“I wanna be in the film industry.” – Career Choice Made Easy!
Yesterday Munich University of Film and Television – HFF München – held it’s Open House. I’ve been representing cinematography graduates in the panel talk about networking. The very same evening, an old friend mailed me this amazing film industry career guide from filmsourcing.com: “Filmmakers sharing resources” – well…I definitely love their flow chart…
In The End They Will Stand Alone.
We are watching from the far. Safe behind our screens.
Will we launch ourselves to uncertainty, suppression, threat and fear? Will we go and help, or at least witness and report, such as Joris Ivens and Ernest Hemingway did? Such as Carolin Emcke, Monika Hauser and Paolo Pellegrin do? I wish we will. I hope we will.
Aliaa Magda Elmahdy, an Egyptian art student and blogger, published a few days back nude images of herself along with a brief note:
Put on trial the artists’ models who posed nude for art schools until the early 70s, hide the art books and destroy the nude statues of antiquity, then undress and stand before a mirror and burn your bodies that you despise to forever rid yourselves of your sexual hangups before you direct your humiliation and chauvinism and dare
to try to deny me my freedom of expression
The three images of herself with a yellow censorship bar on her eyes, mouth and vagina made the headlines all over the world. I saw them in a German newspaper. Trying to find out more about this brave person I looked around on the web. I did expect the humiliations, death and rape threats I encountered. In shock and disbelief left me the fact, that most western news pages only published Aliaa Magda Elmahdy’s work pixellated. Pixellated nipples, pixellated breasts, pixellated crotch. Journalists out there: you report from free countries in wich freedom of expression and speech is guaranteed to you by your constitution! What are you scared of? What do you fear? – And why do you not publish any of the other nude images Aliaa Magda Elmahdy has collected in this blog post? Naked males and females, nude drawings and photography. Would you publish a pixellated L’Origine du Monde and insult Gustave Courbet?
Aliaa Magda Elmahdy has stared a veil campaign. You can find it here.
She runs several blogs, mostly bilingual Arabic/English. Find all links to her blogs collected here.
If you came for the famous post with naked males and females, go here and to follow her on Twitter go here.
Should you want to support the cause, check here. Dutch and Israeli women as well as Hamburg based Iranian writer Ziba Nawak showed their support already. We’re still waiting for nude men to join, solidarize, take their clothes of, take a snap and fly their flags of nudity.
In the last weeks, I came across all these people I mentioned in the beginning. I read their book, saw their images, watched their movies, listened to their words in the run of only a few days. Meet Carolin Emcke here, support medica mondiale founded by Monika Hauser, watch Joris Ivens films Regen or The Spanish Earth on youtube, flip through Paolo Pellegrin’s work. (Or go see his latest exhibition free of charge here – should you be in Munich that is…my friend Enrico Strathausen made me go and I am so glad I came!)
Oh, yes and: Hemingway…when have you been last at your local public library? Go, read!
Last not least: No, I do not have the rights. But the Musée d’Orsay is absolutely worth the trip, the time and the money. It’s been a while the Musée d’Orsay and I last met. Go there. No prints can show you what they do.
Willie Doherty and the blue hour by Brian Ferry
A while back, my graduation film 1, 2, 3 ran at the Edinburgh International Film Festival. Strolling the lovely Edinburgh alley ways, I discovered The Fruitmarket Gallery. They showed the works of an artist, whose exhibition I’d missed in Kunstbau, Munich. The disturbing emptiness in the dark room of projection pulled me right in to this strange mood, where you feel threatened and scared and you do not know why.
Buried, one of the works, very fast makes you think you visit a crime scene. Each thread on a branch, each dash of color, each moss-covered stone seems to be proof for what your own mind is playing on you. And you feel you are there.
Willie Doherty was the artist, whose work I learned to love there, in Edinburgh. You best check the list here or here for a collection near you, who holds his work. – The presentation, the atmosphere in a dark room, the quality is not comparable to the Net, when you really want to experience what I experienced there and feel something.
Willie Doherty has been nominated twice for the Turner Price. But he is not coming any close to the cliché you might have of what a Turner Prize nominee might look like. Doherty is coming across like the guy next door. And still, what he’s got to say is far from boring. Read a great interview here for the Journal of Contemporary Art.
Two interviews to watch are right here:
– Willie Doherty profile for the Channel4 ideas factory website
– Willie Doherty at The Fruitmarket Gallery
Why I remember all this now, in rainy Munich January? I got some sunlight sent from the blue hour. A blog I can only recommend subscribing to. Each day, sometimes only weekly, some strange puff of sweetness and light floods on to my work desk with Brian Ferry’s photographs.
the blue hour showed me these days forests, I remembered from Willie Doherty’s work. Same trees, different light. Sunny and luminous, but still as weird and wonderful as Doherty’s landscapes.
Holidays are Cold, Holidays are Sweet: A Mug Full of Memories.
You’re coming home and you’re realizing, things changed so much over the course of the years, that you feel like a stranger. And still some things never changed. Ice stars are sitting on the window and a dialect well-known to your ears from warm childhood days purling crisp and clear through the door right to your heart. You take a deep breath of cool winter air and hold on tighter to that mug in your hand full of memories.
Wrapping Day.
All stamps via Yellow Owl Workshop. Brown strong parcel wrapping paper via amazon. Green and red stamp ink via Pelikan. Red ribbons: vintage home collection. Embroidery: vintage flea market find.
EU Bans Sale of Death Penalty Drug to US as by Today
It almost made me cry when I read it last week. Today, the 16th of December 2011, the EU will restrict the sale to the United States of sodium thiopental – one of the main active substances needed for lethal injections. Pressured by NGOs, human rights activists and – last not least and to surprising amazement – our former Federal Minister of Health Philipp Rösler (currently Minister of Economics and Technology) played a not to be underestimated role in that. I’m far from being a fan of Rösler’s Free Democratic Party FDP, who used to be a quite left winged liberal party in the 70ies and transformed to an economically liberal party these days. Not only is Rösler Asian and YEAH! finally proving that we Germans of course have totally overcome racism and war (yep, we got a female chancellor and we got Wolfgang Schäuble, federal Minister of Finance and paraplegic! – few racist murders in the last ten years certainly only being a hiccup of history), he, Rösler, young of age, seems also to have made in the sodium thiopental case some smart moves. Surprise.
Süddeutsche Zeitung wrote earlier this month:
Approximately 100 people are executed by American authorities every year. But in the past few months, supplies of the drug have become scarce.
The only manufacturer based in the US, Hospira, is unwilling to continue to make its product available for lethal injections, and under American law it is not allowed to simply change the injection “recipe.” To do that, a complicated approval procedure is required. So authorities — who have been postponing executions as a result of the difficulty in finding supplies — have been seeking other sources such as those in the EU.
Our Winters are Full of Blankets
Our winters are full of blankets. We’re living in a house, built cheaply in 1937, when all money in Germany went in to preparation of WWII. Rearmament instead of building solid housing for the people. Back than, people loved it or simply did not care. To fresh was the memory of depression and poverty to not celebrate the “Autobahn, holidays, radios and cars for everyone” promises of the ruling Nazis. But:
Back to our house.
The walls are thin, above the windowsill huge gaps are looming, standing up roaring each night with the winter storms. Water flows in here and there, ice is its witness in the morning. It makes you understand, how hard your ancestors might have been fighting each year to pull the kids healthily through the winter until spring dawned and the days got longer and warmer again.
Our winters, however, even though spent in an old house with no proper heating, are wonderful:
We order wood via the phone from the local farmer, who’s not yet on the Internet. It comes to the door step. We don’t even have to chop it, our wood. We easily burn down one 100-year-old tree in a week, when everybody is at home. The wood looks white and innocent, when it is sitting there. I can see, that rough bark is actually only a very, very thin layer. A tree is a pretty remarkable creature. Sometimes, I wonder what might be if entire Europe would go back to wood-firing.
Oh, here are blankets in England.
Rose Hips and Ivy
It’s freezing cold in our no-proper-heating house. Unless you chop wood, start a fire and got patience. Still winter’s a great time here. What a perfect excuse to tuck in under thick layers of woolen blankets, pamper your legs with eiderdown quilts and snuggle in heavy duvets.
We took a Saturday off to bake with friends a lovely day and night long. And we made a wreath for Advent from the rosehips in our garden. When the snow’s coming, I’ll put them outside again for the birds.
Early Morning. Trains. Tracks. Autumn.
Did I tell you I hate flying and I love trains? So, I’m going by train. Whenever I can. Wherever I can. It has a certain feel to it to tale on tracks. The pace is slow, even though the train goes 230km/h. You can see the landscape hurrying past. It’s trying to run away. But it can not. You still can see it in the far, as it looses speed and slows down.
The stations in the morning are filled with folks running somewhere: Last night owls scamper home, office workers hurry to their warm wooden desks, commuters huddle up in the corner to go down, go up, pass by some stairs to change trains. – Occasionally kissing couples block the way, saying endlessly good-bye, their faces pampered by the dawning days light.
Fog hangs heavy above the tracks. Red signal lights shine through the smokey air. Mist is creeping inside your woolen coat just as you, slandering along the train, found your compartment.
A ridiculously excited man with a funny German accent wishes you a pleasant journey.
No emergency procedure explanation given by young ladies in silly uniforms.
The train starts moving. Its rattling shakes me slowly in a deep, soothing sleep.
I went today to look at the city I live in. It’s a strange city. 1.3 million people in one place and still a feel as if you’re in a small town.
Livingroom Germany: My town neatly sitting with its older siblings at the coffee table, bib tidily tucked under the well-fed chin. Berlin, sitting opposite at the head of the table, has done it again…painted the entire table-cloth with organic elderberry juice. Frankfurt to the right keeps texting under the table – as if Mum would not see that… Hamburg is never home anyway…didn’t they open their own country? And to Cologne you can never talk…always got her headphones on…stupid girl. Munich is happily tucking in hedgehog slices, Black Forest cake and cupcakes from the other’s plates. The Bavarian cream makes almost anything go down easily. The flushy rosy cheeks are bouncing up and down so happyly she chews. Dapper but not busy and probably calling its own 50ies hairdo spruce. Trimmed to fit all who are well-kept. Wishing to be soingné, handsome and nifty. Proper. You can see those cheeks glowing. Especially on a sunny November day like this. Can you tell I made my peace with this place?
Still here? Wanna see the images the old lady took? Go here. Wanna look at other cities? Check Berlin here, my hometown here and Indian cities here.
