the sourcerer: The things we do.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The things we do.

Ahh. The life of a freelancer. Any time is red-wine-o-clock (a problem for some) and how easy it's been to slip into the habit of sleeping in. Making up for all of those four in the morning call times perhaps...

A lovely Indian Summer's day yesterday.

We did a little loitering, one long-legged man and I.

Saw Sanell Aggenbach's exhibition Some dance to remember some dance to forget at Blank Projects in Woodstock. Such evocative and beautiful images. I left feeling nostalgic and homesick for something I couldn't begin to describe.

Popped in at a few shops, chatted to some people on the street. Saw our friend Paul Painting's exhibition Phantasmagoria at Salon 91 in Kloof Street. The film industry has it's fair share of moonlighting artists and musicians. It seems a little unfair sometimes. One wants these people to paint more, play more. Nevertheless, I'm so impressed that this dedication and talent exists. I loved his ink and bleach paintings. Beautifully expressive brushwork, pink pencil lines...

Drank coffee in slanted sunlight. Came home, listened to some records. Went out for sushi and saw COAL play at the Waiting Room. Three sweet-voiced girls and one nimble-handed guy. Ross Campbell from Benguela
is drumming for them now.
More dedication, more sheer talent.

I'm over here on number 9.

2 comments:

Chris said...: waving from number 8.
:-); May 4, 2011 at 10:19 AM
arcadia said...: Dit klink net heerlik, Lily.; May 7, 2011 at 8:08 AM

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You could tend a garden at night, only at night, pouring dark water onto leaves, and into the earth, like pouring midnight onto midnight. You could hold your soil-stained hands up to the moon. The stars would gleam on the bottom of the shovel. It would smell the same as a daytime garden - it would smell green, violet, red, white. But come back, in daylight. Come back, to see the colours without closing your eyes.
- Sean Michaels. Accompaniment to the song "Immune" by LOW. Said the Gramophone

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don't bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: "It's not where you take things from - it's where you take them to."
Jim Jarmusch (1953- )

You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the bakery shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food. When you had given up journalism and were writing nothing that anyone in America would buy, explaining at home that you were lunching out with someone, the best place to go was the Luxembourg gardens where you smelled and saw nothing to eat all the way from the Place de l'Observatoire to the rue de Vaugirard. There you could always go into the Luxembourg museum and all the paintings were sharpened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry. I learned to understand Cézanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry. I used to wonder if he were hungry too when he painted; but I thought possibly it was only that he had forgotten to eat. It was one of those unsound but illuminating thoughts you have when you have been sleepless or hungry. Later I thought that Cézanne was probably hungry in a different way.
Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) - from A Moveable Feast.