I'm here to give a little background on this video.
Back before I left for London, I came up with this idea to hide letters all over Europe. The letters would be written to specific people in my life, saying things that I felt I could not say to them personally. Nice, mean, accusatory, praise, PROFESSIONS OF LOVE--what have you. Letters of honesty. But I wanted someone to know besides me. So I'd write these very personal letters and place them randomly in hopes some stranger would pick it up and read it. And keep it. And wonder who I am. And whom I'm talking about.
I only wrote one letter. To someone I had been wanting to write to for a while. My concept for the video was to have words that reflected my past and images last displayed my now. There is much more in the letter (complete sentences even!) than I let in the video. And when I was reading it out loud for the voiceover, so much of what I had written just felt no longer relevant. It described a me from six months ago maybe, and there was this sense of relief at how much I had moved on from some of this "hurt." Which is yay for me. Moving on, letting go is good. It's so nice when you can experience that right in front of you.
Back before I left for London, I came up with this idea to hide letters all over Europe. The letters would be written to specific people in my life, saying things that I felt I could not say to them personally. Nice, mean, accusatory, praise, PROFESSIONS OF LOVE--what have you. Letters of honesty. But I wanted someone to know besides me. So I'd write these very personal letters and place them randomly in hopes some stranger would pick it up and read it. And keep it. And wonder who I am. And whom I'm talking about.
I only wrote one letter. To someone I had been wanting to write to for a while. My concept for the video was to have words that reflected my past and images last displayed my now. There is much more in the letter (complete sentences even!) than I let in the video. And when I was reading it out loud for the voiceover, so much of what I had written just felt no longer relevant. It described a me from six months ago maybe, and there was this sense of relief at how much I had moved on from some of this "hurt." Which is yay for me. Moving on, letting go is good. It's so nice when you can experience that right in front of you.
I'm here to give a little background on this video.
Back before I left for London, I came up with this idea to hide letters all over Europe. The letters would be written to specific people in my life, saying things that I felt I could not say to them personally. Nice, mean, accusatory, praise, PROFESSIONS OF LOVE--what have you. Letters of honesty. But I wanted someone to know besides me. So I'd write these very personal letters and place them randomly in hopes some stranger would pick it up and read it. And keep it. And wonder who I am. And whom I'm talking about.
I only wrote one letter. To someone I had been wanting to write to for a while. My concept for the video was to have words that reflected my past and images last displayed my now. There is much more in the letter (complete sentences even!) than I let in the video. And when I was reading it out loud for the voiceover, so much of what I had written just felt no longer relevant. It described a me from six months ago maybe, and there was this sense of relief at how much I had moved on from some of this "hurt." Which is yay for me. Moving on, letting go is good. It's so nice when you can experience that right in front of you.
Back before I left for London, I came up with this idea to hide letters all over Europe. The letters would be written to specific people in my life, saying things that I felt I could not say to them personally. Nice, mean, accusatory, praise, PROFESSIONS OF LOVE--what have you. Letters of honesty. But I wanted someone to know besides me. So I'd write these very personal letters and place them randomly in hopes some stranger would pick it up and read it. And keep it. And wonder who I am. And whom I'm talking about.
I only wrote one letter. To someone I had been wanting to write to for a while. My concept for the video was to have words that reflected my past and images last displayed my now. There is much more in the letter (complete sentences even!) than I let in the video. And when I was reading it out loud for the voiceover, so much of what I had written just felt no longer relevant. It described a me from six months ago maybe, and there was this sense of relief at how much I had moved on from some of this "hurt." Which is yay for me. Moving on, letting go is good. It's so nice when you can experience that right in front of you.
I don't want to say that this is a review. I think that makes me sound pretentious. Like I'm completely sure of my opinions and that others should agree or disagree. I just found myself sitting in this film this evening and a mental list kept pushing itself into my mind. I worry sometimes that I do not think critically enough. That I only think aesthetically. As the shallow beings that we are, I am drawn to beauty. And innovations in beauty.
So these are simply my thoughts.
Usually jarring camera movement doesn't bother me too much. It gives a sense of life, of forward movement to a scene or the entire pace of a film. But I felt it was used far too much. Kayley and Maddy mentioned even feeling a little sick from it. It felt like they just decided to fire the steady-cam operator and just went for handheld whenever they were following Heathcliff up the rugid hills. It was just far too much jerkiness. The image was lost or at least dismissed by all the camera movement.
There was constant repetition of extreme close ups playing with the focus on random items: moths, a stalk of vegetation waving with the wind, long billowing strands of hair. These were paired with extreme long shots of extremely beautiful and barren countryside. Breath-taking shots. That gave you a sense of of the lonely world these characters lived in. The detailed shots also always seemed to punctuate or preface scenes—visual page breaks.
It took a long time for Kaya to appear on screen. I was waiting for her. Therefore I felt far more attached to the younger incarnation of the characters. I am usually a stickler for reading the books before seeing the film, but Wuthering Heights I only got a third through when I picked it up for my first and only time two years ago. It was nice going into the film not knowing exactly where it was going to go. And I can sometimes get bored in films, my mind will wander, and I was pleased with how engaged I was in the story.
Is it just me, or do actors sometimes wear their thoughts on their face? Or do I just give them thoughts? When older Heathcliff made his entrance, to me he screamed this is the scene where I return. I could hear him walking himself through the shot. Giving himself mental directions. Maybe I'm an after-the-fact mindreader.
So these are simply my thoughts.
Usually jarring camera movement doesn't bother me too much. It gives a sense of life, of forward movement to a scene or the entire pace of a film. But I felt it was used far too much. Kayley and Maddy mentioned even feeling a little sick from it. It felt like they just decided to fire the steady-cam operator and just went for handheld whenever they were following Heathcliff up the rugid hills. It was just far too much jerkiness. The image was lost or at least dismissed by all the camera movement.
There was constant repetition of extreme close ups playing with the focus on random items: moths, a stalk of vegetation waving with the wind, long billowing strands of hair. These were paired with extreme long shots of extremely beautiful and barren countryside. Breath-taking shots. That gave you a sense of of the lonely world these characters lived in. The detailed shots also always seemed to punctuate or preface scenes—visual page breaks.
It took a long time for Kaya to appear on screen. I was waiting for her. Therefore I felt far more attached to the younger incarnation of the characters. I am usually a stickler for reading the books before seeing the film, but Wuthering Heights I only got a third through when I picked it up for my first and only time two years ago. It was nice going into the film not knowing exactly where it was going to go. And I can sometimes get bored in films, my mind will wander, and I was pleased with how engaged I was in the story.
Is it just me, or do actors sometimes wear their thoughts on their face? Or do I just give them thoughts? When older Heathcliff made his entrance, to me he screamed this is the scene where I return. I could hear him walking himself through the shot. Giving himself mental directions. Maybe I'm an after-the-fact mindreader.
I don't want to say that this is a review. I think that makes me sound pretentious. Like I'm completely sure of my opinions and that others should agree or disagree. I just found myself sitting in this film this evening and a mental list kept pushing itself into my mind. I worry sometimes that I do not think critically enough. That I only think aesthetically. As the shallow beings that we are, I am drawn to beauty. And innovations in beauty.
So these are simply my thoughts.
Usually jarring camera movement doesn't bother me too much. It gives a sense of life, of forward movement to a scene or the entire pace of a film. But I felt it was used far too much. Kayley and Maddy mentioned even feeling a little sick from it. It felt like they just decided to fire the steady-cam operator and just went for handheld whenever they were following Heathcliff up the rugid hills. It was just far too much jerkiness. The image was lost or at least dismissed by all the camera movement.
There was constant repetition of extreme close ups playing with the focus on random items: moths, a stalk of vegetation waving with the wind, long billowing strands of hair. These were paired with extreme long shots of extremely beautiful and barren countryside. Breath-taking shots. That gave you a sense of of the lonely world these characters lived in. The detailed shots also always seemed to punctuate or preface scenes—visual page breaks.
It took a long time for Kaya to appear on screen. I was waiting for her. Therefore I felt far more attached to the younger incarnation of the characters. I am usually a stickler for reading the books before seeing the film, but Wuthering Heights I only got a third through when I picked it up for my first and only time two years ago. It was nice going into the film not knowing exactly where it was going to go. And I can sometimes get bored in films, my mind will wander, and I was pleased with how engaged I was in the story.
Is it just me, or do actors sometimes wear their thoughts on their face? Or do I just give them thoughts? When older Heathcliff made his entrance, to me he screamed this is the scene where I return. I could hear him walking himself through the shot. Giving himself mental directions. Maybe I'm an after-the-fact mindreader.
So these are simply my thoughts.
Usually jarring camera movement doesn't bother me too much. It gives a sense of life, of forward movement to a scene or the entire pace of a film. But I felt it was used far too much. Kayley and Maddy mentioned even feeling a little sick from it. It felt like they just decided to fire the steady-cam operator and just went for handheld whenever they were following Heathcliff up the rugid hills. It was just far too much jerkiness. The image was lost or at least dismissed by all the camera movement.
There was constant repetition of extreme close ups playing with the focus on random items: moths, a stalk of vegetation waving with the wind, long billowing strands of hair. These were paired with extreme long shots of extremely beautiful and barren countryside. Breath-taking shots. That gave you a sense of of the lonely world these characters lived in. The detailed shots also always seemed to punctuate or preface scenes—visual page breaks.
It took a long time for Kaya to appear on screen. I was waiting for her. Therefore I felt far more attached to the younger incarnation of the characters. I am usually a stickler for reading the books before seeing the film, but Wuthering Heights I only got a third through when I picked it up for my first and only time two years ago. It was nice going into the film not knowing exactly where it was going to go. And I can sometimes get bored in films, my mind will wander, and I was pleased with how engaged I was in the story.
Is it just me, or do actors sometimes wear their thoughts on their face? Or do I just give them thoughts? When older Heathcliff made his entrance, to me he screamed this is the scene where I return. I could hear him walking himself through the shot. Giving himself mental directions. Maybe I'm an after-the-fact mindreader.
"Sometimes I come to hate people because they can't see where I am. I've gone empty. Completely empty and all they see is the visual form: my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds that come from my throat. But I'm fucking empty.
The person I was just one year ago no longer exists; drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there. I'm a xerox of my former self. I can't abstract my own dying any longer. I am a stranger to others and to myself and I refuse to pretend that I am familiar or that I have history attached to my heels. I am glass, clear empty glass.
I see the world spinning behind and through me. I see casualness and mundane effects of gesture made by constant populations. I look familiar but I am a complete stranger being mistaken for my former selves.
I am a stranger and I am moving. I am moving on two legs soon to be on all fours. I am no longer animal vegetable or mineral. I am no longer made of circuits or disks. I am no longer coded and deciphered. I am all emptiness and futility. I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form.
I can no longer find what I'm looking for outside of myself. It doesn't exist out there. Maybe it's only in here, inside my head. But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody's words can touch me. No gesture can touch me. I've been dropped into all this from another world and I can't speak your language any longer.
See the signs I try to make with my hands and fingers. See the vague movements of my lips among the sheets. I'm a blank spot in a hectic civilization. I'm a dark smudge in the air that dissipates without notice. I feel like a window, maybe a broken window. I am a glass human. I am a glass human disappearing in the rain.
I am standing among all of you waving my invisible arms and hands. I am shouting my invisible words. I am getting so weary. I am growing so tired. I am waving to you from here. I am crawling around looking for the aperture of complete and final emptiness. I am vibrating in isolation among you. I am screaming but it comes out like pieces of clear ice. I am signaling that the volume of all this is too high. I am waving. I am waving my hands. I am disappearing. I am disappearing but not fast enough."
The person I was just one year ago no longer exists; drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there. I'm a xerox of my former self. I can't abstract my own dying any longer. I am a stranger to others and to myself and I refuse to pretend that I am familiar or that I have history attached to my heels. I am glass, clear empty glass.
I see the world spinning behind and through me. I see casualness and mundane effects of gesture made by constant populations. I look familiar but I am a complete stranger being mistaken for my former selves.
I am a stranger and I am moving. I am moving on two legs soon to be on all fours. I am no longer animal vegetable or mineral. I am no longer made of circuits or disks. I am no longer coded and deciphered. I am all emptiness and futility. I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form.
I can no longer find what I'm looking for outside of myself. It doesn't exist out there. Maybe it's only in here, inside my head. But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody's words can touch me. No gesture can touch me. I've been dropped into all this from another world and I can't speak your language any longer.
See the signs I try to make with my hands and fingers. See the vague movements of my lips among the sheets. I'm a blank spot in a hectic civilization. I'm a dark smudge in the air that dissipates without notice. I feel like a window, maybe a broken window. I am a glass human. I am a glass human disappearing in the rain.
I am standing among all of you waving my invisible arms and hands. I am shouting my invisible words. I am getting so weary. I am growing so tired. I am waving to you from here. I am crawling around looking for the aperture of complete and final emptiness. I am vibrating in isolation among you. I am screaming but it comes out like pieces of clear ice. I am signaling that the volume of all this is too high. I am waving. I am waving my hands. I am disappearing. I am disappearing but not fast enough."
"Sometimes I come to hate people because they can't see where I am. I've gone empty. Completely empty and all they see is the visual form: my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds that come from my throat. But I'm fucking empty.
The person I was just one year ago no longer exists; drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there. I'm a xerox of my former self. I can't abstract my own dying any longer. I am a stranger to others and to myself and I refuse to pretend that I am familiar or that I have history attached to my heels. I am glass, clear empty glass.
I see the world spinning behind and through me. I see casualness and mundane effects of gesture made by constant populations. I look familiar but I am a complete stranger being mistaken for my former selves.
I am a stranger and I am moving. I am moving on two legs soon to be on all fours. I am no longer animal vegetable or mineral. I am no longer made of circuits or disks. I am no longer coded and deciphered. I am all emptiness and futility. I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form.
I can no longer find what I'm looking for outside of myself. It doesn't exist out there. Maybe it's only in here, inside my head. But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody's words can touch me. No gesture can touch me. I've been dropped into all this from another world and I can't speak your language any longer.
See the signs I try to make with my hands and fingers. See the vague movements of my lips among the sheets. I'm a blank spot in a hectic civilization. I'm a dark smudge in the air that dissipates without notice. I feel like a window, maybe a broken window. I am a glass human. I am a glass human disappearing in the rain.
I am standing among all of you waving my invisible arms and hands. I am shouting my invisible words. I am getting so weary. I am growing so tired. I am waving to you from here. I am crawling around looking for the aperture of complete and final emptiness. I am vibrating in isolation among you. I am screaming but it comes out like pieces of clear ice. I am signaling that the volume of all this is too high. I am waving. I am waving my hands. I am disappearing. I am disappearing but not fast enough."
The person I was just one year ago no longer exists; drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there. I'm a xerox of my former self. I can't abstract my own dying any longer. I am a stranger to others and to myself and I refuse to pretend that I am familiar or that I have history attached to my heels. I am glass, clear empty glass.
I see the world spinning behind and through me. I see casualness and mundane effects of gesture made by constant populations. I look familiar but I am a complete stranger being mistaken for my former selves.
I am a stranger and I am moving. I am moving on two legs soon to be on all fours. I am no longer animal vegetable or mineral. I am no longer made of circuits or disks. I am no longer coded and deciphered. I am all emptiness and futility. I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form.
I can no longer find what I'm looking for outside of myself. It doesn't exist out there. Maybe it's only in here, inside my head. But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody's words can touch me. No gesture can touch me. I've been dropped into all this from another world and I can't speak your language any longer.
See the signs I try to make with my hands and fingers. See the vague movements of my lips among the sheets. I'm a blank spot in a hectic civilization. I'm a dark smudge in the air that dissipates without notice. I feel like a window, maybe a broken window. I am a glass human. I am a glass human disappearing in the rain.
I am standing among all of you waving my invisible arms and hands. I am shouting my invisible words. I am getting so weary. I am growing so tired. I am waving to you from here. I am crawling around looking for the aperture of complete and final emptiness. I am vibrating in isolation among you. I am screaming but it comes out like pieces of clear ice. I am signaling that the volume of all this is too high. I am waving. I am waving my hands. I am disappearing. I am disappearing but not fast enough."
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