It all starts with a screen.
In a time during which everybody has to stay home and stare at a computer for hours, instead of blending into the chaotic flow of a film festival… Well, the word “start” seems a [[mistake]].It should be: It all [[ends]] with a screen.But, does it? I’m sure there’s something to be said about the dusty layer that sits before any film. Screens have the last word in regards to that naively so-called ever expanding realm of dreams (sic). The speckles in front of a black image remind us that, even if we don’t want to, [[films are things]] whose imperfections we must make peace with.
It's like that [[back pain]] that never leaves you alone.''I needed to reframe''
I was initially (a bit) annoyed when Will showed us the screen he watched the amazing //Dry Ground Burning//. The image in that tiny tablet was to close to being an object, [[too far|Not being]] from the vastness of that Mad Maxish desert. But images often mutate and fly away too soon. On the contrary, objects come all colors and sizes, are fun to squeeze and exist almost as if they had to be played with.
Then, I wonder: why not watching a spectacular film on a tiny tablet?''I needed to relax''
When I saw Lukasz portray himself typing, I thought of how I slightly slouch to be properly framed during Zoom calls.
[[Not being]] in Berlin hurts. But my back hurts more.''To be, //not to be//''
I loved sitting on the front rows of movie theaters. It made easier to feel I was alone in the room, like it kept me away from the world out of shot. But cinema created the invisible world out of shot for its own purposes, and I soon discovered it was impossible to escape from reality. In fact, it was as if images were amplifying what they had around them.
Noises coming from people in the seats next to me bother me the most when I’m loving what I see. Now that my surroundings are always too present when I watch films (annoying phone messages, light reflecting on the screen, the neighbor’s TV sound), I’ve come to decide that maybe I’d do better if I embraced them.
[[Rebecka reminded us that all stories are potentially false (but evoking will always be genuine).]]
[[Oyku turned data back into words, and words into images that are tangible, pictures that exist.]]Why not paying tribute to the realness of her voice by playing some music? I encourage you to play a song that makes you feel comfy. Comfort (home?) is as [[real|specific]] as it gets.I used to live with an aspiring scriptwriter, and whenever we was working on something he had all these post-its hanging on the wall, in the room we used as a studio. They made his ideas look simple, so [[specific]] and playful. I hope you have something physical to cling to whenever you delve into the scary mental mess a text is, when the page is still empty.I’m afraid I’m too clumsy to turn this game into a real thing, an object you can handle, but I cannot stop praising your capacity to make [[things that are here]].Lukasz’s image folder reminded me of those sheets used in photography where all the pictures someone has taken are displayed on a single surface, [[one next to another|El sol del membrillo]]. Those images, both the ones that are finally chosen and the ones that don’t end up being printed, are called [[contacts|Ignited by people]].
I’d love to believe that even if we weren’t in Berlin (and even if we felt as discarded images), we’ve still made true contact.In Víctor Erice’s //El sol del membrillo// (//Dream of Light//, although the original title translates to //Sun on the quince tree//), Antonio López says: Desde el lugar donde observo la escena no puedo saber si los demás ven lo que yo veo (//From the place where I observe the scene I cannot know if the others see what I see//).
Nobody has ever seen the world through an other's eyes, but Fabiola’s screen capture made me feel like I could infiltrate into her gaze, if just for a second. [[I thank Zoom|Ignited by people]], and her, for that amazing privilege.Because of course cinema is about losing time, [[losing your memories]], losing yourself, losing your most intrinsic values, [[losing it all]]… However, there’s nothing more fulfilling than the image of some friend hurrying to finish their cigarette to come and say hi before a screening starts. Thank you, Susana, for snapping such a [[meaningful detail]].
All of you have brought back some of what cinema took away.''Shaved heads, blurring past''
[[Nostalgia finds its way too easily for me|meaningful detail]]. Some months ago, I finally deleted an app I had installed on my phone, at he beginning of the pandemic, to prevent me from accessing my photo gallery more than twice a day. This lousy app was the only thing containing my obsessive scrolling through pictures, dwelling on a sticky melancholy I used to find comfort in.
Some weeks ago, my phone memory was running out of space, so I decided I’d delete a handful of old photos that I thought were of no use for me right now. Like a monk shaves his head, I got rid of so many images, a real hardcore act of reshaping my history.Oyku, I felt a real urgency to pause the video while you were panning through our printed WhatsApp chat. I wanted to stop for a second, stop to thoroughly relinquish on the tiniest shapes and variations of that long conversation. I had my eyes wide open, but the camera moved so quickly it just seemed like a mushy bunch of pixels.
I was looking for bliss, I only found film. [[Joke’s on me|meaningful detail]].''Meaningful details''
Images draw me back, texts come forward.
I see my former articles as gifts, coming up with good ideas and lines where I thought there was only trash. Old works help me shape an image of myself that’s much better, or at least more honest, than the poor reflection my self-esteem provides every time I get stuck with something.
Now that this text only exists because of you, [[maybe you can take it as a gift too?]]It may sound cheesy, I know. But let’s embrace some amount of cheesiness and just enjoy it, shall we?
We’re leaving [[the very hard task of closing]] in your hands, Kayode.Thank you guys, for everything.