Saturday, September 23, 2006
paul
 | maya
...a blank wall is an apalling thing to look at. The wall of a museum—a canvas—a piece of film—or a guy sitting in front of a typewriter. Then, you start out to do something—that vague thing called creation. The beginning strikes awe within you. Edward Steichen still listening to: strange travelers, electric birds ...:: * ::...
Wishing the hap-happ-happiest of birthdays to my friend
and fellow Virgo, Paul, who introduced me to the following
quote about the creative process...I've never heard it
described better:
...making art is difficult. We leave drawings unfinished
and stories unwritten. We do work that does not feel like
our own. We repeat ourselves. We stop before we have
mastered our materials, or continue on long after their
potential is exhausted. Often the work we have not done
seems more real in our minds than the pieces we have
completed.—David Bayles, Ted Orland, Lenswork And yet Paul masters this process time and time again. The images below only touch the surface of his rich portfolio. If you have not yet seen his work, take the time to peruse his gallery. It will be time well spent, I promise.
* * *
.
target. corner of balboa and nordoff
fountain & sunset. los angeles. august 29, 2006
© paul posadas, all rights reserved
posted at 11:39 am
. revisit @ will
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Friday, September 22, 2006
eine symphonie des grauens
 | entre
Pulver! Fetch Pulver! Nosferatu, 1922 listening to: strange travelers, electric birds ...:: * ::...
Had to share this with you...classic Murnau set to music by
Robert Devereaux of Strange Travelers, who also coincidentally
wrote Fungicide, music inspired by Jeff VanderMeer's City of
Saints and Madmen. The album is described by Cinescape as
"Mood music for alien landscapes and grotesque antiquity."
Delicious!
* * *
stream [realPlayer] :: download [6.8mb .mpg]
posted at 01:55 pm
. revisit @ will
***
Thursday, September 21, 2006
pasta and vampires
 chromosphere | anatomy of a room series
Once a year we celebrate With stupid hats and plastic plates The fact that you were able to make Another trip around the sun. And the whole clan gathers round, And gifts and laughter do abound, And we let out a joyful sound, And sing that stupid song: Happy birthday! Now you're one year older. Happy birthday! Your life still isn't over. Happy birthday! You did not accomplish much. But you didn't die this year, I guess that's good enough. The Arrogant Worms, Happy Birthday [many thanks to ute!] listening to: loreena mckennit, mummer's dance ...:: * ::...
As I write this, I can hear the sound of wind and rain against
darkening windows. The world outside is blanketed in glistening
silver, splashed with green. In the leaden sky, a bright patch
draws my eye as light rays struggle to break through before
nightfall. A strange wild magic rides unseen air currents, felt
in one's pulse and along nerve endings...
Inside, the tantalizing aroma of baked ziti begins to fill the
room. A rare birthday treat. I smile, listening to F putter in the
kitchen. In the background, Loreena McKennit's soft Celtic lilt...
a beautiful birthday gift and perfect counterpoint to evening
rainsong.
I glance at the fireplace, logs stacked and ready, awaiting a
match...perhaps tonight? I love lying on the floor, stretched flat,
watching firelight dance on darkened walls; the crisp snap and
muffled crackle, the sweet aroma of a wood fire...
A horror film waits in the wings...a classic, I think. Perhaps Alien,
the director's cut. Or the original Nosferatu. I glance again at F,
murmuring unconsciously to himself while he works. I smile again
and think: yes, I'll let him choose this time.
Rainfall, pasta, wine, firelight and horror movies...perhaps it's
a sign of age, of mellowing. But at this moment in my life, I could
not ask for a sweeter way to spend a birthday evening.
* * *
sing it with me
posted at 06:50 pm
. revisit @ will
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