[If you're wanting extra mo0dz, while reading this [moody] post, this is pretty solid: clicktolisten]I can't remember the last time I so desperately wished I had my camera with me.
I went running tonight. Over the summer I worked out every other day. Which was a real accomplishment, took some incredible chutzpah, because I have never done anything like that in my entire life. I haven't regularly exercised since bi-weekly soccer practice during my freshman year of high school.
[If you're wanting extra mo0dz, while reading this [moody] post, this is pretty solid: clicktolisten]I can't remember the last time I so desperately wished I had my camera with me.
I went running tonight. Over the summer I worked out every other day. Which was a real accomplishment, took some incredible chutzpah, because I have never done anything like that in my entire life. I haven't regularly exercised since bi-weekly soccer practice during my freshman year of high school.
John Martin. Plains of Heaven (1851-3).
William Quiller Orchardson. The First Cloud (1887).
Atkinson Grimshaw. Liverpool Quay by Moonlight (1887).
Lucian Freud. Girl with Kitten (1947).
Ian Hamilton Finlay. The World Has Been Empty Since the Romans (1985).
Helen Beatrix Potter. Simpkin at the Tailor's Bedside (1902).
John Martin. Plains of Heaven (1851-3).
William Quiller Orchardson. The First Cloud (1887).
Atkinson Grimshaw. Liverpool Quay by Moonlight (1887).
Lucian Freud. Girl with Kitten (1947).
Ian Hamilton Finlay. The World Has Been Empty Since the Romans (1985).
Helen Beatrix Potter. Simpkin at the Tailor's Bedside (1902).
I'm watching a lot of films lately. Which is probably good since I'm doing a film studies course at university. But yes. So watching a lot of movies and a lot of old movies at that. And cinema is often about love. People in love. Falling out of love. And having watched a lot of noir films at home and then seeing The Best Years of Our Lives today I just find myself thinking a lot about what love means and how people express love and the degrees of love and how all words, all concepts are constantly evolving.
I suppose what keeps rubbing me the wrong way in some of these films is how quickly people jump to say they love each other. Maybe I've just been so over saturated with material I'm just waiting on the profession so it all constantly seems too rushed. But I dunno. Even with the compression of time that happens within film, I still feel like a lot of the time I have a different working definition of what love is from these people. How soon you say it. How soon you say it and actually mean it. Or perhaps today's definition of love is very different from what it was in the 40s and 50s.
I'm watching a lot of films lately. Which is probably good since I'm doing a film studies course at university. But yes. So watching a lot of movies and a lot of old movies at that. And cinema is often about love. People in love. Falling out of love. And having watched a lot of noir films at home and then seeing The Best Years of Our Lives today I just find myself thinking a lot about what love means and how people express love and the degrees of love and how all words, all concepts are constantly evolving.
I suppose what keeps rubbing me the wrong way in some of these films is how quickly people jump to say they love each other. Maybe I've just been so over saturated with material I'm just waiting on the profession so it all constantly seems too rushed. But I dunno. Even with the compression of time that happens within film, I still feel like a lot of the time I have a different working definition of what love is from these people. How soon you say it. How soon you say it and actually mean it. Or perhaps today's definition of love is very different from what it was in the 40s and 50s.
These pictures are from my first week in the new flat (forever a backlog on marionhoney). Essentially, Rosianna hadn't moved all of her stuff in yet from her childhood home so we pretty much had no dishes to speak of. So one afternoon Rosianna and I ventured out together and scoured our local charity shops and I brought home these items. In total, I don't think I paid more than £5 which was astonishing seeing as I feel like even at the cheapest retail shop that's how much one of these items would cost. I am a charity shop convert.
Since I've also had another charity shop day with Kayley. We went to Richmond where they have what felt like a lot more options. There I got a mirror, candle, and silver tray – all of which have been much loved.
These pictures are from my first week in the new flat (forever a backlog on marionhoney). Essentially, Rosianna hadn't moved all of her stuff in yet from her childhood home so we pretty much had no dishes to speak of. So one afternoon Rosianna and I ventured out together and scoured our local charity shops and I brought home these items. In total, I don't think I paid more than £5 which was astonishing seeing as I feel like even at the cheapest retail shop that's how much one of these items would cost. I am a charity shop convert.
Since I've also had another charity shop day with Kayley. We went to Richmond where they have what felt like a lot more options. There I got a mirror, candle, and silver tray – all of which have been much loved.
Back in March, when I was back in Indiana for spring break, my dad let me play around with his old film camera. It's a Yashica FR-1 he bought in the late 70s. This camera took a lot of the pictures in my baby years when my parents had a brownstone in Hoboken. You can definitely tell in the disjointed photo albums when we switched from this to the proverbial disposable cameras of the late 90s.
There was an old roll in the camera, but when I got it developed all the prints were black with only unintelligible hints of images that had long been overexposed? Underexposed? It was a dead roll. We also tried to take it to Roberts, which is pretty much the only camera store in Indianapolis, to get the counter fixed, but they couldn't. So I just sort of have to guess how many pictures I have left.
I still have a lot to learn when it comes to film. I forgot to check the settings a lot before taking pictures which sometimes results in... green? I don't know. But man, it's so exciting and fun to see how they turn out. If this is hipster, then I don't want to be right. I've bought another roll.
Check out the ones I didn't like as much on Flickr.
Back in March, when I was back in Indiana for spring break, my dad let me play around with his old film camera. It's a Yashica FR-1 he bought in the late 70s. This camera took a lot of the pictures in my baby years when my parents had a brownstone in Hoboken. You can definitely tell in the disjointed photo albums when we switched from this to the proverbial disposable cameras of the late 90s.
There was an old roll in the camera, but when I got it developed all the prints were black with only unintelligible hints of images that had long been overexposed? Underexposed? It was a dead roll. We also tried to take it to Roberts, which is pretty much the only camera store in Indianapolis, to get the counter fixed, but they couldn't. So I just sort of have to guess how many pictures I have left.
I still have a lot to learn when it comes to film. I forgot to check the settings a lot before taking pictures which sometimes results in... green? I don't know. But man, it's so exciting and fun to see how they turn out. If this is hipster, then I don't want to be right. I've bought another roll.
Check out the ones I didn't like as much on Flickr.
This is a term that is thrown around a lot in higher education: thinking critically. Go to college, go to university, and you will be challenged to think more critically. That little word duo has always thrown me off because I always assume that I'm not thinking hard enough. I'm not analyzing things as deeply as they should be. I always just assume that I'm not thinking critically, that I'm missing something. Like there's always a level farther – more... "right"? More "true"? More "fair"? Should that have been "truer, fairer?" Whatever. What I'm saying is this whole culture of critical thinking in university still baffles me. Because I don't know what it means. Or if I meet one person's meaning of it, I feel that there must be something more critical beyond that as well.
This is something that makes sense in my head, but I'm realizing that as I'm typing this out... it may not be translating too well.
For example, last night I went to a 70th anniversary TCM screening of Casablanca. I was so effing excited. Bogey on the big screen and not on my teeny 13" laptop. Where do I pay? Also, I just freaking love this movie. I love Rick and Sam. I love Paris. I love the composition and the time. I want Rick and Ilsa on that plane.
This may have been my fourth or fifth time seeing this movie. All the other times, I remember it making me really freaking depressed after watching it. I mean, I love the movie, but dammit I want that final frame with Bogart and Bergman. But we're not given that. And maybe that's why this film haunts so many people – because we aren't given that desired happy ending. Also, just realized that you might not have seen Casablanca, in which case, sorry, but seriously WHY HAVE YOU NOT SEEN IT.
I'm also notoriously terrible for not getting films. At least in my mind's eye. I have friends that will bring up quotes or sequences from films I have seen, and I won't remember any of it at all. And then during the actual watching experience, I'll not be able to decipher dialogue or not remember the names of important characters, even forget faces so then later on I'm all, wait who the hell is this guy and why is the protagonist so familiar with him? Maybe I get too engaged in the story – the movement of the events, that my mind lets the elements that implement them slip by. However, as a film student, this is one of the most inconvenient qualities about myself.
So anyway, this viewing of Casablanca was so different for me. All the previous times I took away that Ilsa really had been pretending the entire time that she was still in love with Rick. And that at the end she had always hoped that it would be Laslow she would board the plane with – as if that was her intention all along. This time, so many things bothered me. Rick's treatment of Sam. I mean, I know that was how things were historically at the time, but if Rick is such a great chap, wouldn't he treat someone who cared so much about him a little better. And even the portrayal of Sam. The token black friend who is all smiles and carefree, trying to cheer up the depressed white guy.
And don't get me started on Ilsa. I don't know why I saw her as powerful previously. I mean, she's not a total doormat. She did have the nerve to pull a gun on Rick. But all those "oh, I can't think about this anymore—you'll have to think for me." And the tears and just. Like women just give up, have to rely on men to make the hard choices. It just... it just bothered me. Again, I realize that there were different social norms and gender stereotypes operating back then, but portrayals of women still exist like this today, be they period or present-day. Like I just weep in the face of unbearable life conundrums. As if crying is weakness. As if women still aren't being targeted as a commodity to be won. As if me and my friend didn't get blocked by two men commenting about our appearance on the way to the cinema
My mind is all over the board here now. I'm just going to end this and say that I still really love Casablanca. I'm not really sure if I'm watching it critically or not. But I know I can't just see it as a love story that leaves me sad anymore.
This is something that makes sense in my head, but I'm realizing that as I'm typing this out... it may not be translating too well.
For example, last night I went to a 70th anniversary TCM screening of Casablanca. I was so effing excited. Bogey on the big screen and not on my teeny 13" laptop. Where do I pay? Also, I just freaking love this movie. I love Rick and Sam. I love Paris. I love the composition and the time. I want Rick and Ilsa on that plane.
This may have been my fourth or fifth time seeing this movie. All the other times, I remember it making me really freaking depressed after watching it. I mean, I love the movie, but dammit I want that final frame with Bogart and Bergman. But we're not given that. And maybe that's why this film haunts so many people – because we aren't given that desired happy ending. Also, just realized that you might not have seen Casablanca, in which case, sorry, but seriously WHY HAVE YOU NOT SEEN IT.
I'm also notoriously terrible for not getting films. At least in my mind's eye. I have friends that will bring up quotes or sequences from films I have seen, and I won't remember any of it at all. And then during the actual watching experience, I'll not be able to decipher dialogue or not remember the names of important characters, even forget faces so then later on I'm all, wait who the hell is this guy and why is the protagonist so familiar with him? Maybe I get too engaged in the story – the movement of the events, that my mind lets the elements that implement them slip by. However, as a film student, this is one of the most inconvenient qualities about myself.
So anyway, this viewing of Casablanca was so different for me. All the previous times I took away that Ilsa really had been pretending the entire time that she was still in love with Rick. And that at the end she had always hoped that it would be Laslow she would board the plane with – as if that was her intention all along. This time, so many things bothered me. Rick's treatment of Sam. I mean, I know that was how things were historically at the time, but if Rick is such a great chap, wouldn't he treat someone who cared so much about him a little better. And even the portrayal of Sam. The token black friend who is all smiles and carefree, trying to cheer up the depressed white guy.
And don't get me started on Ilsa. I don't know why I saw her as powerful previously. I mean, she's not a total doormat. She did have the nerve to pull a gun on Rick. But all those "oh, I can't think about this anymore—you'll have to think for me." And the tears and just. Like women just give up, have to rely on men to make the hard choices. It just... it just bothered me. Again, I realize that there were different social norms and gender stereotypes operating back then, but portrayals of women still exist like this today, be they period or present-day. Like I just weep in the face of unbearable life conundrums. As if crying is weakness. As if women still aren't being targeted as a commodity to be won. As if me and my friend didn't get blocked by two men commenting about our appearance on the way to the cinema
My mind is all over the board here now. I'm just going to end this and say that I still really love Casablanca. I'm not really sure if I'm watching it critically or not. But I know I can't just see it as a love story that leaves me sad anymore.
This is a term that is thrown around a lot in higher education: thinking critically. Go to college, go to university, and you will be challenged to think more critically. That little word duo has always thrown me off because I always assume that I'm not thinking hard enough. I'm not analyzing things as deeply as they should be. I always just assume that I'm not thinking critically, that I'm missing something. Like there's always a level farther – more... "right"? More "true"? More "fair"? Should that have been "truer, fairer?" Whatever. What I'm saying is this whole culture of critical thinking in university still baffles me. Because I don't know what it means. Or if I meet one person's meaning of it, I feel that there must be something more critical beyond that as well.
This is something that makes sense in my head, but I'm realizing that as I'm typing this out... it may not be translating too well.
For example, last night I went to a 70th anniversary TCM screening of Casablanca. I was so effing excited. Bogey on the big screen and not on my teeny 13" laptop. Where do I pay? Also, I just freaking love this movie. I love Rick and Sam. I love Paris. I love the composition and the time. I want Rick and Ilsa on that plane.
This may have been my fourth or fifth time seeing this movie. All the other times, I remember it making me really freaking depressed after watching it. I mean, I love the movie, but dammit I want that final frame with Bogart and Bergman. But we're not given that. And maybe that's why this film haunts so many people – because we aren't given that desired happy ending. Also, just realized that you might not have seen Casablanca, in which case, sorry, but seriously WHY HAVE YOU NOT SEEN IT.
I'm also notoriously terrible for not getting films. At least in my mind's eye. I have friends that will bring up quotes or sequences from films I have seen, and I won't remember any of it at all. And then during the actual watching experience, I'll not be able to decipher dialogue or not remember the names of important characters, even forget faces so then later on I'm all, wait who the hell is this guy and why is the protagonist so familiar with him? Maybe I get too engaged in the story – the movement of the events, that my mind lets the elements that implement them slip by. However, as a film student, this is one of the most inconvenient qualities about myself.
So anyway, this viewing of Casablanca was so different for me. All the previous times I took away that Ilsa really had been pretending the entire time that she was still in love with Rick. And that at the end she had always hoped that it would be Laslow she would board the plane with – as if that was her intention all along. This time, so many things bothered me. Rick's treatment of Sam. I mean, I know that was how things were historically at the time, but if Rick is such a great chap, wouldn't he treat someone who cared so much about him a little better. And even the portrayal of Sam. The token black friend who is all smiles and carefree, trying to cheer up the depressed white guy.
And don't get me started on Ilsa. I don't know why I saw her as powerful previously. I mean, she's not a total doormat. She did have the nerve to pull a gun on Rick. But all those "oh, I can't think about this anymore—you'll have to think for me." And the tears and just. Like women just give up, have to rely on men to make the hard choices. It just... it just bothered me. Again, I realize that there were different social norms and gender stereotypes operating back then, but portrayals of women still exist like this today, be they period or present-day. Like I just weep in the face of unbearable life conundrums. As if crying is weakness. As if women still aren't being targeted as a commodity to be won. As if me and my friend didn't get blocked by two men commenting about our appearance on the way to the cinema
My mind is all over the board here now. I'm just going to end this and say that I still really love Casablanca. I'm not really sure if I'm watching it critically or not. But I know I can't just see it as a love story that leaves me sad anymore.
This is something that makes sense in my head, but I'm realizing that as I'm typing this out... it may not be translating too well.
For example, last night I went to a 70th anniversary TCM screening of Casablanca. I was so effing excited. Bogey on the big screen and not on my teeny 13" laptop. Where do I pay? Also, I just freaking love this movie. I love Rick and Sam. I love Paris. I love the composition and the time. I want Rick and Ilsa on that plane.
This may have been my fourth or fifth time seeing this movie. All the other times, I remember it making me really freaking depressed after watching it. I mean, I love the movie, but dammit I want that final frame with Bogart and Bergman. But we're not given that. And maybe that's why this film haunts so many people – because we aren't given that desired happy ending. Also, just realized that you might not have seen Casablanca, in which case, sorry, but seriously WHY HAVE YOU NOT SEEN IT.
I'm also notoriously terrible for not getting films. At least in my mind's eye. I have friends that will bring up quotes or sequences from films I have seen, and I won't remember any of it at all. And then during the actual watching experience, I'll not be able to decipher dialogue or not remember the names of important characters, even forget faces so then later on I'm all, wait who the hell is this guy and why is the protagonist so familiar with him? Maybe I get too engaged in the story – the movement of the events, that my mind lets the elements that implement them slip by. However, as a film student, this is one of the most inconvenient qualities about myself.
So anyway, this viewing of Casablanca was so different for me. All the previous times I took away that Ilsa really had been pretending the entire time that she was still in love with Rick. And that at the end she had always hoped that it would be Laslow she would board the plane with – as if that was her intention all along. This time, so many things bothered me. Rick's treatment of Sam. I mean, I know that was how things were historically at the time, but if Rick is such a great chap, wouldn't he treat someone who cared so much about him a little better. And even the portrayal of Sam. The token black friend who is all smiles and carefree, trying to cheer up the depressed white guy.
And don't get me started on Ilsa. I don't know why I saw her as powerful previously. I mean, she's not a total doormat. She did have the nerve to pull a gun on Rick. But all those "oh, I can't think about this anymore—you'll have to think for me." And the tears and just. Like women just give up, have to rely on men to make the hard choices. It just... it just bothered me. Again, I realize that there were different social norms and gender stereotypes operating back then, but portrayals of women still exist like this today, be they period or present-day. Like I just weep in the face of unbearable life conundrums. As if crying is weakness. As if women still aren't being targeted as a commodity to be won. As if me and my friend didn't get blocked by two men commenting about our appearance on the way to the cinema
My mind is all over the board here now. I'm just going to end this and say that I still really love Casablanca. I'm not really sure if I'm watching it critically or not. But I know I can't just see it as a love story that leaves me sad anymore.
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