Hazy

Summer in the city is winding down, yet somehow I just started to notice the sound of crickets outside my window. Like clockwork, they faithfully come out to help lull the world into sleep as the sun sets, eventually stopping around 3 am signaling the time for universal rest. But instead of complete silence the crickets are replaced by distant revving motorcycles from the highway not too far away. Every now and then bass music will bleed through the window of a car passing, or a teen will whizz by on their bike.  Life electrically goes on until the sun rises, at least it seems that way right now.

Like most, I'm grasping for what's left. What I didn't do with all my spare time. Like driving down with my windows open, listening to my favorite movie soundtracks. Or walking the dog past that one garage with the R.V. parked out in front, shielding the man drinking beer and watching television inside. Even the humid and foggy air is energized, particles flurrying into each other under parking lot street lights. Everything is still so alive. 

(personal film stills)

With the announcement of my end to making Youtube videos for the foreseeable future (see post here), I've been cultivating my former interests once again. That includes editing old footage (see above), using my library card (Just Kids by Patti Smith, From Reverence to Rape by Molly Haskell), and I even broke out my mom's old records, collaging to Elvis' live Memphis sessions.

Watching Twin Peaks again (in proper moderation) was probably the best decision I've made since my last blog post. The over saturated colors, filmic grain, and the peculiar performances of all of the actors is wondrous. Watching Twin Peaks feels so rewarding. If you can make it through the pilot you feel like you've reached a new level of zen. I recommend one episode before you go to bed each night to foster a healthy imagination. 

It just feels so nice to do things for yourself. To not feel like you have to share what you're doing. No pressure, no prying eyes, just learning time. I've been thinking about my beliefs, my experiences, and my future in such new ways. And for once none of them require the approval of others.

A friend and I did some long exposure night shots recently and I discovered a new appreciation for photographers (cinematographers as well). The craft is intense. Even if you have good taste, capturing  an intriguing image isn't always easy. It takes experience to know certain angles and techniques off the top of your head. I think about cinematographers, how they'll map out a whole scene, omitting hundreds of options and sifting for the most interesting shots. There are so many perspectives to choose from, and what you choose defines the overall tone and accessibility of the film. You can certainly ruin it, that's for sure. That is why I feel so appreciative of Twin Peaks - because not only is the set design/shot list greatly meticulous, but everyone involved plays an integral part in creating the fantasy world that centers around Laura Palmer. 

 This aesthetically driven world could easily be corrupted. The wrong hair style, the wrong paint color, a line performed unconvincingly. Just watch the pilot, you'll see what I mean. Yet somehow David Lynch seams everything together without noticeable flaws. And usually that would be intimating to most artists, that level of perfection, but for right now it is just plain inspiring. 

Sometimes we jump into things that we connect with because we feel it in our bones. We sit down, open up a blank page, grab our favorite pen - and nothing comes out. Then we sit there wondering if we had anything in us at all to begin with. When really... we just don't know the steps of breaking through. And sometimes, we arrogantly brush off what we should learn in order to do so, which ultimately leads to stagnant progress. 

Although you might not be 'On' 100% of the time, I've learned it's important to roll with good vibes when you have them. Learn the steps that will bring clarity into making what you want to make, saying what you want to say. And if you need to bask in the haziness of inspiration and uncertainty, by all means do it - and enjoy it. 

Part of me wishes I could go back to that blog post (A Four Part Goodbye) and rewrite it. Perhaps I'd make it more eloquent, less frank. But I don't regret writing it at all, and I want to say thank you to those who supported my decision on my various social media sites. Also, I wanted to say thank you to those who said they'd still support my other endeavors, which is really saying something since I don't know if I have anything to give right now.

I can see myself posting on this blog like I have been, perhaps including more of my own art as well (a podcast has also been thrown into the idea mix). But all I really know right now is that I'm going to invest in myself again.

Cheers to good vibes and a new school year. 

Lauren Rose

Curbside Fashion

Hazy Tunes

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Dirty Trip - AIR

 Le Blues De Françoise - La Femme

High School Lover - AIR

Never Gonna Get This Pussy - Cliff Martinez 

Digital Lion - James Blake 

Time Killer - TML 

Film Muse: Twister (1996)

Twister is probably that movie your parents have on VHS, tucked away in a random box somewhere in your basement. The cover is a landscape shot of a yellow sky, a black ominous tornado slashing through the center. Our copy's sleeve deteriorated years ago, now it's in a hardshell case with the ripped title Scotch taped on the side for easy viewing. It was a relic in our family. When I say that Twister changed my life please do not think I'm being melodramatic: because it did indeed change my life. 

Twister (1996) directed by Jan de Bont embodies the Americana way of life at its ultimate peak. Long time storm chasers (and lovers) Jo and Bill try to perfect a storm device called Dorothy (modeled after real-life device TOTO in the 1980s) to collect data from the inside of a tornado's vortex. The game plan is to set up Dorothy, a mechanic basin filled with hundreds of tiny ball sensors, and then drive as close as humanly possible towards a tornado to release said sensors. With the data collected from inside the tornado's vortex, the storm chasers can better understand the elusive twisters and provide earlier warning systems to help save lives. And of course, it wouldn't be a Hollywood film without the impending rivalry of another (bougier) storm chaser crew, a gang of kooky storm chasers (Philip Seymour Hoffman, Alan Ruck), a sizzling romance, and an eventual heartbreak. 

I first saw this film when I was around six years old. I'd crawl into our dark family living room and hide underneath a blanket during the opening scene. As scary as it was, I couldn't help but be mesmerised. It was probably the ever flowing adrenaline that De Bont pumps into the film, I mean, the guy made Speed (1994). Van Halen rips through the VHS tape and bleeds red white and blue onto the T.V. screen. Storm trucks race down country roads like stallions going to war. You can almost feel the electricity in the air. The characters are full of try-hard-or-die-trying enthusiasm, some searching for more than just tornado data. This is America. This is the Midwest. This is what I think of when I remember my childhood in the 90's. 

For years after this film I was convinced that I wanted to become a meteorologist. No, not to be a T.V. anchor (lame- ZERO credibility), but to chase tornados across the good ole U.S.A. BABY! It wasn't until early high school that I realized meteorology is more about calculus and psychics, which both happen to be the bane of my existence. It took me a while to realize that it wasn't meteorology that I wanted to learn about- it was filmmaking. That's right folks, Twister was the first movie that pushed me into my film obsession.

Jo (Helen Hunt) is sort of the ultimate babe, let's get real. Every time I watch this movie I have a sudden urge to fish through my wardrobe for cargo pants. And denim. Denim on denim. I think her character shows the ultimate resilience. A stubborn cookie in a testosterone tainted wolf pack is always empowering to watch. Yet the viewer connects with Jo almost right away. She tries to act aloof when Bill needs her to sign the last divorce papers so he can marry his new fiance. He seems like a square at first until the viewer realizes how perfect they are for each other. For being such a brutal force of nature, Jo is clearly a human being. It is revealed later in the film that she is the only one of the storm chasers to ever see (and survive) an F5 tornado. That F5 tornado took her father's life and consequently sparked her dire urgency to understand how and why tornados exist.

Given that this film was created in 1996, I have to say the special effects were (and still are) on point. The monster of the film is shown in the Oklahoma skies ("greenage"), ominous wind, and the silent rustles of the too quiet country side. The tornado themselves aren't even corny to watch, whipping in and out of the frame. The music score also acts as a dual indicator of the villain in the sky - low rumbles, the sound of metal eerily sliding against one another. Even with new advances in special effects, Twister is the only film to this day that repeatedly gives me chills.  

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I've been thinking about Philip Seymour Hoffman in this film a lot lately because of his passing. Not so much in a sad way. I feel happy for him. I mean, how fun would it be to film a movie about chasing tornados with some of the coolest guys and girls out there (Alan Ruck, Sean Whalen, Helen Hunt)? He got to wear awesome flannels, goof around, and listen to Eric Clapton on his van T.V. Maybe that's just my false nostalgia creeping up, but he seemed like the happiest dude in the film.  He seemed so genuine.  

Of course there are issues with this film. First of all - they treat Jami Gertz's character Dr. Melissa Reeves like crap. It's the classic Science vs. Liberal Arts banter and she happens to be the perfect scapegoat. She is Bill's brand new fiance, a reproductive therapist ("She didn't marry you for your penis! Okay, she didn't only marry your penis") who clearly doesn't know anything about Bill and his psychotic tornado chasing past. She is the sweetest southern belle dressed in an all white pantsuit (slay mama) that willingly drives her nice ass red Dodge Ram into deadly tornados, all while tending to her borderline breakdown therapy patients on her snazzy cellular phone. She pretty much gets tossed around the whole movie, but acts as a rational character for the audience to touch base with. She is sort of my favorite, to be honest.

And then you have the whole "tornado thriller" aspect. I mean, I was going to write this post a couple weeks ago until I remembered the tornado in Kentucky that killed 25 people during this time last year in 2013. Is it right to write a blog post about how much I "love" tornado movies - even though I've never even seen a tornado? Let alone been in one? This talk of glamorization could be applied to so many things in the media, but it becomes extremely relevant in Twister. You have these fanatics that devote their lives to the thrill of the chase, only coming to their senses with the trauma when it hits a little too close to home. I see that the film touches on this in a detached sort of way, but it still seems a bit Hollywood of them. But at the same time, is it worth making these type of movies if they bring people together? If they spark feelings of gratitude for living a safe life? If they remind humans of their insignificance compared to nature, or if they bring pride to the homelands?

I mean - Gummo (Harmony Korine) is a fucked up movie - not because of the characters themselves so much, because there are so many people like that in the U.S.A., but because they all function so apathetically after a devastating tornado tore their town apart. Killed their people. Isn't that the scariest part of Gummo anyways? That they just go on with life? I mean, people like to watch Gummo and Harmony Korine's work in general because it is some of the rawest/crudest well known alt. films, but his work is more than just shock value. Right? Aren't we all on the same boat? You get something from Korine's work - don't you? Or do you think Korine is just a scumbag who profits off of town weirdos and recently had a little too much money on his hands (Spring Breakers)?

Ethics. I think it's something worth pondering on. 

Twister is everything to me. It embodies the sense of Americana that I remember and the Americana that yearn for today. This was the golden age of dreams, I like to believe anyways. The pursuit of happiness, the reverie of nature, and the feeling of freedom. I see my Uncles in this movie - niche jokesters in their sweaty prime. I see women that I looked up to as a kid, Jo for her resilience and "tom boy" way of life - and Jami for her humility and grace. I see the American Midwest (the butt of all terrible U.S.A. jokes) in its best and glorious light. I see a good time, a simpler time.

It's the wonder of nature, baby.

Lauren Rose

Curbside Fashion

Film Muse: Electric Earth

A lot of times I dance so fast that I become what's around me. It's like food for me, I like, absorb that energy, absorb the information. It's like I eat it. That's the only now I get. 

 That's the only now I get. 

 That's the only now I get.

After writing my "Stillness" post I couldn't quite get it out of my own head. If you haven't read that post I probably just sounded incredibly narcissistic (go read it here and then come back). Regardless, I still needed to understand why I felt so drawn to those images and those moments I described- beyond noting that they had a certain "stillness" to them.

What makes stillness?

I'd recently been studying Doug Aitken's work and felt like I was on the edge of dissecting this unnameable concept. Then, a mini epiphany occurred when I saw one of Aitken's short films called Electric Earth (1999). 

(link to short film - don't tell the cyber police)

Doug Aitken is a multimedia artist now parked in Venice/L.A. He has done some really cool multi-projection installations like Migration and Sleep Walkers (Tilda Swinton literally on the MOMA building). He has a really beautiful method of showing human consumption, everyday habits, and the energy that is still left behind after them. He thoughtfully breaks down patterns, nostalgia, and forgotten places instead of leaving them at surface level consumption. Stylistically, I saw a bit of Gregg Araki (and maybe a little Kubrick) in this particular film. I say that because Araki often searches for some type of raw truth in his works by taking back the scope and sharing a more existential perspective which I think is worth pondering on. 

Electric Earth is a short film about a man who doesn't have much of a pull except a drive for dancing. He finds his purpose in the broken down molecules of life: a bottle cap spinning in circles on the cement, the pulsing motion of a washing machine, and the jamming of a dollar bill in a Coke machine. "That's the only now I get" he says. The places and things he finds inspiration in seem desolate and void of recent human contact. It seems like flickering neon lights and pixels are the only objects that keep him company.

I noticed that these places were almost all self serving, literally and metaphorically: the laundry-mat, car wash station, convenience store, vending machine. They are the everyday spaces that we all monotonously use and abuse until they become out of date, vacated, torn down, and replaced. It is only when we don't occupy or use these spaces that they suddenly appear strange and off balance ("stillness").

Why is it that we always deem a man-made place "alive" and "normal" if it is occupied by numerous humans themselves? Like when you visit a strip mall along an old highway. It's usually seems so dumpy and hollow that you can't even imagine spending more than 20 minutes there, let alone fathom how a couple people spend their lives there working alone. Why does it feel so foreign and askew?

And then why are there those who are so attracted to these nebulous feelings (raises hand)? Why do we find such spirituality in these places, such nostalgia for something that we've never experienced?

This film answers it. The feelings of fascination, of nostalgia, and melancholiness comes from the untraceable energy of life itself.  

It's like at the end of The Virgin Suicides when you see the deserted house that once occupied the Lisbon family. It seems so cold, yet still full of unexplainable ghostly energy.  The carpet, the paint on the walls, they are still vibrating with life even though every explainable sign of it seems to be gone.

I think we feel this way because we are tapping into something more universal than we are taught. I can't even explain it correctly here because it's not in our language (or way of thinking) to comprehend it smoothly. This character in Electric Earth has transcended the typical way of experiencing life. 

Everything has frequencies running through it, but it isn't until we are gone (or when our presence is removed) that we actually mourn it. I mean, think about it: we build these grand places and memories only to leave them behind and then reminisce about them- as if our presence could only bring them back to life.  I mean, how narrow minded is it to think that just because our human presence leaves something that it becomes a dead object? A dead memory? A dead path and end to it's purpose? 

Or like when Jessica Lange's character in American Horror Story: Murder House (S01E6) is explaining to the supernatural to Violet:

"You're a smart girl! How can you be so arrogant to think that there is only one reality that you're able to see?"

I suppose this feeling of "stillness" I've been trying to get at is more than what I thought it would ever be. Trust me when I say I don't want to be an existentialist, nor do I want you to view this as a negative confrontation of life. Yet when discussing the roots of "nostalgia" and "stillness", we have to start to think that maybe these feelings are so ghostly because life itself  keeps going on in ways that we can't understand when we aren't present. It's more than just a "soft grunge" or "retro" photo you reblog on Tumblr. These places, pictures, and video leave energy and influence in the universe. We shouldn't mourn them, we should learn from them. I guess I'm starting to learn that every action and object we create serves a purpose and lives on in ways that we will never completely understand. 

-Lauren Rose

Curbside Fashion

(no, I have not had a recent acid trip)