question: why do we do it, that ugly thing we call art?
answer: because we must. because art is in our human lifeblood. because you are nothing but a dream incarnate and the magic that makes you need, and art is the only thing you can do to pour that forth into a world of suffering and cruelty to make it a world of color, where there are eyes to be opened and hearts to be won and goddamnit, you
must. draw and sing and dance and act and love until you can't. your thankful joy depends on it.
excerpts from lidia yuknavitch's study of memory, and my own study of myself, post-Eternal-Sunshine:
"memory is a constant overwrite, a program more concerned with now than then.
I'm a photographer. I like to tell myself I'm a memory documentarian, but my thumbs don't type and my eyes don't water from my own memories; just from the pixels of them in my phone.
this is known as reconsolidation theory.
I am running in the rain with my love. no. I'm dancing…
INT. JFK AIRPORT - DAY
Back at the airport, in a repeat of our opening shot, we are slowly zooming in on a crowd of travelers as the music rises.
As we zoom in, we notice that Benji is sitting alone on the airport bench where we first met him.
He's looking around, watching the strangers go by.
Anyone can be a friend.
culkin is transformative in this: he deserved the statue a thousand times over. induces a craving for inspired and honest performers.
a desolation of everything we hold familiar. an acceptance of some life beyond this one. reindeer run in circles to protect their young and vulnerable; your worst nightmare is there for your protection, your ascension, and it will take you to the gates of heaven before someone else takes your place. I cannot breathe in your biblical waters; saving me means killing you.
there's not much to hold on to here, but isn't that all we get anyway? everything changes, slips out of our grasp, and we bring along who we can. not everyone wants to stay.
we just accept what we survive.
“When I think about that stuff, I feel like someone took a shovel and dug out my insides. I know there’s nothing there, but I’m still too nervous to open myself up to check.”
in the livestream Q&A I had the pleasure of witnessing, Jane Schoenbrun drops a casual thesis that-- alongside the neon images that precede my jaw dropping for the entire third act-- I'll be thinking about for months: "I just, like, got dropped in a Burger King…
"we're always talking about tennis."
life is a game. at least, it is to guadagnino, who puts us on a court of sexuality, volleys us through time, and drags us along a dangerous chess board of disgraceful desire to the tune of ross and reznor's venereal synths. you have no fucking idea what side you're on.
luca's timeless queer stories are often whirlwinded through lenses of graphic metaphorical distance (age, ballet, cannibalism), but he spares no expense here to beat…
