conqers leaves appeared again,
still the gentle hands that pour sand
onto the retired eyesockets of those asleep on beaches.
but they’ll grow out of it,
they will grow out of it soon.
‘La vieille dame et les pigeons’ de Sylvain Chomet
/hand drawn animation – target audience – expectations –
‘grown up topics’ and aesthetics in a ‘childrens medium’?
/cultural – reepresentations of Americans – stereotypes –
tourists in societies – French and tourists – ignorance
/psychological/sociological – old people and solitude –
deprivation effects on social behaviour?
/pigeons – birds in cities – vermin – historical role? –
the significance, symbol – roles human bird food, deserving
/Sylvain Chomet – animation style – viewed from a students
perspective – labour of handdrawing every frame
/every frame is of importance – storyboardning techiniques
– other fairly abstract moving, scene choosing
/aesthetic – colour palette – what would it look like in
blues and metal – melancholy? un modern- why?
/political – symbolism of bird cat old ladey kindness –
fat pigeons fat americans –
/techinique – 1997 vs computer 3d now – how different –
whats the relation – would it change the process? doubt it
gandarme towards lady, deserving,
la vieille dame et les pigeons by sylvain chomet
beautiful animator, i want to understand this, everything.
this is it.
with smile also- there is string, you know? across the cheek? but you can’t pull it. its here at the base of the ear, with me, see, the ear doesnt go back up, the bit for earring doesnt go back up, its not a flap. its not a lapel. that means the string is tied a little too tight so I dont get to choose when I smile. I think its good. for me, I mean, I dont know. but it is good, I think, in general. it would be strange if you could stop smiling or crying when you just wanted to, no? It would. I know it, I know it would.
The Making of Amaricans by Gertrude Stein
I am telling some one. So then this is in me living being, learning, knowing and telling and mostly then all three of them are always in me mostly always. This then is living being in some, learning, knowing, telling, this then as I was saying is living being in many of them always living, this is now a little a description of it in one.
So then to begin again with learning, knowing and telling. Mostly then there is mostly always keeping going learning. Always then as I was saying loving repeating is always there in me as being, always then as I was saying sometime each one I am ever knowing is a whole one to me, always then, as I was saying, knowing all the being in some one is always coming to be in me keeping going inside me, always then as I was saying knowing some one is filling me all up inside me, always then I am telling some one all the knowing there is then in me.
This then a way of being, learning, knowing, telling, this is then the being in me. There has been much writing of listening to repeating, of hearing, feeling, seeing, knowing all repeating, of feeling knowing each one sometime as a whole one, now then there is a little writing of the telling of the knowing always in me.
So then always every one is repeating the whole of them, always then sometime each one I am ever knowing is a whole one to me, mostly always then I am telling my complete knowing of each one to some one, often I am telling it to that one, the one whose complete being is then completely filling me then there inside me. This is now a little description of such telling to one.
As I was saying every one who ever knew this last one knew all the repeating ever in this one, ever coming out of this one, always then this then I knew all the repeating every one knew in this one and always one was really not giving to any one any really puzzling feeling, always then I knew all the repeating ever coming out of this one, always then I never had any puzzling feeling out of this one.
Every one really then knew all the repeating ever coming out of this one, every one then who ever was knowing this one knew all the being in this one, mostly then no one could have about this one any puzzling feeling, no one felt any puzzling feeling then about this one, every one who ever knew this one knew all the being that ever came out of this one repeating, no one then had about this one any puzzling feeling, every one only knew that this one found no meaning in the living of this one’s being. There are always many such men and women.
an ageless one, white hair open felt coat, blue scarf hanging from his shoulders. without purpose as his hands, hanging; his feet touching the ground like the rope has lenghtened and it looks like he’s standing. in the middle of the road, white chevrons receed to a point behind him, there is no starting point, there’s only him now, in a stupor, led forward, slow, moving – long.
thinking of writing fills me with a kind of dread; it opens up an inch long hole between my blow up shoulder blades and pours maybe about two pints of plaster in from the top. then the plastic edges crank closed and I sit there coughing up nothing but chalk dust for no time at all until it’s tomorrow