a rusty repertoire

the black blot whizzed by the entire visual area of the window. a bird. i think so. or at least, i'd like to think so. they're the only beings flying around early this morning. well. hopefully most of the time.

the connect. or the disconnect. i recently watched Waltz with Bashir. to a certain extent, it was a great disconnect. an animated documentary about a war that took place even before i was conceptualized as a human being. yes. conceptualized. to become, human. on levels of the intellectual, emotional, and moral. on the other hand, it wasn't a context that i was entirely estranged to. o, the bane of such incidents. incidents. if it could be lightly termed that. the bane of such horrors in its refusal to become History. its refusal to end and become a chapter in History. instead, it keeps Time as a constant mistress. a neverending affair with Time. an eternal patron. each feeding on the other. sustained.

the film. my greatest connect/disconnect surfaced through the film's use of animation. like the film Persepolis, the use of animation presents us with a different experience/perspective/representation/performance of reality. the reality of real events such as wars and revolutions. expressed, illustrated through motifs. comic style colors. surrealism is expected. picturesque dreams. grotesque nightmares. epic scenes. room for the visually-idiosyncratic. an animated film can easily create all of this. blood begins to look, artistic. in fact, it is no longer red. but black. brownish-red. maroon. it becomes symbolic. and we, as the audience, recognize it, nonetheless. connect. even death as expressed through animation, is made artistic. unreal. and perhaps, surreal. however, when this light-hearted use of animation is suddenly juxtaposed, mirrored, 'mimicked' by footages of the real, that is when the greatest connect and disconnect happens. both, at the same time. footages. terminology.

and then the realization. and then the tears. and then, the end.

the ability to finish looking, seeing, feeling something, as time passes, as a footage ends, as a memory fades, is perhaps the greatest disconnect between us. as one. the human race. can one perpetually look, see, feel, remember, and do?

palette

trickster's theory to everything

a fresh new perspective
"humour is the body, asserting itself against the head"

Henry Darger | in the realms of the unreal

he was sent to a school for feeble-minded children. a simpleton of a boy who grew up into a man, ousted by normalcy. he didn't talk to anyone, moving around the world, awkwardly. his neighbors remember seeing him rummage through waste, thinking him weird. unknown to them, he was actually turning it into art. upon his death, they found what could perhaps be the world's longest illustrated novel. stories of children warriors, fighting those against the ways of the Christian world, as he believed it to be. conceptualized in juxtaposition to his life, he creates another world where he belongs, encapsulating within the many other imageries muted in light of this 'real' world. an artist extraordinaire, weaving art within his fingers and mind. moved by feelings and colored by the reality that he deemed real. through his art, we are given a glimpse into the world of a man nobody really knew. In the Realms of the Unreal. perhaps a most realistic world of worlds.


trailer