Blurred Blurry Instagram Photography

A blurry photography is a mistake, right? Unfocused, spoiled, this is for the trash. And of course you make it on purpose… so there!

The whole photography doesn’t have to be blurry – watch the face in the middle of the nibbled leaf, photo 3, and try to guess what is behind the in line droplets on photo 5.

Make it so blurry you don’t even know what it’s about : you are in abstraction, then. Hashtag according, then season your recipe.

When you blur “a place“, a room, trees, details are lost and hidden, therefore the mood only remains. Persistence of the air, the light, the colors only. Makes your photo more like a painting, maybe : less words, more atmosphere. So what?

Tool : What happens with this concept (“blur it on purpose”) in YOUR field? In poetry, what is to be blurry? In painting, art, music? What about other territories? In communication, marketing, advertising, theater, even cooking?

Thanks for reading/watching! My Instagram is jprobocat. No they are not all like these. Have fun!

Jean-Pascal

 

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“#Blog for yourself and not to please an audience” – wait a minute…

I read many times about big success youtubers who “lost their soul” because they stopped being themselves – instead of it, they began to blog to “please the audience”. That’s baaad! This makes sense, right? Bending their style or their personality to what they supposed to know about the viewers is probably wrong. And each time, the article I read told it this way. Bad bad bad. Nah. On the naughty step!

When I think of that, though, I hear a bell in my head. That’s so precisely evident that my senses are on alert. I know, it’s a reflex.

There’s something similar in poetry. The “poet” is supposed to be “inspired” (by what?), and peeing gorgeous metaphors because… he’s a genius. BUT even the greatest poets agree to say that there’s probably a critic inside their magic brain. Like “another guy” inside, who analyzes and channels/canalyzes the flow.

Let’s listen to Baudelaire :

I pity those poets who are guided by instinct alone: I regard them as incomplete. In the spiritual life of the former a crisis inevitably occurs when they feel the need to reason about their art, to discover the obscure laws in virtue of which they have created, and to extract from this study a set of precepts whose divine aim is infallibility in poetic creation. It would be unthinkable for a critic to become a poet; and it is impossible for a poet not to contain within him a critic. Therefore the reader will not be surprised at my regarding the poet as the best of all critics.

Charles Baudelaire

This is a perfect pattern, a tool for this article :

Here, we’re searching for a frontier between “I write for myself” and “I write for my audience”.

  • If you write 100% for yourself and you’re successful, good to you! You can stop reading this article and have subtle sex with your muse. Take your time, she likes it.
  • If you write for your audience, you’re a backwoodsman losing yourself on the paths of wrongness and your audience will sense it. You forgot why they loved you. Kill yourself.

BUT

Think about Baudelaire, our French poet. You are probably aware that you never REALLY write for yourself : you, from the beginning, took care of the readers TOO. You analyze, you think, you weave your words, YOU are your first audience, this is it. It’s a radioactive pattern. You write, you work daily, you throw a bunch of arrows, you write for you AND you take care of your audience. You want to be loved, that’s all! You know the trees, and you also know there’s a forest. You’re great, because you dance with both. That’s great!

Thanks for reading!

 

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Instagram : mariakdolores

 

#Instagram & #Photography : Keeping your Kid’s Eye

HELP US
I was lonely, sad and quiet
Walking to go to work
Wondering slowly
In silence
Continuously
What did I do?
I took my cellphone
Opened the photo app
My eyes was wandering around
As I was walking
Along the road
Along the cemetery
I saw trees
Flowers
Tombs
Leaves
Trees again
Flowers
Blackberries
And then
Bars
Metallic bars
With dead ivy
Ivy babies
Bones dead
Little hands
Holding bars not to fall
With no worries
At all
I stopped
Smiled
Took this picture
In black and white
Little dead quiet hands
I called it
“Help Us”

from Instagram: http://ift.tt/2gRTZak

Words and Concepts are Liars

“Through words and concepts we are still con­tinually misled into imagining things as being simpler than they are, sep­arate from one another, indivisible, each existing in and for itself”.

Nietzsche, Human All Too Human

This is huge. I think every thinker is aware of this problem. Words and concepts put us in cages, we “think” they explain or describe reality, but they are NOT. Words simplify things, it’s very convenient, to analyze, to draw maps for the mind. But they are not enough.

Poets and photographs know this very well. They work BETWEEN the words, in subtleties and complexity.

It’s ALWAYS more complex than we think.

It why I wrote so many times about labels. If you discover your son is autistic or gifted, you immediately put him in a “box with a label“, and it’s a forever thing!

But there are millions of shades, and each of them… are moving, changing, evolving.

So we often think we know, but we don’t. We don’t know anybody, for example. We’re all islands, we’re complex, we have many faces, and we change along the days.

You can say : “He’s sad”, but you’ll never know how it moves, and how much sad he is, and if it is colored with sarcasm, suicide ideas, or hidden hope. You don’t know if he is aware of all that. You have to talk for a long time with him, to know.

Words are dangerous because they make you more stupid. We have to use them, because it’s the way we communicate, but we constantly need to remember their weakness.

Have a nice day!

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Instagram : itspeteski

iPod’s Wheel Speed Dating & the Continuous Musical Invention

ONE

For a while, in order to discover musics, I was doing this : downloading archives like “100 Best Indie Tracks – June 2015”, stuffing these into my small iPod, and then, as I was walking along in the city, I was playing with the iPod wheel, wandering in random mode.

It’s awful for all these groups, I KNOW, but it is what it is : I listen to the intro, a few seconds. If I’m pleased, I go on. Then the song begins. If I’m pleased, I go on. Then the singer, then the chorus, etc.

It’s really like “music speed dating”. It’s wrong, I know.

I’m old enough and skilled enough to sort tracks like that, very quickly. Then I used the 1-5 stars system of the iPod like :

  • 1 star – trash
  • 2 stars – should relisten
  • 3 stars – not bad/I keep it
  • 4 stars – good/interesting
  • 5 stars – I love it!/masterpiece

TWO

If you think about pop-rock music, if you begin to analyze,  you can hopscotch with your brain and the “idea of pleasure”. What do you love in this track?

Energy? Lyrics? Sound? The guitar solo? Singer’s voice? Production? These are musician’s choices elements and how they are mixed together.

Makes you think about someone? A period of your life? Makes you feel you’re part of a community? These are other elements, right?…

One of the pleasures of pop music is the game with time. Listening to a music piece is “following it along its continuity”.

Intro, verse, chorus, verse, chorus, break or solo, verse, chorus, outro…

When you know the music already, there’s a pleasure in… knowing what’s going after : you can sing along, right? You wait for the pleasure which will come (ahhh this chorus is so good, move your shoulders, transform your hands in butterflies…).

THREE

I’m back with my iPod. The music begins. If I don’t like the beginning (sometimes I need 5 seconds to know it, but sometimes it’s more like a minute), I turn the wheel. I go from 0’15” to 1’20” – just to see how it will evolve, as you can guess…

Most of the time, my instinct was right : if the first verse is bad (music, singer, harmony, sound, whatever), it STAYS bad, and I see almost no difference between 0’15, 1’20” and 2’45”. This is how pop music is made, 98% of the time.

There’s pleasure in repetition, in “it comes back”.

The chorus idea is like the proof of it. A good chorus (or a great gimmick), and people sing, and you got a hit, Johnny!

FOUR

What I like the most, with my little wheel, is when I hear the beginning or a track, then I go to 1’10” and I hear something else, then I go to 2’20” and I hear again something else. Woah! Invention!

Most groups of the Progressive Music era worked like that : Genesis, Yes, Pink Floyd, King Crimson. They liked to invent structures similar to Classical Music

And well, yes, Classical Music has this “pleasure in repetition of themes”, but it’s much more complex, of course. A theme coming back is more like an event in a ocean of… :

Continuous Invention

In Pop-Rock, it’s VERY rare. Some groups are crazy enough to build a 5 minutes tracks like Pink Floyd did with 30 minutes.

  • Instead of : Intro, verse, chorus, verse, chorus, break or solo, verse, chorus, outro
  • They do : Intro, verse, break, surprise, chorus, another music, double break, altered chorus, intro to triple variation, piano reprise, Irish drum arrival, guitar, false outro, reweaving of some previous with other instruments, choir silliness, new chorus, samples, etc etc…

Continuous Invention : you invent all along, continuously, surprising the audience with pleasant unexpectations.

Names I have in mind (for some tracks, not all of them) : Röyksopp. MGMT. St Vincent.

FIVE

In what discipline you could apply this tool of “Continuous Invention” instead of “Pleasant Structural Pattern Repetition”? Poetry? Mmmmhhh… Marketing?

What about the contrary? If most movies are based on “stories” – continuous invention – some of them are based on variations around a small story : Rashomon, or Run Lola Run. There’s a pleasure here, in viewing three or more times the same stories, viewed with another point of view…

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Run_Lola_Run
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rashomon

 

Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

Outwit Methods for Spleen

“Spleen” is a poem by Baudelaire, French poet :

Spleen

When the low, heavy sky weighs like a lid
On the groaning spirit, victim of long ennui,
And from the all-encircling horizon
Spreads over us a day gloomier than the night;

What is spleen? Melancholy? Boredom? Both? Sadness? Troth? (I don’t know how to say both for three things).

We have an expression here, “tromper son ennui”, which is literaly : “to outwit one’s boredom” – which leads us to my purpose :

What do you do against spleen, how do you outwit this bug?

I think we would all agree to say that you can’t “fix” spleen. It’s a saudade vague state on sadness and… oh… sorry : there IS a way.

  • Sleep.
  • You can listen to happy music, but it’s sadder, right?
  • Try sad music. Put your forehead against the rainy window and wait.
  • You can wear it out with little things. Walk, talk, movies.
  • You can mock your spleen, write a sarcastic diary about how sad you are.
  • You can use it (to write a sad poem/song – “take a sad song and make it better”)
  • You can define it. Knowing things are always good. Weave a poem to explain subtilities.
  • Become happy stupid. Be SURE you’re happy and read motivational quotes.
  • Let the spleen subengulfmerge you.
  • Cigarettes, liquors and other substances.
  • Chocolate.
  • Wine and cheese (both French, silly).
  • Sex (spleeny sex?).
  • Buster Keaton.
  • Read biographies of people with worse lives.
  • Friends?
  • Become angry.
  • Yi-Ching
  • Do something unusual.
  • Flee.

 

What do YOU do?

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Spleen

Quand le ciel bas et lourd pèse comme un couvercle
Sur l’esprit gémissant en proie aux longs ennuis,
Et que de l’horizon embrassant tout le cercle
Il nous verse un jour noir plus triste que les nuits ;

Quand la terre est changée en un cachot humide,
Où l’Espérance, comme une chauve-souris,
S’en va battant les murs de son aile timide
Et se cognant la tête à des plafonds pourris ;

Quand la pluie étalant ses immenses traînées
D’une vaste prison imite les barreaux,
Et qu’un peuple muet d’infâmes araignées
Vient tendre ses filets au fond de nos cerveaux,

Des cloches tout à coup sautent avec furie
Et lancent vers le ciel un affreux hurlement,
Ainsi que des esprits errants et sans patrie
Qui se mettent à geindre opiniâtrement.

– Et de longs corbillards, sans tambours ni musique,
Défilent lentement dans mon âme ; l’Espoir,
Vaincu, pleure, et l’Angoisse atroce, despotique,
Sur mon crâne incliné plante son drapeau noir.