25 February 2009
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on February 25th, 2009 @ 10:39:33 am, using 58 words, 41 views
Some awesome grafitti that caught my eye and held enough interest to be registered and posted. Unfortunately, the first two are no longer there, having since been painted over.
[Click on the thumbnail for a larger view]
25 January 2008
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on January 25th, 2008 @ 06:29:09 am, using 636 words, 208 views
This was inspired by an image found at http://www.popexperiment.com
and is meant to be the first in a series of posts inspired by photographs.
Photograph by Geoffroy Demarquet
—— ∫ ——
I know this girl. As ageless and timeless as she may seem. With her long-sleeved long dress, shy demeanor. She’s a girl given to looking askance, and tying up her hair. 
Although… there is strength in that silhouette. An inordinate amount of strength compressed into an outline of fragility. She’s Sally Field in Places in the Heart. She’s Toni Collette in Clockwatchers. She’s Jane Eyre in clothes hung slightly to the right in the closet of a timeline. 
From her own lifeline, the one in the palm of her hand, she hangs… on hold. She holds on to the shape she dreams of finding in the lump of clay her days are made of. The romance of moonlight was first written about for the likes of her. Because she needed it. (Once written about, things can’t help but seem more real. Even those things that aren’t. So moonlight was made beautiful… for her.) She stands between the tracks, waits in the tunnel - waits,
expects, hopes and gets little in return. The lump of clay doesn’t yield much. From her perspective - the semi darkness where she stands - that exit holds all the romance of a full moonlit night. Look! With the right intensity of focus, the right disregard for peripheral vision, that light at the end of the tunnel made gigantic by proximity can look like a convincing satellite. In fact, it does, doesn’t it? But she deceives herself - for it is day. Daylight, only steps away and not limited to a circle. It is all around. Ready to warm her up if only she would take those steps. And yet she chooses to wait… Perhaps wait for the ant-like silhouette over to the side who may or may not walk in her direction, who may or may not bump into her, who may or may not ask her to do that again, who may or may not take the initiative in forging a connection of some sort…
Everything is temporary. Everything begins and ends and sometimes begins again. When I look ahead I imagine infinite possible futures repeated like countless photo copies, thousand blank pages and in each one I see myself. Never hiding, never sitting silently and never just waiting, and waiting and watching the world go by.
(Clockwatchers)
We are here and it is now. Further than that all human knowledge is moonshine.
H. L. Mencken (1880 - 1956)
We may go to the moon, but that’s not very far. The greatest distance we have to cover still lies within us.
Charles de Gaulle (1890 - 1970)
Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.
We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
Anais Nin (1903 - 1977)
08 September 2007
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on September 8th, 2007 @ 08:21:52 am, using 409 words, 162 views
I saw this on a sad Friday. The kind of Friday you want to share with someone who can hold you up because you don’t feel up to the task yourself. I spent it alone and found out I was. I walked into the exhibit expecting China. Fitting… Expecting to feel like I had crossed oceans, longing to feel like I had emerged from the last one dripping and renewed… clean. But found more. That is, more and less. We’re always in for something slightly different than what we expected. Different and the same. I went all the way around the world to a piece of China to find a painting that reminded me of a German movie… and of me… and of something I once read from a Polish director…
…a film about things on a macro scale, on a global scale. That doesn’t interest me in the least because I don’t believe societies exist. I think that there simply are, I don’t know, 60 million individual French or 40 million individual Poles or 65 million individual British. That’s what counts. They’re individual people.
(Kieslowski on Kieslowski)
I expected to see China and I saw people instead. Different. The same. I went in expecting art and found a mirror, inspiration, words I would’ve otherwise never used. Less. More.
The opening sequence of Run Lola Run…
Those blurry images of people, far too many people aggregated - the blurriness making it hard to focus on any one. A hazy day, clouds hovering above, a hazy confluence of hazy souls and their obedient shadows. They might as well have been standing on ice or walking on ice. Thin ice. Their existence, each individual existence so rife with uncertainty, so insignificant, so delible. A seemingly handmade blurriness to each and every figure. Two strokes is all it takes, I’d be willing to bet. Two fingers on the canvas while the paint is not yet dry. Left, right - and the haziness is there.
As though a mere breeze could sweep them off their feet and then away.
It so often does…
As though the mildest draft could make them dissipate.
Them… Us.
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
(T.S.Eliot)
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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