Monday being Tuesday

It was a day pressed down by clouds and greyness. Again I didn’t manage to get up at the time and did everything in haste. Outside it’s all strangely grey like there is a gloomy autumn finally. In the morning I was all about dreams of SW and ideas read yesterday in McKee’s “Story”. It broke off fast enough.

Probably, it’s a show about wealthy Russians migrating to London, which made me perceive my colleagues as highly provincial. But truly, it’s just the same thing as it was at the beginning of the interaction. And people coming was at the same level. All those complaints about things we cannot control, all those kinda intelligent comments about Russia and Russians being invalid country and people. They all just talk and feel good in such obvious observation. It’s strange to me. And irritating. Surely the viewing of “Leviathan” on Friday made me contemplate on this topic once again, but I don’t want to make acrimonious comments and feel right in doing only this. It’s a lame logic for me.

Yesterday I agreed with myself to eliminate social media in my daily routine and do some educational stuff like reading. Today I almost immediately went cold turkey. I even started to google some filming news and then pulled myself back. And in the evening I spend almost an hour reading and listening that “SW news”. That made me assume the same thing as yesterday and the same thing I had assumed after watching “The Force Awakens” in the theatre for the first lime. It’s going to be a total disaster, they won’t make it right, the level of drama will be the way lower than the Eighth and I’ll be disappointed at the end. There is simply no way to make it better.

tlj-databank-rey-kylo-lightsaber-throne-room-1_5e940106

Plus to being cold turkey I had a female client who printed the documents for UK visa. I read it through and got that she had a Lithuanian husband who worked as a recycler in the UK as an EU citizen. Their photo seemed strange to me, almost like fictional, but it could be real. What couldn’t be real is the fact that she’s doing it and I feel surreal giving her copies and saying regular things like I have no interest. The universe tries to flick me on the forehead reminding things. All the time.

Advertisements

mystical circle

It seems that every next day becomes more magical and movie-like than the previous one. Today when I hardly got up after the vague grey-coloured dreams about SW and drew back the curtain nature outside appeared mystic. Everything was in white mist, it covered every tree, leave and road. It instantly reminded me Prague. Fog over the river. On the road to work, I enjoyed every bit of nature but couldn’t capture (because of me regularly being late) it seemed like a proper film decoration. My mind was playing tricks with me again.

As always I tried to write some poetic (or not) thoughts in the notebook, but work is the work and it didn’t make one a space for it. But after yesterday’s viewing of “The Director and the Jedi” – the film about filming “The Last Jedi”, I was probably over-inspired. Everything looked so easy and manageable that I had done a tone of work and made some bossy notes before lunch.

At the cafe/canteen while eating pumpkin soup I was observing a situation at the exit. For some time, a homeless man had been sitting at the table, then he desired to get into the lavatory. Obviously, his idea wasn’t liked by the stuff, they closed the lavatory and tried to get him out. He started to exclaim “Let wash hands, let wash hands, let wash hands!”. This all was quite curious. I watched how young waitresses were managing it, how they were reacting. It was a total ultimatum for a homeless guy. I suppose he could close himself inside and sleep, and maybe he even had already done something of that sort. Finally, the chain started with a feeble waitress, more solid female kitchen worker ended with a big plumber who had grabbed him and took away. Unwillingly it came to mind that this town stinks how a homeless one, and what a luck we have cold weather to blow it away.

More texture I’ve got sitting at the other cafe (where I normally write notes) and I could observe the same homeless man being hesitant about coming into the cafe and then checking a bin for something (then I saw him wandering around the street). At the next table, there were pupils who were learning German, I could hear familiar words and even see a hand-written dictionary in a school notebook. So cute! While coffee was being drunk I could hear some phrases they exchanged. When one of them said that people in Ukraine chop the heads, I was a bit disappointed and charmed by the humour the universe has. People are constantly being ridiculous (while thinking of themselves as normal). The other woman literally cried out to her cellphone about Orenburg area and some covenants. It looked very vulgar and unmannerly though it’s a humour, isn’t it?

But the Sun shone on the house across the street and a tree was still frozen. It looked like a complete harmony.

The rest of the day I spend wearing a jacket as a medieval cloak (with awareness of being pathetic) and making ambiguous jokes out of everything. If you can’t fix things you still can laugh it out. It’s all a sad satire with plain actors.

At home, I did enjoy the beginning of “The Director and the Jedi” again. And again I adored and was totally preoccupied with the full production process. I wish I could see more exact details, more of pain and struggles on the way. Like their mention of not being off the project the whole time but 10 Christmas days, what makes it 3 months of non-stop hard working.  It seemed delusion to them all at the end.

This all turns out to be an odd circle I’m making.

This day was a strange compilation of thoughts, images and fantasies I had last days. All those moments of ponderous work I reconnected with a ground inside.

I’d never thought there are such dull people in the world before I actually started to work. It opened my eyes on the actual backwardness of the population. It’s so dark and narrow in their minds.

In spite of the promise to give up on the SW topic, I do still care and it does still amuse me. Though the weighty feeling of inner strength and beauty got away. My fantasy makes me believe things. Probably, it makes all people believe things.

Yesterday, when I met with Kate it came to me that this town is a phantom. It’s a composition of reality and fantasy. The reality is deficient and full of holes, so the mind makes the rest up. It fills the outer world with the features of the inner one. The time does not work here and it might seem that we won’t get old being at this place. But it’s a mere illusion.

I’m just being incoherent here.

Back into the old preoccupation

Sunny morning after the night full of thoughts spoken like I had a presentation at the college. The strange thoughts on film production and “what if” fantasies. This might be a product of the evening strolling through story analyses of The Last Jedi and posts about VGIKfest. It’s funny to go away and finish at this point of interest. An odd realisation that I still awe filmmaking, but I do still adore concepts and storytelling, acting and cutting way more than PD (including non-stop drawing, organising set decoration, props).

Recent weeks I had put down my exam preps and had barely remembered about it. I’ve become more centred with all these Star Wars and GOT stuff, it’s easier to be obsessed with things which obsess you. Another time I want to read McKee and Greek drama, another time I’m excited to know the drama structure. I read Chekhov in the first year at the college, but the reason for that and this preoccupation was the same. The same desire to analyse the general structure and every single line.

Thinking of how artsy can I be does not particularly mean the same as before, my inclination to art is not purely about visuals, it’s about drama. Or I just think and err about it. Nothing really counts as creativity while you do nothing.

While making some money

So, this slow day filled with work and contemplation has finished. Yesterday after tennis workout and shower I watched “The Last Jedi” another time. That was a stressful day, my customer requested a work to redo (which I did for two days) therefore I wanted to shut the whole world and hide somewhere.

Today I could really work. Eric Satie music on the background, certain workplace and then some calm podcasts on the film I still like. These days of work I had been pondering about creative work at all. This little project made me feel like I’m at the Art department again like there are a viewing and all things from the past. It reminded me of how dull creative work can be, how intimidating one can feel in front of a customer. And it reminded me of the freedom it gives, freedom of even more work with customers and freedom of not talking to random people. The most prominent thing I re-realised is that creative work is not an entertaining walk in the park but a hard labour from day to day. It is more of a struggle that hovering above clouds. But I do hover above clouds about Star Wars and it’s production. I’m partially naive about it all and get it.

As yesterday night I rewatched The Last Jedi today I came to a conclusion that it’s still a blockbuster, not a drama, the romance topic is quite subtle and not so blunt and underrepresented as dummy fans see and want it. And there are logical flaws. But that all means nothing if it touches my heart and makes it beat faster. Also, I understood that the thing which made a lot of fans so angry and disappointed with the film were expectations. They build their own theories, they were sure of certain things to be important, but the film didn’t meet their hopes. So I shouldn’t expect things, I must trust filmmakers on this. (like I have any choice on this matter. Naive girl) I’m better to forget about it all and reveal once again at 1 January of 2020.

Pure catharsis

It’s five o’clock and I still have a lot of work to do with my little commision. I do it slowly, probably not because of my own sluggishness but because of the thoughts in my head. It’s unclear what the hell made me download and watch “Star Wars. The Last Jedi” on Sunday. I enjoyed it so much that afterwards I had rewatched some scenes again, downloaded the Seventh episode and watched it too while reading some analyses on the Internet. Then I rewatched some scenes again and found videos on Youtube. My ecstasy was so high that I could not sleep well. All I could think of was the possible future events in the Saga and the pain I felt for the characters. The whole fictional war seemed more real than the one depicted from history textbooks. At least it made me empathise much more.

The next day (surprisingly), wet and nippy, all I could think of was the psychology behind the characters, the actors, directors, and story structure. I still felt pain for the characters and awe about choreography, production design and costume. My mind got busy with figuring out what costumes will be like in the Ninth episode. Such an exhausting crave for finally seeing Ben Solo in white clothes and Rey having a more confident outlook. The question of Leia made (and still make) me to construct a screenplay inside my little head in various ways, which is tiresome at the end of the day.

Shortly, the last days I had been busy worrying about a fictional future, making up a script which both didn’t exist and didn’t affect anything in the real production (which takes place now). Suddenly I found myself craving for film production and seeing my favourite character redeemed like it’s a question of life and death.

That’s all is just me experiencing catharsis once in a while, feeling too sensitive and vulnerable about emotional stuff. It peels out an outer film of my nature and takes me a more profound picture of myself. What else does excite me so much that I have sleeping problems for a few days? It speaks a lot about me as a creative person (here we are).

Anger and hate

So, I have told mom about my little plan of career shifting. It was organically, she asked herself if I really move on to Moscow and I said that I have some thoughts. It was terrible, this conversation. Once again I felt pressed and small, unable to do anything with my own life. Afterwards, I grew angry with her endless and fundamental disbelief in me. She suggested to come back to the local Uni for a part-time study for … just in case (I lose). She said that it was a stupid, thoughtless move. It drove me crazy. She never believed in me and would never do. She tries to comfort me with tasty meals and praise for well-done chores. I don’t need such a cold comfort! I need her to believe that I can actually do what I intend.

For so long time I’ve been in a state of not being able to do something with my life that it really seems that I can’t. I cannot talk neither to her nor anyone that I have dark days of self-pity and profound sadness. But she again notices what people of my age achieve. There is no way to rely on her as an emotional supporter. This all keeps me low and I want to get out of this swampland. I’m sick and angry of being weak.

While cleaning up our flat I unwillingly caught myself thinking about moving on to the other city, finding a job to sustain and doing all by myself. I don’t want to look into her eyes and see pity.

Country party

It’s really hard to keep thoughts inside such a small head. Yesterday mom and I spend about six hours at the anniversary celebration of my grandmother’s younger brother. That was very queer for me. We went there by taxi. It was the end of a street in a country which isn’t so easy to drive. So, for me, it’s an obvious downturn.

We came inside and almost immediately we met my cousin. She changed in a bad way, got weight. I didn’t know what to do, people who in the best cases I barely knew approached me hugged and asked some questions (like we were close friends, but we weren’t). There was a long table with appetizers on it. I felt as uncomfortable as it was a foreign country to me. People around spoke Chuvash loudly, made stupid jokes and nickered. The whole evening I tried to keep my face friendly or neutral. But the food was good (thanks to a cooker). We gifted one of my pictures (which I couldn’t sell for years) and they seemed satisfied.

After the first serving, I went to the backyard to hide from the strange relatives and maybe to read. I suppose I looked exactly like silent closed people who sit with a book during a party. People were amazed by me not dancing or talking to someone. But once I was at the bench swing three older women surrounded me and interrogated with obvious but hard to answer questions. Where am I, what do I do and etc? My official legend is Moscow, VGIK (what rings no bell in their mind), painting. It’s not so easy to tell it when you don’t feel it in so many levels. And you know almost nothing about interviewers.

People were of the kind I precisely expected. Interests in gardening, pension reform, children, but gardening in the first place. The young people who drove later were like their children. Mothers suffering from post-childbirth weight gain, speaking vulgarly about Turkish hotels where you can swim (really?) and controlling their children with dull toys in their hands. No way I wanted to network with them. My cousin and I had a moment of talk drinking red wine, we tried to recall old times when we spend so much time together. But frankly speaking, at this moment we are so distant in life and mindset. She has two children, a husband and a job at her father’s factory. When they gave me a lift afterwards her son spoke: мой язык жгет. Firstly I thought that it’s just an unaware child making mistakes but then both mother and father said it. So I couldn’t restrain myself and made a notice that it’s right to tell жжёт. Then I lamely tried to smooth it. But whatever snob inside of me can’t bear such rude mistakes.

In my attempt to hide I sneaked out of the house and walked down to a pond. It was naturally beautiful and calm (though music destroyed the silence). I made photos and wanted to row there. In the evening I returned and had been standing at a small wharf for a long time looking at the waves and colour of sunset. I recall the first time I got to such a country style only-relatives party, I was four or five. I couldn’t stand the noise and left the banket hall to draw in the other room. I remember drawing a dolphin while they drunk.  Things don’t really change, do they?

tennis psychotherapy

Certainly, it wasn’t my day at the tennis. A friendly and talkative co-player who had just come back from the vocation at Turkey triggered my strange condition. Sometimes it’s all like school, I feel not cool enough unless I have done something worthy of other people’s attention. In a word, I feel undermined when someone has a “better” life. Analyzing it afterwards I came to an idea that it’s not the facts of someone’s life that drives me crazy, it’s my life is meaningless and colourless what freaks me out. The vague hints of love travel, career promotion trigger something mad in me.

It’s not a surprise that I played bad. During the first game with a new girl, we had (actually, she had) problems with counting. She asked a trainer and he started to explain to me why I was wrong. One moment it had maddened me. It was so obvious at the moment that no matter I do or speak I’ll be on the wrong.  Probably I was, but I couldn’t stand another why-you-are-wrong moment. I failed. And again and again. At the end of the training, I was sad and deeply ascertained that my major problem is psychological. Probably I do sabotage myself to fail because, in spite of the desire to win, I’m terrified of being in a spotlight. I’m terrified of the social load it can bring. I suppose that this poison comes from the deep past, someday I can’t remember.

Finally, all I need is worth praise.

This is one of those days when my own flat seems to be a prison of wrong decisions. I oscillate from one activity to another with a constant sadness. OK, it looks like every post of mine is about sadness but in reality, I can be quite satisfied and enthusiastic about my routine. Yesterday, for example, I did some more SS work, went to the swimming pool (and had my own swimming track) and met with Kate (from ChuvSU) and the whole day I felt strong and self-assured.

However, this morning was basically idle and fruitless, then in the afternoon, I tried (not really) to draw that house I started. Such a dull task! I shouldn’t pick it in the first place. At two o’clock I left it the way it was, took my backpack and went to the library. Surprisingly, it wasn’t completely empty, but quite enough to go into study flow. Making a mind map of a pretty simple and more or less straightforward topic I found out a certain mutual connection between generating new technologies and the rise in schooling years. Probably, it’s obvious, but it’s pleasing to find myself.

More I visit MacCafe more I ascertain that it’s not a place for me. There are too many children, parents, and strange looking people. Back at home, I tried to draw the same house with the same success. But simultaneously I listened to a Michael Sandel lecture and students debate about African-American people’s educational opportunities. Such a distant but familiar problem for me (kinda provincial/moscowian problem).

When mom came The Problem arose again like a silent wall or a gigantic pillar. Or at least I felt it that way. The request for my being at some relative anniversary party out of the town, and as a result another review of my pictures to be gifted. The question of me not leaving hometown.

And actually I mull over it more and more, I’m almost persuaded by myself to it. But my game is about getting better not drowning here. I have an acceptable plan for a tired adult craving for education.