Sunday, November 14, 2010
Michelangelo Antonioni: 'Identificazione di una donna/Identification of a Woman' (1982)
Some thoughts I had on Antonioni's 'Identificazione di una donna/Identification of a Woman' (1982), now a review at IMDB:
While I feel that Antonioni was perhaps attempting to create too much of a plot in this film, and he almost creates 'a story' with a twist and a climax and a resolution, yet he cannot ultimately play by the Artistotelian rules of what drama is. We come so close, though. I savour that closeness, it is like the scene of Niccolo and Mavi driving through the fog. We sense ultimate meaning, the neatness of a story begun, enclosed now in a fog of unknowing, that contains vague threats, the tension leaving the main characters emotionally raw, and they part as we the audience part from any storyline resembling anything like a normal structure.
Antonioni does not move by classical plot lines. His movies are composed of intensities, emotional weights that fall through the characters. When the emotion builds to high pitch, something happens. People that we fall away from disappear out of our lives. Sometimes we look for them. Niccolo winds up the stairs of the building that is the address where Mavis perhaps now resides. They watch each other for a moment: he on the street looking up, she from the lit window looking down; nothing else happens.
Antonioni's movies are like life in this way. We do not know the 'grand plot' of our lives, if there is one at all, but are driven by our sensitivities, emotional entanglements, the intensities of our lives, those we love in the ways that we understand love. We are part of our environments, rich or poor, and while ideas exist, and politics, they do not drive us as strongly as our hearts, our questioning spirit.
While many people find Antonioni's films long, plot-less and perhaps nearly pointless, his movies make sense to me. They end, not with a resolution to a twist-turning, hair-raising story but with an understanding of a moment, an epiphany if you will. In this film, the asteroid that is turned into a spaceship heading towards the sun that Niccolo speaks to a child about is a brilliant ending. Not only a continuing poetic metaphor of the sun and our passion but the 'light' of insight is here. Imagination is highlighted, and the child, who could be his nephew or the son of Nadia, we do not know and it does not matter.
In Identificazione di una donna, Antonioni further develops the theme of the creative artist, the director, who is, here, searching for the identity of woman. It's beautiful. Respectful and adoring of women's sexuality, including bisexuality, the mystique of the woman who is not one, but many.
As with all of Antonioni's films, I found myself adoring the characters in Identificazione di una donna, their lives. Let yourself go, forget expectations, feel the force of the film at its core. We are like this. Undecided, with choices to make every moment of our lives.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Beached Heart
Beached Heart
layer flowing of
ocean in Whale-God
with pearls, jazz
cat* in belly
salt blood a
political flow-body of
ecological appropriation
against fishermen
siphoning ocean water
mollusk, crill, sand
singing whale songs
in matter-energy flow
its capture
the red sand
blood-flow against
black co-agulated ink
a linguistic continuity
politic of ecobeing
folding fish bone into brine
ocean foam
(c) 2010 Brenda Clews
__
*Schrodinger's cat
Beached Heart, 2010, 8" x 11", 20cm x 27cm, India ink, Faber-Castelli watercolour pencils on archival paper.
Beached Heart, a poem painting, though the words in the drawing are a poeming different to the poem, about a harpooned whale.
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
Lip of the Volcano
Lip of the Volcano, 8" x 10", 20.4cm x 55cm, coloured India inks, watercolour pencils (all Faber-Castelli), 2010.
This image first appeared last year, in a version with a Photoshop filter, with a poem (that I still like): Autumn, and 'Shortest Route Between Two Dots Is A Circle.'
It's an Autumn image. The flaming edge. Balanced on fire. While waiting for my ailing iMac to open webpages I began dipping pencils from my new set of Faber-Castelli watercolour pencils into a small jar of water.
I had been thinking of Malcolm Lowry; I had been browsing German Expressionist painting, but looking for Italian Neo-Expressionists since I'm on a Michaelangelo Antonioni kick and was convinced there had to be connections, especially in the explosion scene in Zabriskie Point.
Monday, November 01, 2010
A few Autumn images...
They look like small twigs branching off from sticks, not witch's fingers. Nor do they resemble black lace or a tangle of neuronal nerves. They are not like veins of capillaries though obviously part of the same evolutionary design. They teach us cadence, grace and survival.
✠
Who could ever tire of the wind in the trees?
The wind blows leaves off the trees that are not already bare.
✠
A day of snapping of inner winds, turbulences, furies,
but all subtly, hidden.
✠
Glum takes hold, and I shake it off like dead leaves falling from trees.
Seedpods, broken leaf veins, dried stalks.
✠
Who could ever tire of the wind in the trees?
The wind blows leaves off the trees that are not already bare.
✠
A day of snapping of inner winds, turbulences, furies,
but all subtly, hidden.
✠
Glum takes hold, and I shake it off like dead leaves falling from trees.
Seedpods, broken leaf veins, dried stalks.
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