instagram), who is very enigmatic. You never know how to dance with her. I added a little drawing, là, en bas, down under. Quietly sarcastic, tenderly ugly, a new type of chekovian heroin, for sure. Always when I meet her work my left eyebrow climbs a bit.
I read a little the Japanese travel book of Nicolas Bouvier. Found this Basho haiku in it :
Summer grass, all that remains of warriors dreams.
The French way is :
L’herbe flétrie d’été
C’est bien tout ce qui reste
Du rêve des guerriers
What remains of MY dreams? Summer witted grass?
Also, this from Seng t’san :
Cessez de vous en faire
Et suivez le courant
Si vos pensées sont liées
Elles perdent leur fraîcheur
and follow the current
If your thoughts are tied up,
they lose their freshness
So, OK, I follow. Observer sans juger (watch without judging), Amor Fati and sequere deum!
Thanks for reading! Bon dimanche !