saturdaynote

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Too much to say, too little time to say it now…

How a flawed film has so much promise that I spend over six hours, across three evenings, doing notes on scenes and shots and dialogue—streaming a few seconds, stop, notes, stream...

filmic fems

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I’m in love with a girl—well, enchanted. In my next life, I’m coming back as Lale (age 11 or so) in the Turkish film “Mustang” (2016), played by Günes Sensoy (4 shots there). If you haven’t seen it, you absolutely must (especially if you’re a girl-woman).

a perfectly made film

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Friday, Mar. 9, 11:28 pm

I’m befuddled about why I missed Jane Campion’s “Portrait of a Lady” when it was first released, 1996. I can recall that the year was somewhat chaotic for me. But I loved “The Piano” (1993).

...then winter imposed again.

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I’m not ready to say more about Cycle 4 of The Project than I did last week.

The Feb. 8 g.com “sense of site” was enhanced yesterday.

days go by...

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Tree twigs are flowering that spring’s already here.

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coda

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Jasper Johns is still painting.

The reviewer, Deborah Solomon, ends her review: “... Leonardo da Vinci was one of the first masters that Mr. Johns admired. He was especially captivated by the ‘Deluge’ drawings,... When he was in mid-30s, Mr. Johns had a chance to actually see the drawings..... Was it an exciting experience? ‘Yes,’ he replied with typical terseness, and a little laugh, ‘except that they looked exactly like the reproductions.’”

I began my “Comment” at the article: “Solomon’s article ending is lovely. It reminds me of Jacques Derrida’s iconic point that writing in speech—displaced authoriality in authorship—makes all originals quotational.”

about “a heartwarming work ofawe-filling genius”

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To say that sundry gardening is “1000+ pages” is an understatement, because that’s actually 1000+ documents, most of which are more than one typical-book page long (though many are much less than a book page). It’s fair to say that the documents average 3 book pages.

It’s fair to say that sundry gardening is 3,000 pages—longer than Proust’s Time Regained (commonly titled Remembrance of Things Past), let alone Ulysses.

sundry gardening

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I’m devoted to my love of writing—I’m serious—but the point of life is fun. So, I have serious fun.

Love you, wording!

Seriousness of devotion to appreciability calls for humility of pretense.

There’s no sacrilege in lightness about enlightening woods.

Call me license of happy old age there.

Hear: We are each other’s window, each’s mirror.

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Progressive practice (“in a world”) presumes conceptual background (“descent: midlanding”), which presumes development of conceptuality (“of worlding”), which is itself a venue of inquiry (“Love ascending.”) about development of potential and formative process. Possible scientific artistry from that presumes a creative life that has its own character, born of wholly enthralled engagements.

Yet, the mindful heart of a highland is writing itself—seafaring waves for finding good new ways.

And posting from waypoints—ascending, flying, landscaping, descending—home. Then going on.

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All the postings in “sundry gardening” didn’t happen with anticipation of the topic groups they are now gathered into.

The sets of 16 new project Areas trope The Project that remains its own evolving woods.

So, “sundry gardening” provides a unifying sense of earlier explorations and prospecting relative now to topics of Areas that will be integral to going on, to furthering clarity of woolly time in tropogenic woods.

Thanks for your interest.

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November 5, 2024

Cycle 3 of the Project currently led to Cycle 4, now Cycle 5. A simple listing of links to each cycle and better background discussion is here.

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saturdaynote

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One more week? No more than two: I’m formatting listings, no longer doing text editing. I never bothered to count how many pages I’ve accumulated. I’m aghast that it’s 850+ Webpages and postings. Over the years, when I finished something, I didn’t much go back to it. I moved on to whatever’s next, and had no idea of the volume of work done.

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the delicious other of disclosure

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I was dreading to update the gedavis.com home page with a disappointing apology for having nothing much to say. But I came up with a note that I’m happy with—especially the ending, in implicit honor of my streaming last night of “That Obscure Object of Desire” (1977, but remastered in 2001), which is now a dated (rather outdated) experiment in scripting sexist stereotypes and playing with elderly auteurial despair about life in 1977, not only as times which were shockingly insane, but also as absurd, perhaps, as sending a satellite-bound gold plaque of nude humans waving into interstellar space?—and having learned to parody aging without a partner in misogynist society.

archetropal spring day to never forget

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Beautiful day—and short line at the grocery checkout. Lucky me. The only thing ahead on the conveyor belt was a huge bottle of vodka (half gallon!)—which seemed odd, but none of my business. Someone’s pretty stupid about alcohol, I might have thought (if I’d given it my attention).

I put my stuff on behind the bottle. A short old man in front of me was bubbly, talking with a middle-aged woman who was enjoying him immensely, also helping him pay with his plastic card. I was in no hurry, but didn’t really notice them (but recall in retrospect—before I forget).

“I’m 95!,” he heralded to her, which she cheerfully praised. This caused me to turn toward him. He didn’t look 95. So, I joked. “You’re not 95!” He turned to me, looking surprised through his thick lens, bubbly as, say, a 70 year-old.

I said, “You don’t look 95.” Grinning, seeming flattered, he finished his purchase.

for love of conceptual inquiry

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May 19, 2018

A set of topics, listed here, began in late December, 2016, but added nothing until late April, 2017. I had a long explanation of that, but deleted it, late 2017, because it was outdated. But I discovered today that I had linked to this spot for the sake of “a little story worth recounting, maybe.” Maybe, someday.

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loving north of La La Land

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So I said (with Mick): Be expert craft in a world that accepts itself—authentic striving at home with kitschiness, scripts we write, scripts
we inherit.

We can trust in our career dreams with our love, finding a way to make them flourish together.

Reconciliation transcends, but so does devotion to making things work.

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moments flung across a seeing

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Well, Ana, I’ve found a new obsession, so delightful, I don’t want to pretend to capture it, see: I write to movie streaming, stopping every few minutes or, as the story gains full flourishing, every few seconds, maybe going back several times to a moment, becoming the moment, writing to the intimacy of the moment: to an expression, to a stance. I can’t tell you aptly and briefly how sublime this can be.

among squirrels

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One can wander around crazy on campus and feel confident that others would presume that the wandering one is in some high revery
(if they notice at all).

Fortunately, in my case, they’d be correct (though Berkeley has more than its urban share of crazies wandering the streets, you know).
My common standing in woods, lost in high boughs, is rich.

free association

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Creative process is too complicated to discuss briefly (as I
noted August 13).

Free association goes where it may, regardless of thematic constraints. This is good, but it can cause a very broad—apparently unmanageable—array of notes. Suppose that over time, interests have gravitated into 10 areas. That itself is an emergence that could lead to pages of discussion (i.e., a genealogy of thematic gravities; a genesis of theme-ology).

Suppose (for the sake of present points) that each of the resultant 10 areas (in light of time’s gravities) has evolved around 10 foci per area, such that free association at a given time (while I’m out walking, 3x5 notepad in back pocket; or while I’m at my desk doing whatever) likely pertains to any of the 100 or so foci. I don’t take time to organize things; I make a note and move on.

flyday note

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The April 20 set has 18 sections dated from March 21 through April 20, which actualizes a plan that was more or less set in late February,
but I didn’t actually write it until late June through July 12.

after “I'm gone,” an echo may remain

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A genius of performance art, an exuberant space oddity, is no longer fallen to Earth: Davie Jones of London is gone, but all-Earth David Bowie rises from the grave, through “Lazarus” (the music video) and “Lazarus” (the play).

mondaynote

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I want to post here more than I want to post at the other site; so I feel frustrated by my commitment to get to a certain point with development there (outerworldly, so to speak) before devoting time here—then most of my online time here.

love lace

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Emergences from woolly Logos can be finely designed, a lace of sorts, maybe beyond “poetic” when texted conceptuality eyes a muse
beyond tropical latticing.

Love of lace—of the lace, like authorial love of a story’s evolving,
the mystery drawing her on—would be a love of singularity, like any high poetry (or philosophy itself), though a narrated life (the lacing) evades narrative capture (some “definitive” biographical discourse),
for the sake of potential staying flourishive. Even a story about the dead may never really end, because how one lived is rewritten, as well as reincarnated, in new reading, forever waiting to be.