marination

recently i had lunch with a screenwriter friend and we were talking about a date gone bad. basically, the girl questioned his career of choice and how he spends his days. she wasn't trying to be mean, just very logical. the conversation went something like this:

girl: so how long does it take you, on average, to write a screenplay?
my friend: well, now, about 3 to 4 months or so.
girl: and how long is an average screenplay?
friend: about 110 pages.
girl (doing the math): so you're telling me that you write about a page a day?
friend: um, yes, i guess so.
girl: and this takes you all day?
friend (actually being a very disciplined writer): um, yes.

how do you explain to someone that getting that one page takes blood, sweat and tears? that it takes hours of procrastination, surfing facebook and the internet, finding every excuse to eat, to go to the bathroom, to take a nap, watch some youtube, play some games, while still being chained to your laptop? that it takes hours of rooting around in the back of your brain, taking up room just festering and marinating, until suddenly a few words or phrases come sliding out of your fingertips like magic? or that it takes years of disciplined "writing" (what looks like procrastination and laziness to the outside world) to be able to assemble notes, outline a story, write up a treatment and then expand it all into a tightly-edited presentable draft within three months? at the end of which, no, there is no guarantee that it will get sold, or even more difficult, actually get made?

how do you explain to someone that an artist is not made overnight, nor produced on a linear path like so many other things in life? in any other profession, you put in a certain number of hours and years and slowly progress up the ladder, in seniority, pay scale and skill. but as an artist, every start is as daunting as the first, and past history of success is no determinant of the future. even the best are equally capable of stinking, failing, falling, bombing, time and time again.

and how do you explain that the drudge work is utterly devoid of glamour, unrecognized, looked down upon, and will only ever merit value if you become a commercial success, yet you still feel fiercely compelled to keep doubling down? how do you explain that though they doubt you, you doubt yourself even more?

there is an unspoken code, a mutual recognition when i meet other artists. the understanding of the frailty, the vulnerability, the darknesses, the scars, the faith required, the anxiety, the highs, the love, the resilience, the aching, the terror, the joy. but this very thing, is what makes us, us. that innate response where we rise up again and again, despite all logic, despite the abyss, to paint our selves across a night sky.

it is the very best in me that i have to give. it cannot be measured by my bank account, the house i live in nor the number of seats i sell. it is solitary. my work is created for an audience of one, myself. but that feeling you get when your heart stirs or you're moved to tears or laughter? when two solitudes overlap for a fleeting moment and the recognition occurs? that, my friends, is the rainbow we're chasing.

by the way, my friend has suddenly become hollywood's it darling with his latest script, so i'm incredibly happy for him. from one artist to another... i just get it, what it all means. and to be able to witness someone finally marinate long enough to have things start happening... lights, baby, lights.

(nyc)

 

love changes everything

watch this, you won't regret it:

beautiful.

(nyc)

enigma

don't be afraid to be weak
don't be too proud to be strong
just look into your heart
my friend
and that will be the return to yourself
the return to innocence

if you want then start to laugh
if you want then start to cry
be yourself
don't hide
just believe in destiny
don't care what people say
just follow your own way
don't give up and lose the chance
to return to innocence

(nyc)

making babies

they are two types of babies in the world. one of them looks like this:

cute, cuddly, adorable and they smell good. 

and then there are these types of babies:

a little scary, i know. 

the second type of babies is not overgrown men (although that could qualify as well), but i'm actually talking about creative babies. the kind where you come up with an idea, nurture it, grow it and make something out of it. and it's your baby. these guys above are all geniuses at making those kind of babies. 

they say it takes a village to raise a child, and anyone who's ever babysat a toddler for more than two hours knows that it is not a one person job. they make you want to tear your hair out, they exhaust you and they run you into the ground, all the while smiling sweetly. parents can't get enough help, and it's an endless quest to find more family, more money and more hands.

yet... when it comes to creative babies, so many artists choose to struggle down the path alone. there is a sense of ego involved - that something is my creation and i want all the credit. but how foolish is that?!

look at these guys! together they've creatively achieved more than they ever would have been able to do on their own. raising a creative baby is no different than raising a baby-baby. it's a shit ton of work! so why would you not get your village in place, give credit where credit is due, and in the process make an amazing piece of work that elevates everyone involved?

every person has a set of parents who originally gave birth and hopefully provided the bulk of love and support. but we would not be who we are without the numerous friends, experiences, teachers and soulmates along the way. in fact, we turn out to be better, deeper and richer people when we've had more life-expanding experiences.

it's gotta work the same way with creation too. collaboration should be the journey upon which the masterpiece is created. we need to recognize the contributions and potential of others around us b/c it truly benefits the big picture.

so lay down your lions, let others in, and get to work.

(los angeles)

stripes & colors

i love interior design.

i clipped these pixx awhile ago and was holding onto them. for some reason, they just make me happy inside. i just like to look at the combination of the colors and the stripes :)

(nyc)

stuff that makes me happy

lately my days are a blur of nonstop to-do lists.

so i'm just going to stop and do nothing for five minutes. in fact, i'm just going to make a list of things that make me happy for no reason at all:

big fat trees

cracking the crunchy top on a creme brulee

tin cans, ribbons and stickers

riding my bike

anything stripes

cherries and avocados and watermelon

cobblestones

reading the classified ads

things with a lot of texture and heft

people who smile for real, from the inside - this is rare

ugly dogs

sunshine and a breeze

pasta pasta pasta

the sound of running water

wrapping presents

giving presents

the smell of hyacinths and gardenias

making grandmas smile when i compliment them

super bright colors

beautiful girls

silk, cashmere and leather

the way my stomach feels empty in the morning

super hot showers

really soft bedsheets

babies

the bookstore

peanut butter cookies

new magazines

you.

(nyc)

floored

i always loved sculpture, but was never truly moved by it, until i saw two things.

the first was this:

il ratto di proserpina (the rape of persephone) by gian lorenzo bernini @ the galleria borghese in rome.

persephone was the daughter of zeus and demeter, and forcefully taken by hades to be his queen of the underworld. she was missed so much by her mother that demeter caused a terrible drought in the world. zeus allowed persephone to return, bringing the world back to life, but was obliged to spend one season a year in the underworld. thus persephone is also known as the goddess of vegetation.

that's the back story that explains what is happening in the sculpture, but as far as sculpture goes, it looks fairly "standard" in terms of composition and subject material. like so many other sculptures i had seen in so many other museums around the world.

that is, until you see this:

this is the money shot, the close-up detail of where hades grabs persephone as she is in flight. 

when i saw this, i was floored.

the fact that bernini could sculpt so much emotion into cold, hard stone showed his unmatchable skill, his artistry and his depth of understanding. if you look at most sculptures, you can see technical skill in the folds and layers of the way a cloth drapes. but when it comes to body parts touching other body parts, they always lightly rest on the surface. faces, hands, legs, anything. the most amount of contact is simple light touch.

but bernini's hades actually grabs-- persephone and you can just feel his overwhelming strength in this tiny little detail. his hands are actually digging into her flesh, forcing her into his violence. the fucking veins in his hands are popping.

absofuckinglutely brilliant.

the second thing that made me appreciate the infinite difficulty and thus beauty of this art form was this:

if you go the galleria dell'accademia in florence to see michelangelo's david, everyone immediately flocks to the main attraction. but if you take your time, you will notice his series of unfinished sculptures called "prisoners" that line the hallway leading up to david. these four massive unfinished works show the detail and the process of how excruciatingly difficult sculpture is, to end up with a beautiful finished work of art that tells a story. seeing these monstrous pieces was actually much more impressive than seeing his finished works, because i came to understand how painstaking every single little chip and chisel and sanding down must have been. it's almost as if michelangelo freed his forms out of these massive blocks, giving them life. if you see it in person, each little chip in the stone is about the size of an eraser head on a pencil, and these blocks are approximately ten feet tall. the process... the process.

and then within that context of understanding, to then see how bernini sculpted those fingers digging into pure stone flesh...

completely blown away. that's all.

(nyc) 

think big

one day i will have one of these in my house... wall-size.

(nyc)

creation in motion.

(nyc)

create it. raw.

conceive it, think it, pray it, breathe it, eat it, sleep it, try it, fry it, write it, act it, dream it, cook it, draw it, load it, speak it, sing it, play it, be it, fuck it, make it, live it.

i create, therefore i am.

-youri

(nyc)