If there is cinematic poetry...

"Music articulates forms which language cannot set forth" - Susanne Langer (from G. L. Hagberg Art as Language. Wittgenstein, Meaning and Aesthetic Theory)

"Music articulates forms which language cannot set forth" - Susanne Langer (from G. L. Hagberg Art as Language. Wittgenstein, Meaning and Aesthetic Theory)

If there is cinematic poetry, this must be it. Do watch it to the end, if you have not seen it before. And get yourself a copy of the film - Spirited Away.

This must be the most beautiful scene from any film. Chihiro boards this train. It's a spirits' train - she is in the spirit land, trying to rescue her parents. The train only runs one way. It travels through the vast spaces of water. The music is sublime. So atmospheric.
I have travelled once on the slow train in winter across Lithuania. And this is how it felt. The land was vast and white; the stops seemed all in the middle of nowhere; the people were silent, pensative and carried baskets and old cases. I could almost hear that music!






PS. Apparently the magnificent soundtrack to this magnificent film is by Joe Hisaishi - one more name to add to my favorite Japanese artists, alongside Araki Takako, Yohei Nishimura and - of course - Hayao Miyazaki.

Plates: forgetfullness after David Hume

Vintage plates to be fired with ceramic decals. The images come from my own MRI scan and personal photo albums.

I have an appalling memory. Each time I read an old book, it's joy and wonder all over again, like I have never seen it. I do wonder, what would I be like if I was not so forgetful.

"Had we no memory, we should never have any notion of that succession of perceptions which constitutes our self or person." David Hume









When I go to house clearances I am always attracted to the plates. Plates are common. Everybody has plates. They get used well. They are very personal: chintzy, white, retro, etc. They are laden with specks somebody else's life: a chip on the left, a mark on the ridge.

When I get these used plates, I have an urge to scrub them scrub them scrub them to rid them of the traces of their previous owners. Is that possible at all?

Deficit: loss of language, loss of identity, loss of memory

.

"Neurology's favorite word is "deficit", denoting an impairment or incapacity of neurological function: loss of speech, loss of language, loss of identity, loss of memory, loss of vision, loss of dexterity and a myriad other lacks and losses of specific functions or faculties." (from Oliver Sacks "The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat")

The face from the grave: vanishing pictures on the gravestones.

I have got a folder in my computer called THE GRAVES.

As I was recently looking into the whole idea of absence, I was becoming curious about those images on the gravestones. The vanishing or damaged images. Images that were meant to be there to preserve the face for the eternity.
When that picture is gone, one becomes really really dead, I thought. The name and the dates remain to describe what was once a person. Sounds like electoral register, doesn't it?

Tending the graves in 1970's

This is a great video I found on youtube. Tending the graves in 1970.

Pocket the clouds

My clouds

http://www.meteo.lt/ivair_debesys.php

______________________back

Back from the summer!

Every time I come from Lithuania, I bring thousands of photos of - what looks like - random places along the way. Random houses. Random cows. Random electricity poles in random fields. But only in Lithuania. Things that you will not find on the cover of the tourist guides.

Pteronarcophobia - fear of flies.

Musca domestica.

Flies are gross.
Every year they flock into the very highest corner of our white bedroom ceiling (on the farm) and form a black lump and hibernate there. Others hide in the walls, under the roof, in the window frames.
Then, in spring, as the weather warms up, they come out. Hundreds! Thousands of them! Millions and gazillions! They are sleepy. They drop on the floor and buzz there annoyingly. All surfaces get covered with them. I kept the hoover next to my bed for three nights. Aghhh!!




When the flies are awake and gone, these other ones start waking up. They are far less repulsive and less noisy. However, they do come out in hundreds, thousands, millions and gazillions as well. They flutter flutter at night: around your face, get trapped in your hair, drop on your pillow! Aghhh!!!
Unfortunately, I do not know what those insects are. I like knowing the names of the things, that share my space: birds, trees, reptiles, etc. This friend of mine said, they call them "fėjos" (fairies). What a beautiful name, I thought. Faea domestica?

As a result of this beautiful name, I went through a stage of fascination with them. The insects look wonderfully translucent and ephemeral. When alive, their colours range from diaphanous pink and lilac, to lime greens and yellows.

Last year I made a few plates (as testers) with the "fairies" (I was working with "cosy musty grandma's home" imagery). This year, I will be trying to do something more interesting. Possibly involving the play of words.





Work in progress.



P.S.: 2001.05.04

I have finally found their name: Chrysopa. Lacewing. Like a flemish curtain or a crochet tablecloth. Or a veil covering the face of a bride or a widow. Auksaakė in Lithuanian. "Golden eyes". Something fairy tale. King's daughter under a spell. To fight a dragon.

Lacewings usually have bright green bodies, prominent, golden, metallic eyes and green veins on delicate, transparent wings. However some species are browner in colour.

There are 14 species of lacewing in the UK, although they are less common in Scotland. Both the adults and larvae are carnivorous and often feast on aphids. The larvae suck the aphids’ juices and may even use the drained bodies to hide under.

PPS Now this blog is related to Lepidopterophobia - fear of butterflies and Cluster Thoughts.

About the little things.

Our holiday in Lithuania has been extended by the volcanic ash cloud. Hurrah!
Unfortunately, a long holiday does not necessarily mean a productive one. I took a some photos and I did a bit of thinking. I was thinking (thinking!) of the small things that make my farm world what it is. They are little fragments of my place, my life - like two minutes out of a film. Six words out of a paragraph. Six paragraphs out of a book.