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== Constellation of reading/watching + the process as drawing ==
== Constellation of reading/watching + the process as drawing ==
reading to recognize new meaning/connections
Berger
cinematic
mulvey
watch log
affect
finding starting point
- autobiography
- curiosity of the medium/technical
valence, finding position against/around
trial and error


== Where am I with the film? ==
== Where am I with the film? ==
I have themed the storylines as homemaking, homecoming and home-carrying and made them into a series of statements after two different shoots. The statements are:
Home is shelter.
Home is abundance.
Home is safety.
Home is free of judgement.
Home is quiet.
Home is routine: of small, yet necessary activities.
Home is a collection of objects.
Home is lost and found.
I hope to evoke the tenderness of grief, the resilience of hope and the very solidarity of being human in this film. The project reflects my continuing research on the creation of meaning and evocation of feelings through image-making.


== Synopsis of salt ==  
== Synopsis of salt ==  


I saw a one-woman play named Salt on a trip to London in 2019. The set was not much more than a black box and bench seating. At center stage, a black woman stood in a white dress. In front of her was a table with a pink block of salt the size of a human head and a large set of mortar and pestle, Some incense was burning. With the lights, the contour of the smoke became visible. A white neon-light triangle loomed above the woman and the table. There were safety goggles on the two rows of seats. I picked a spot on the second row.
I saw a one-woman play named Salt in London in 2019, written and performed by Selina Thompson. She stood at center stage in a white dress. In front of her was a table with a block of pink salt the size of a human head, a sledgehammer and a large set of mortar and pestle. There were safety goggles on the two rows of seats. I picked a spot on the second row.
 
''During this show, I will be working with a sledgehammer and safety goggles. The rule is, when I am wearing mine, you also need to be wearing yours.''
 
There was a beat after the instruction, before she began: ''I am twnety-eight. I am black. I am a woman.''
 
The play was a direct expression of her personal history charged with institutional racism and colonialism. "And we are all descended from enslaved people. On a form, I tick 'Black British'. If you ask me where I'm from I'll say Birmingham. If you ask me where I'm really from, I'll think 'Suck your mom!' but I'll say, 'My parents were born here.'" (14-15) Yet it was more than an outcry for justice. She struggled with her identity — "Two halves of who I am, a body that works, educated in white institutions, and a body that feels, nurtured in black homes, smash together like tectonic plates." (20) — and her effort to reconcile with her and her ancestors' past — "I think about the violence that is in my ancestry, the violence embedded in our lives and the world shimmers and then melts away and all that is left is suffering." (22)
 
It was this suffering that led her to a travel project. Along with a female filmmaker, "another child of diaspora," she devised a reverse route of the slave trade and making stops to visit her family's past. They boarded a cargo ship, loaded with cars and marbles, that sailed from Belgium to Ghana along the East African coast. The environment was more hostile than they had imagined — or perhaps, than anyone could imagine.
 
As she recounted the horror, as she traced institutional racism to its very end, she hit the salt with the sledgehammer. With force, with pain, with conviction, line by line.
 
  [...]
 
  And this is imperialism and racism and capitalism
  God knows what else
  Built on Violence
  Maintained by it too
  It decides who matters and who will die
 
She hit the salt.
 
  It shapes the states
 
Hit.


The play begins as the woman gives the instructions:
  That pressure the company


''During this show, I will be working with a sledgehammer and safety goggles. The rule is, when I am wearing mine, you also need to be wearing yours.''
Hit.


There is a beat. Then she says:
  That corrupts the union


''I am twnety-eight. I am black. I am a woman.''
Hit.


She was born to Jamacian parents who moved to the UK at the age of thirteen. She was adopted by parents who were born in the UK and whose family came from Jamaica and Montserrat.
  That grinds down the master


''And we are all descended from enslaved people. On a form, I tick 'Black British'. If you ask me where I'm from II'll say Birmingham. If you ask me where I', really from, I'll think 'Suck your mom!' but I'll say, 'My parents were born here.' And if you ask me where my grandparents are from, in my head I'll flip over a table; but out loud, I'll say 'Jamaica'.''
Hit.


I have had my own impulse to flip the table countless times in my life.
  He bullies the officers


She recounts a project with a filmmaker.
Hit.


== Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Tire. ==
  They alienate the crew


She hit the salt as she recounted stories, some from her grandmother and parents, but mostly from herself, about slavery, colonial past, loss of identity, institutional racism. I don't remember when I started crying, but I cried throughout the play. I related to her anger, frustration, sadness, tire. The notion of being somewhere yet not belonging. This diaspora (although different in our respective context). This loss of home, being privileged yet forever burdened by the past, this alternating reality of emptiness (deprived of identity, or inability to trace something and make it coherent) and lack of or mis- understanding from others.
Hit.


As she laid parts of the salt down she visualized institutional racism. And she repeated
  And terrorise the artists


INSERT FROM SCRIPT
Hit.


I was wearing my goggles. And my tears were filling them up.
  Shouting at them
  And they're shouting at me
  And we're still at sea in the morning.


Perhaps that's how affect worked. Extreme vulnerability, extreme pain, and extreme empathy.
I was wearing my goggles and my tears were filling them up. Her anger, fear, frustration, sadness and despair were palpable on the stage. The experience of oppression and loss of her rang true to my own exile. As she shouted, I shouted inside. Her extreme vulnerability not only touched me — it became part of me.


However, I do wonder what the white, especially male and white audience thought of it.
We carry a contemporary privilege  — "educated in white institutions" — yet forever burdened by the past from non-white, non-western homes. Ours is a reality deprived of any coherent identity. We are never belonging, never home.


"asphyxiations and decapitations and drowning, suffocation and flesh boiled in sugar cane, bodies blown up with gunpowder, hanged, burned at the stake, bodies left to putrefy, pecked at by vultures, devoured alive by fire ants, roasted on pikes." (28)


== Synopsis of Migritude ==
== Synopsis of Migritude ==
See updated synopsis of Salt.


== Synopsis of the White Book ==
== Synopsis of the White Book ==

Latest revision as of 17:53, 5 February 2020

what to write

Constellation of reading/watching + the process as drawing

reading to recognize new meaning/connections


Berger

cinematic

mulvey

watch log

affect



finding starting point

- autobiography

- curiosity of the medium/technical


valence, finding position against/around


trial and error

Where am I with the film?

I have themed the storylines as homemaking, homecoming and home-carrying and made them into a series of statements after two different shoots. The statements are: Home is shelter. Home is abundance. Home is safety. Home is free of judgement. Home is quiet. Home is routine: of small, yet necessary activities. Home is a collection of objects. Home is lost and found.

I hope to evoke the tenderness of grief, the resilience of hope and the very solidarity of being human in this film. The project reflects my continuing research on the creation of meaning and evocation of feelings through image-making.

Synopsis of salt

I saw a one-woman play named Salt in London in 2019, written and performed by Selina Thompson. She stood at center stage in a white dress. In front of her was a table with a block of pink salt the size of a human head, a sledgehammer and a large set of mortar and pestle. There were safety goggles on the two rows of seats. I picked a spot on the second row.

During this show, I will be working with a sledgehammer and safety goggles. The rule is, when I am wearing mine, you also need to be wearing yours.

There was a beat after the instruction, before she began: I am twnety-eight. I am black. I am a woman.

The play was a direct expression of her personal history charged with institutional racism and colonialism. "And we are all descended from enslaved people. On a form, I tick 'Black British'. If you ask me where I'm from I'll say Birmingham. If you ask me where I'm really from, I'll think 'Suck your mom!' but I'll say, 'My parents were born here.'" (14-15) Yet it was more than an outcry for justice. She struggled with her identity — "Two halves of who I am, a body that works, educated in white institutions, and a body that feels, nurtured in black homes, smash together like tectonic plates." (20) — and her effort to reconcile with her and her ancestors' past — "I think about the violence that is in my ancestry, the violence embedded in our lives and the world shimmers and then melts away and all that is left is suffering." (22)

It was this suffering that led her to a travel project. Along with a female filmmaker, "another child of diaspora," she devised a reverse route of the slave trade and making stops to visit her family's past. They boarded a cargo ship, loaded with cars and marbles, that sailed from Belgium to Ghana along the East African coast. The environment was more hostile than they had imagined — or perhaps, than anyone could imagine.

As she recounted the horror, as she traced institutional racism to its very end, she hit the salt with the sledgehammer. With force, with pain, with conviction, line by line.

  [...]
  And this is imperialism and racism and capitalism
  God knows what else
  Built on Violence 
  Maintained by it too
  It decides who matters and who will die

She hit the salt.

  It shapes the states

Hit.

  That pressure the company

Hit.

  That corrupts the union

Hit.

  That grinds down the master

Hit.

  He bullies the officers

Hit.

  They alienate the crew

Hit.

  And terrorise the artists

Hit.

  Shouting at them
  And they're shouting at me
  And we're still at sea in the morning.

I was wearing my goggles and my tears were filling them up. Her anger, fear, frustration, sadness and despair were palpable on the stage. The experience of oppression and loss of her rang true to my own exile. As she shouted, I shouted inside. Her extreme vulnerability not only touched me — it became part of me.

We carry a contemporary privilege — "educated in white institutions" — yet forever burdened by the past from non-white, non-western homes. Ours is a reality deprived of any coherent identity. We are never belonging, never home.

"asphyxiations and decapitations and drowning, suffocation and flesh boiled in sugar cane, bodies blown up with gunpowder, hanged, burned at the stake, bodies left to putrefy, pecked at by vultures, devoured alive by fire ants, roasted on pikes." (28)

Synopsis of Migritude

See updated synopsis of Salt.

Synopsis of the White Book

Synopsis of Limbo

Conversation with Carol

outline from proposal

1.3 Critical Reflection

I make observations on the process of image-making in text and film and make an attempt to clarify the relationship between image and meaning. My main inquiries are: How does an image move someone? Perhaps by a different measure, how does an image embody meaning? When does an image evoke empathy?

These inquiries are informed by my own practice as well as readings of feminist film theory. A longitudinal reading of Laura Mulvey’s essays published from 1975 till 2015 has affirmed my position to maintain a subjective, almost radically personal, approach — by observing how my own memory, narrative/narrativity and aesthetics (appearances, as John Berger calls it) interconnect. I will limit my engagement with, and therefore criticism of discourses that hinge on psychoanalytic, Marxist or Perician/Lacanian frameworks.

My practice in filmmaking has made me more aware of how I use words to construct images. As such, I will investigate two kinds of scenes. First, those I have created in my films: for example, the activity of coffee-making in my graduation project and the hands in my short film Seek (2019). Second, those that have resided in me over the years and that I rewrite for the memoir, including: a cabin I have never visited, lemons and the sky from my childhood. These lead to more specific questions: Am I translating the voice of a writer to that of a filmmaker? How do I convey meaning: with language or with image? How does each procedure of filmmaking (composing an image, blocking a shot, editing) express, interpret or change a feeling?

I will refer to close readings of films and theories that have helped me further these lines of thought. (I have included the list of references in my project proposal, section 3.3.) As I write out this part of the thesis, I hope to define my personal grammar within the poetics of film.

Note: I would like to discuss with Natasha how much abstraction I can — or rather, should — reach within the given word limit with integrity. I have noted the following discourses as relevant, but have not read much of them: life writing, autotheory, phenomenology, new materialism (Deleuzian), haptic visuality (Laura Marks).