The way we live.

Seeing in a different way.

Working in film has changed the way I experience movies. I find it hard not to be over-analytical. It's particularly difficult when I watch something that I worked on. I watched Lord of War the other night. 2004: I was subcontracted to work on one set only - a swish New York apartment. As I watched I found it impossible not to feel what was happening behind and around the camera. And then the circles get wider. I remembered driving to the studio on cold winter mornings, the refinery's flame wavering in the predawn light. One day I had to dress a child's bedroom in near darkness, while listening to Nicholas Cage rehearsing his lines through a paper thin wall. I remembered that feeling of unsettledness - I loved a boyfriend to distraction, for I was coming to the realization that he couldn't love me back. Long talks over soup and whiskey at Cafe Ganesh. Even though no mirrors were broken,  many years of bad luck and sadness would follow.
But I didn't know that then.

Arcadia asked the other day if things get easier as you get older. My answer is Yes and No, but mostly Yes. May the wonder never stop.

A word about comments...

Thank You, Sweet Marie, for pointing out via email that your comments weren't reflecting on my blog. It seems that some settings had changed without me being aware of it. I haven't been spending much time here, tis true. So... when I checked this morning, there were 26 comments awaiting moderation! I feel like a sheep at Christmastime. Thank you all - I'll be reading them throughout the day.

Peonies. My first.

Waterlily.

God speed all the bakers at dawn.

A year ago when I moved to this place, I would hear the baker leaving at four in the morning to bake his croissants. I would wonder about the apartment in the sky and what it is that drives someone to do what they do. Now it's me living in the sky and leaving at dawn. On the road I pass trucks and I listen to the Blues. I wonder about the Vissershok Road working girls, they recognize me now and wave, skimpy dresses fluttering in the breeze. One morning, an overturned vegetable truck, people spilling into the road for spoils. Bright orange cardinals explode from the reeds. The moon rising like some huge luminous egg, a barn on fire.

Sometimes I shout with frustration, but I know that these are special times.

And my honey and I, we are far apart, but he sends me Turkish hearts.

Where the wheat goes...

We shot at Klipheuwel Township yesterday, across from the grain silos. I happened to say out loud that ever since I was a child, one of my biggest wishes has been to see the inside of a silo. Within moments I was handed a bright blue hard hat and up seven flights of stairs we scurried.
Then a ladder and a trap door... and the world lay spread out as far as you could see.

I said to Thomas, who was showing me around: "I never dreamt that I would ever see anything like this." And he replied: "Me neither." He lifted up a hatch to show me that the silo we were standing on was filled to the brim with white maize. And yes - it is true that if you open one of the little doors down below, a ton of grain will come pouring out!

Back on set, the children were fantastic as always and every hen had a brood of chicks.
It was a remarkable day.

There's something about the wheat fields...

Stadig. Stof op koring.

I won't be here much for the rest of this month. We occupied the farm yesterday, twenty sets to dress in and around...

Last Sunday afternoon already seems so far away - a lovely reprieve with not a single thought about work. Those Smashing Bekkers in their fairy-tale cottage in the woods... we ate and drank and played Pétanque. And laughed, a lot.

I drive to work early in the morning. Wheat fields and wind pumps, pied crows and a sign next to the gravel road that reads: Go Slow. Dust on wheat.