| |
|
Perhaps one of my New Year's resolutions will be to return to blogging. However, I've so fallen out of the habit of writing that it might take awhile to get back up to speed.
These bleak, dispiriting days of winter have always struck me as a poor time to take stock of one's past and plan for one's future. I'd prefer that we would have our new year begin on the first day of spring, the season of hope and renewal.
2011 was. for me, a very purposeless year. I found myself, as is often my feckless manner, drifting from project to project. Somehow I managed to pay the bills and keep myself in coffee and tacos. Also, I managed to be surprisingly prolific with video projects. I have listed eleven creative projects on the "News" page of my website for 2011. They were all shot with my Canon 7D -- in fact, they mark the very first pieces I did with that camera. They range from the ephemeral one-off pieces, to narratives, music videos, a commercial, dance collaborations, theater video designs, a community arts festival, and an experimental live cinema staged performance piece. In addition to these eleven works, I have helped out on at least twenty other projects. Some of these gigs pay. Most don't. Probably I need to present myself in a more professional manner.
When I moved here to San Antonio in 2004 I found myself speaking often of the "film community." I don't use that phrase so much any more. There are many accomplished people in this town who share the same sorts of tools -- HD cameras and nonlinear editing suites. Some are lucky enough to make their living doing this work, others are struggling. And though there is a spirit of sharing knowledge and even equipment among many of these folks, I don't know if this collegial amicability can really pass for a community. Among the smug posturing and ego-driven neuroses, I keep hoping will emerge profoundly original work, or at least films with the beauty and luminosity of Chris Eska's "August Evening." Sadly, much of the local work (even those with polish and intelligence) seems to have been created by those who desire no more than to ape Hollywood.
This is partially the reason I have drifted into working in collaboration with choreographers and theater companies. General disillusionment and lack of resources, sure, but I have also been lucky to have befriended some outrageously talented people in the dance and theater worlds. And though this is clearly no way to make a living, it's exciting to create work which you know will have an audience. Add to that the rush of excitement from an audience's reaction to a live performance … not bad. The down-side to this sort of work I've become engaged in is that I rarely see in these audiences those people I once spoke about when I'd so frequently use the phrase "film community." This was brought home to me during the annual holiday party put on by the San Antonio Film Commission last month. People would come up to me wondering where I've been, what I've been up to. The fact that I was closing out my most creatively productive and prolific year was lost on most, presumably because of a lack of interest in art and cultural realms outside their comfort zones. I'm a bit biased here, but it's my opinion that they're missing out on a lot of fun.
@@@@@@
I've fallen in with a pretty cool crowd. Since I moved into this neighborhood I've attended various performances at Jump-Start Performance Company. At some point they realized I made films. I have been invited to screen work for the last three performance parties. I have dragged company members such as ST Shimi and Lisa Suarez into my projects. And then, about this time last year, I was brought in to video tape those original shows produced by the company. Also, I was honored to work in a collaborative manner for the production "The Last Thing You'll Ever See." It's nice to be so well regarded by a company of such diverse and wildly talented people. And for this year's Performance Party I was invited not only to create a film of my own to be screened, but the company also requested that I work with them on a short humorous opening video.
Here is a link to the opening video, "Jump-Start University" (this year's was a collegiate theme).
"Sunrise" is the film I created. It stars the wonderful and lovely Amanda Silva, and features original music by Lisa Arnold (AKA Fallinglisa).
Each year there's a different energy to the performance party. This year seemed to feature less theater, and more video and dance. I was grateful that Aztec Gold didn't drag me up on stage this year as they did back in 2011 (although is was kind of fun stumbling about in an improve performance…).
It's nice to think that the year is only a week old, and I've already produced two video projects. So, what have you been up to?
@@@@@@@
I made some major life-style changes back in late April of last year. Sensible diet and regular exercise. Sometime around June I began running. Well, sort of running. Run some. Walk some. Repeat. I progressed well for maybe two months. Then I fucked up my hip. What I believe was my gluteal muscles. After two months or so off, I slowly started back up again. Back in December I finally made it up to 6.5 miles. And none of that walking and running crap either. Pure running. Very slow, I admit. But technically running.
Since April 25 I have lost 70 pounds. Today I stepped on the scales and noticed that at 228 I am no longer obese, merely overweight. If the BMI (body mass index) is to be believed, all I need to lose to get to "normal" is 40 more pounds, give or take. Still, this is the "skinniest" I've been in probably 15 or 20 years.
@@@@@@@
For Christmas my sister got me the new iPhone 4S. My old iPhone had gotten sluggish. And, really, I hated the crappy camera it had. All the perks of the new version impressed me, but mostly I wanted a phone with a decent camera. I had been impressed with the advances on those occasions when friends had me shoot them with their fancy new phones.
Not only am I in love with this stupid thing (and the voice recognition software on it is awesome), but add to the camera the Instagram app (which is free), and I can't recall ever having as much fun taking pictures. The extreme filters and the square format are a bit corny, but I think I've managed to get some beautiful images with it.
Check out the grid of 15 images below I took in the last week. Pretty cool.
|
|
Back in April I finally began getting frustrated with how huge I'd become. Self-delusion can only go so far. The enormity of, well, me, became most noticeable when I was out on a film project. On those times I had to get down on the ground for a low shot, it'd be quite embarrassing struggling back to a standing position.
On April 25th I stepped on the scales and was shocked to see I'd ballooned up to 295 pounds. Certainly the heaviest I've ever been. During those infrequent and punctuated periods in my life when I've succeeded in maintaining some semblance of health, it'd always been because of sensible diet and frequent exercise. I can usually handle this, except when I'm drinking. And then, all bets are off. So, I stopped drinking, stopped eating so much shit, and I try and cycle at least a hundred miles per week. And in those ten or so weeks I've managed to lose thirty-five pounds. In the middle of June I started the "Couch-to-5K." This is a self-guided program where in nine weeks you're supposed to be able to run a 5K mini marathon. I've never run, really. And what I've been doing these last few days is more of a shuffle. And, true, I shouldn't have chosen a park which is a ten mile bike ride away to do my running workouts, but I've survived so far.
It's actually kind of fun. The weird thing is that over the years biking has been my main source of exercise. It's no problem for me to hop on my bike and ride for a couple of hours. But for some reason the thought of running has filled me with dread. I'd tell myself I need to lose a bunch of weight before I can even think of starting. I'm just too fat. And I'll tell myself I really don't know how. Am I suppose to learn a proper technique? Oh, and then shoes. I can't afford a pair of proper 100 dollar or more shoes fitted by a trained professional. And don't forget the biggest mental block. I'll look like a huge idiot.
There are a bunch of self-guided running programs free online. Most start you out slow, alternating walking and running, and building up to just running in a few weeks. I chose the Couch-to-5k. Three days a week. Thirty minute sessions. Nine weeks. As for technique, all I can say is when you're horribly out of shape and jogging for 60 seconds is an ordeal, there's really nothing to it. Just travel from here to there, but run, don't walk. Jogging, like running, is when both feet are off the ground--and if you're not used to it, it can exhaust you pretty fucking fast. I suspect that by walking at a brisk rate I can move faster than my current jogging form. Shoes? What I'm doing is so rudimentary that I'm happy with the pair of Merrell walking shoes I already have. As for looking like a huge idiot, well of course I'm sure I look foolish, but I find I'm too preoccupied with moving to really care.
Monday I finally felt some major improvement. It was Day 1 of Week 4. The workout portion (at this stage alternately walking and running) is 20 minutes, more or less, bookended by 5 minutes of warm up, and five minutes of cool down. This week there is sixteen minutes of running, with 8 minutes of walking. But when the final portion of running was done I decided to see how much longer I could keep going. I added eleven minutes. Plus, I was having fun.
@@@@@
It's been quite a few months since I last posted on this blog. It's not that I haven't been busy. I have. I've just fallen out of the habit of writing.
I've had the good fortune to work on two performance-based works.
The first was Pintame de Alma, with Seme Jatib.
The second performance-based piece which featured my video was The Last Thing You'll Ever See. This was produced by Jump-Start Performance Company. Written and performed by ST Shimi and Doyle Avant.
I did a little music video for the Push Pens.
I made a promotional video for Slab Cinema.
In fact, I've been quite productive so far this year. To catch up on my video work, head over to the "News" page on my website.
http://rebosse.com/page3.php
There are seven pieces I've produced so far in 2011 I consider creative works.
Next week Shimi and I will shoot the third video in our collaborative hoop-dance series. The video along with Shimi's live dancing will be staged at Jump-Start for an event the following week.
@@@@@
Instead of recapping the last four months, here are some photo highlights:
Working on collaborative projects with creative people.
![](<a href="http://s60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/?action=view&current=IMG_2728.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/IMG_2728.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>) 
Hanging out with friends.
Exploring hidden corners of the city.
Sampling the, um, diverse artistic offerings here in my neighborhood.
Heading out on impromptu photo safaris along the new expanded river walk.
Et cetera....
|
|
[A blog entry I wrote Wednesday night, but am just now posting.]
I was up fairly early this morning. There wasn't much to eat in the fridge which wouldn't involve some chopping, and cooking, and, well, the washing of dishes. So, I made a large cappuccino for a liquid breakfast and caught up on a few science blogs. Around 9:15 Deborah called. I wasn't sure she would remember that yesterday I had expressed interest when she asked if I might like to join her photography class out at Northwest Visa College. The exercise was long-exposure photography. She had gained access to the large theater. And armed with various lights -- battery-powered LEDs as well as some strings of Christmas lights -- she planned to have her students take turns moving around on stage in a darkened theater while wrapped in colored lights. The other students would be staged about, with their cameras on tripods, getting wierd and wonderful images.
The only problem with me answering Deborah's call was finding a parking space at Northwest Vista. That campus is fucking nuts. If they have more students than parking spaces (apparently there is some agreement with Sea World to use some of THEIR parking -- with a shuttle), well, all I can say is this incredible success story should be reflected in agressive pay raises to their instructors. But you know, I don't think that's gonna happen.
I digress.
I ended up hanging out with Deborah's students for over two hours. It was a very fun shoot. Also, she's an amazing teacher.
Here are a few images I took:
@@@@@
After the class I met up with Deborah for lunch at Los Serapes on S. Presa. I still mourn the passing of Pepe's Cafe (in he same building), but Los Serapes is pretty damn good. The special of the day was enchiladas poblano. They were happy to make Deborah's to order -- stuffed with cheese instead of chicken.
We were eating enchiladas, drinking coffee, and swapping chisme in a southside Mexicano cafe. This, by the way, defines the San Antonio artist class.
@@@@@
I had a 3pm meeting with Seme way over in her 'hood. We were supposed to meet at the Olmos Perk, a pleasant laid-back coffee shop in the yuppie enclave of Olmos Park.
Deborah came along. She's helping Seme come up with some art design for the stages of Seme's up-coming shows. The dance and multimedia performance, Pintame el Alma, will be staged at the end of the month at the Instituto de Mexico in San Antonio's HemisFair Park. And, again, the first weekend of May, at San Antonio's Little Carver Theater.
The three of us looked at the video which I had shot back on Saturday of Seme and her three dancers. We made some decisions as to what clips should be included in the video projection component of the show.
It was nice seeing the clips with two other people, each with a different background, and each with a strong set of aesthetic sensibilities.
There was one point I found myself apologizing for a very poor composition on a clip I shot. "Oh, yes, it's no good," Seme said, making no attempt to stop me from moving to the next clip, nor did she make a move to soften her pronouncement with placating diplomacy. And I was in no way offended, We were all being amazingly candid. It's wonderful being around other people with a common artistic language. This so rarely happens amongst my peer group. And I'm not just shitting on the local filmmakers (though most of them can neither compose nor light themselves out of their own assholes) -- the lack of aesthetic sensibilities amongst so many of the artists in this city is simply amazing. I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or vomit. I try not to do the latter in fear that one of these ham-handed naifs will scoop up my GI expulsions with his or her vellum MFA diploma and have it framed and hung in a place of prominence in his or her next show. We need educated and honest art critics working for the local papers in this city. A wake-up call is long over-due.
What was I saying? Oh, honesty. Yes. We need to be comfy when our peeps call our work crap. Because that might well mean it's time to reassess. I'm trying to stop making crap (and yes, I know, I'm a damn slow learner) -- so please, the rest of you, try doing the same. Pretty simple, eh?
@@@@@@@
Later, when I returned home, I discovered that one of the recent video gigs I had done for free (and happily, I should say) resulted in a check in my mailbox. Wow! Money which I actually need.
Angels are everywhere. And I'm thrilled that some of them are my dear friends.
I should point out that the work I did on this particular project -- like the video I shot for Seme -- is damn fine. I am finally comfortable putting my recent video work against anyone else shooting in San Antonio.
Perhaps I should have higher aspirations. I'm an old man who has been doing this sort of work for almost a decade. But, what can I say. I'm a slow learner. A VERY slow learner.....
|
|
(Written Sunday, Posted Tuesday)
It's a quiet Sunday night. Fiesta is finally over. And to be honest, I barely knew it was happening. In years previous, I would make a conscious decision to avoid driving through downtown during this elven day booze-up. And, to be honest, that keeps me pretty well removed from the action. That is, of course, until the final Fiesta weekend. And then there's no way I can ignore it. I live at ground zero of the King William Parade. The parade is staged two blocks from me. It passes in front of my house. It's a blast. And it gives my neighbors, more gentile than trailer trash, an opportunity (by that I mean, an excuse) to begin a long weekend of family fun and binge drinking.
I awoke early Saturday morning. I'd been up late the night before, working on a few projects as well as formatting video cards and charging batteries for my Saturday morning shoot with Seme. I'd convinced her to shoot over near Roosevelt Park, because I thought the area was aesthetically interesting, and yet far enough removed from the Fiesta bullshit so that we could work relatively undisturbed.
A little bit before eight I headed out. Eight in the morning. My next door neighbor was standing at the curb with a champaign bottle. He launched a cork across the street. And he was answered by a single volley from the other side. And thus at least two Fiesta parties were suddenly underway with mimosas and, I presume, frittatas. (This is exactly why I miss my former neighbor, Alex. He would have waited until a reasonable hour to get up. Like ten minutes before the parade began. And then, if he saw me, he'd graciously invite me to join him in a breakfast of Lone Star Beer and barbacoa tacos.)
It was easier for me to walk to the place where we were shooting. The whole neighborhood was shut down, with street closures and barricades because of the parade. I had a shoulder bag with my camera, a spare lens, extra batteries and CF cards, and a bunch of filters. I also had my tripod and a monopod in a bag with a shoulder strap.
A block beyond the champagne neighbors I stopped to talk with Connie. She's not one of the gentrifier's. Her family grew up in this neighborhood. She had just finished driving some five-foot lengths of rebar into her lawn. These were to be the post to support the orange plastic contraction fence she was putting up. I stopped and raised an eyebrow. "What? I almost lost my lawn to the drought. It's finally coming back. You think I want these parade people stomping around -- urinating, even -- on my lawn? They can set up their chairs on the other side of the sidewalk." She caught her breath and started laughing. "You do what you have to. I mean, I love the parade. And I'm going to be cheering as loud as anyone else."
I smiled and nodded and left her to her impromptu fence-building.
The site where I was to meet Seme Jatib and her dancers was about a fifteen minute stroll from my place along the extended San Antonio Riverwalk. You go past Brackenridge High School, continue under the railroad bridge, and turn right on Lone Star Boulevard. It's hardly a boulevard. But it is the street where Lone Star Beer once had their central brewery.
The place we were to to be shooting at was this weird industrial building which is used, somehow, for flood control along the San Antonio River. I really need to learn more about this structure. I've shot there before. I love the architecture of the place. There are several other matching structures around town which also seem to regulate the flow of the river. I think there might be a fun little documentary there….
When Seme showed up, we toured the area. She arrived with her husband, Kevin, and her fellow dancers, Serena, Tiffany, and Mario. We hit upon a few good places to shoot. I was shooting video on my Canon 7D while Kevin (a very accomplished photographer) was shooting still images on his Nikon.
I love working with dancers. It's a simple proposal. Let's say you're a filmmaker, and people with beautiful bodies who are very accomplished at moving their bodies through weird and wonderful and aesthetically satisfying positions want to know if you'd be interested in filming them. If you shrug and mumble that, naw, you don't really like dance….well, sir or madam, you're a fucking moron. There's nothing sweeter than shooting bodies in motion.
Here's a shot of all four dancers in a playful pose.
Below is a raw and unedited bit of me shooting my friend Seme. Who wouldn't want to to be running camera when beautiful people are doing stuff like this? So, you say you don't like dance? What if you could take a camera and move into the flow of action and shoot people like this? Dance is about liberation. And people who hate it are afraid of freeing themselves. Oh, I know. I'm still one of those people. This is why I'm so enamored by dancers. They do what I dream to do.
Click on the link below to see some beautiful video:
vimeo.com/22638576
@@@@@@
I headed home and took a nap. The parade was over. And there was no reason to head over to the King William Fair. I resent having to pay to attend what's essentially an over-sized block party.
And a couple hours later, after clearing off a couple of CF cards and making sure my camera batteries were all charged, I headed out. I had been asked to video tape URBAN-15 as they performed in the Fiesta Flambeau Parade. This is one of the last grand events of Fiesta.
My neighbor had my truck blocked in from all her guests attending her barbecue. It took a few minutes of moving three cars, and I was able to squeeze out of the driveway.
But, dammit, when I reached the URBAN-15 studio, the buses had already left. I let myself in. As I was using one of the computers in the front office to see what buses I would have to take to get to the parade staging area over near the Pearl complex on the other side of downtown, I was interrupted by one of the wives of one of the URBAN-15 drummers. She was helping prepare the post-parade party in the courtyard.
"You'll never get there by bus," she said. "It's Fiesta. They're all detouring and unpredictable."
She offered to drive me as close as possible to the parade starting point.
What a relief.
I was able to meet up with the 50 or so URBAN-15 drummers, dancers, and support team. I knew that at the end of the parade I could get into the bus with them. This would work out perfectly, as my truck would be waiting at the other end to get me home.
Here's a shot of one of the lovely URBAN-15 dancers getting ready for the parade.
Last year I also shot URBAN-15 in the parade. This year I was about 20 pounds heavier. And, occurring to two people timing the event, the parade moved much faster this year. Back in 2010 there were many occasion when we'd stop moving, and the dancers would perform for a section of the crowd. This was great for me. I could move around, getting some good shots. Last year it took about 80 or 90 minutes for URBAN-15 to complete the parade. This year it was 62 minutes. It was almost a run. And because I'm old and fat, it about killed me. I had to run forward, set up my camera on my monopod, and shoot the group as they filed by. And then I had to move, double time, back to the front of the group…and they were hardly ever at standstill.
When we got on the bus, I was beat.
But it was a blast. I saw Cindy before the parade started. No surprise. She and Ray are in that neighborhood. And I'm pretty sure I saw Michael Soto. He and his family paused to have a picture taken with a couple of the URBAN-15 dancers. And along the parade route I saw, in the crowds, Veronica and Joe. I saw Max. And I also encountered some fellow video guys. Alejandro. And, later, Smiley.
Back at the URBAN-15 studio, everyone dispersed, stowing away equipment and costumes. Catherine stuck a beer in my hand, and I went out to chill on a picnic bench in the courtyard. After awhile the dancers and drummers began filing out. George made some speeches. The caterer explained what she had created. And then we lined up for eats.
The food was amazing. And the performance, also, had been amazing. This was a hungry crew feasting on their just rewards. Everyone was still stoked with adrenaline. I enjoy being around that kind of energy. After a couple more drinks and some wonderful food, I quietly made my exit.
|
|
I hope I remember to get my IRS extension in the mail before the Monday deadline. I hate tax time. My returns are always so convoluted and daunting. But that's not really the reason I have been filing extensions these last few years. The problem is that because all the work I do is of a freelance nature, and there is no employer withholdings, I tend to have to pay a sizable chunk to the IRS, even though I'm living at the poverty level. I did get a new camera and a new computer n 2010. Maybe if I completely write those off with no annual depreciation, I might soften the financial burden when I have to pay six months from now.
@@@@@
I piddled away and did little of consequence today. Thankfully Deborah called up and asked me out this evening, thus pulling me from my malaise. She wanted to show off her new computer. We talked about our various projects, as well as Seme Jatib's dance performances coming up which we are both helping out on.
I often find myself getting so pissed off that this wonderfully creative city can be so divided. We artists in San Antonio divide ourselves along class and ethnic lines. But we also divide ourselves along disciplinary lines. It occurred to me tonight, while talking with Deborah, that she has had an enormous impact on how I act around artists from varied backgrounds. She's never allowed these old San Antonio divides to stop her from befriending and collaborating with artists from various backgrounds. And, certainly, there is no one in San Antonio more comfortable crossing cultures and disciplines than Deborah Keller-Rihn. Painting, photography, sculpture, dance, film, performance art, religious rituals, etc. She's introduced me to so many incredible people. But also, she's taught me, through example, how easy it is in this city to reach out to fellow artists and build rewarding collaborative work.
Also, Deborah and I know how important it is to use works-in-collaboration to try and bridge these petty divides.
We are both thrilled that an artist of Seme Jatib's caliber was reached out to us to help on her up-coming dance performances. I will be providing video clips to be used for the multi-media projections. Deborah will work on the stagecraft design.
@@@@@
Kiko Martinez wrote a piece about the San Antonio Neighborhood Film Project. I've only seen the online version of the article. I need to get the newspaper tomorrow. I'm curious if the group photo of me, Manny, Rod, and Scott (a photo, I believe, taken by Rod's wife) is in the print edition. I have a couple of quotes. Pretty cool.
Click here for the newspaper piece.
I have no problem engaging with the media. I've been interviewed probably twenty times during the eight or so years I've lived in San Antonio. My pontifications have made their way to print, radio, and TV. Almost always I have been turning on the chin music, the balloon juice, the gassy blather to promote the works of other people. On rare occasion (like in this piece) I get to blow air into my own horn.
Follow the link above.
@@@@@
I should be working on the first of two promo viral videos for the Push Pens. I was hoping the first would be ready tonight. But as it's now "tomorrow" morning, I think we'll have to wait until a Friday night release.
This first promo will be a bit of theater and a bit of music. We shot it in the theater. It will give people a good idea of what the show's like.
Here's a behind the scenes shot of the three Push Pens, with director Steve Bailey.
The second promo we shot last night at the PediCab Bar. It's more of a music video. And we still need another night of shooting.
I was a lot of fun. I am so in love of shooting HD video with the Canon 7D. Stick a fast lens on the camera (I'm using a 50mm f 1.4 lens, which is longer than I really want, but it does look great!), and you've got a lovely look!
Bars are perfect places to shoot with these new breeds of HD video-enable DSLRs. Move your subjects around to the most flattering pool of light. Find a sweet compromise between ISO and f-stop, while keep the shutter speed at a 50th of a second (if you're shooting at 24 frames per second).
The concept behind this particular Push Pens song, "Pretty Packages," is that pretty people bring opportunities of love into your life often when you're quite happily in another relationship. And the question is, how will you deal with it?
The Push Pens are Dino Foxx, Cros Esquivel, and Billy Munoz. Here Billy is the bartender. The two parallel stories are about Dino and Cros, two best buds, one gay, one straight. Dino is being seduced by a pretty guy; Cros is half-heartedly fighting off a pretty girl.
And there there's Steve Bailey, the director of the up-coming Push Pens' show at Jump-Start. He was there at the shoot, doing this great job of shouting out suggestions of what the actors should be doing. We weren't running sound, so this was fine. But better than fine, it was a blast to have Steve on set. He helped to move things along fairly quickly. And he had us all laughing and at ease.
I've known that I would really like Steve for years, but he's rather stand-offish. But lately I've been privileged to see him work. He's just the sort of brilliant. committed, playful, wise, and sweet man I always wanted him to be.
Here are some screen-grabs fro the shoot.
@@@@@
Saturday is usually my one time to partake of Fiesta (the two week San Antonio spring bacchanalia). This is the King William Parade. It's a blast. It goes down my street. I love it.
But this year I'm shooting some video of Seme Jatib and her dancers for her up-coming shows in late April and early May.
Not hanging out at the parade seems so wrong! But I will be doing something equally cool.
I'm really looking foreword to this shoot with Seme!
|
|
Sunday.
I know I grumble with grating frequency about all the free work I do on other people's projects. I'm beginning to wonder if I even like this film and video stuff. But back on Friday morning (fresh back from a week in el despoblado) I headed over to San Antonio College to help Amanda Silva on her new short film. I've known Amanda for about seven years. She acted in my third narrative short film, back when she was just 17. She's smart, creative, and curious. Also, she's involved in community-driven art projects. So, of course I was willing to help her out. Even is she hadn't helped me out so much in the past on my projects, I'd still be keen to assist her in whatever creative ideas she wants to develop.
I showed up with an assortment of camera and audio equipment. She was also being assisted by Alejandro Rodriquez (a young filmmaker who's been enjoying considerable success lately), as well as a fellow student from her SAC film class. As we moved through various locations on campus we were joined by her three actors. Alejandro was the second camera operator with a borrowed 7D. And because my 7D had a fast prime lens, I was shooting the close-ups, with Alex doing the wide and medium shots.
Our main character was played by a lovely young woman from Austin. It was a joy to shoot extreme close-up shots of her looking pensively off into the distance. The other two performers were also great to work with. It was a long and fun day of shooting. I enjoy Amanda's company. And everyone else was also having a good time. I know that I collected some gorgeous shots of beautiful people. But, I hope that I was able to capture all the shots that Amanda's going to need when she gets around to editing.
Here's a photo of the lead actress:
So, last night I realized I have been working on three projects of late where I shot some lovely digital video on my beloved Canon 7D. I made a quickie video with clips from Amanda's project: some stuff I shot while vacationing in the desert of southern Presidio County; and some tasty slow motion footage I shot for Slab Cinema (a project I need to start editing together later this week). But I was happy to be able to upload some beautiful images I had shot onto FaceBook so I could share them with others.
Click on this link to view the video.
Tonight I went out to a parking-lot on the northside to watch URBAN-15 in a dress rehearsal for their upcoming performance in Fiesta's Flambeau Parade. I shot some video and made a quick edit which I uploaded to FaceBook.
Click here to see URBAN-15.
And tomorrow I'm working with the Push Pens at Jump-Start Performance Company. I'm shooting a part of their upcoming show. Some video they can use to promote the show. And Wednesday night, me and the Push Pens will shoot one of their poems / songs as a sort of music video. I'm looking forward to both nights.
Even though only one of these five projects will pay me, I'm still having a blast. It really comes down to a question of who I'm working with. These are all people who smile at me and seem to enjoy my company. And I like them, too. So, if you want my help, and I'm being vague or uncommunicative, it's probably because I think you're an asshole and/or an individual with the aesthetic sensibilities of a flatworm or someone who works in public relations.
If I like you, you probably know it (I sure hope so!), and if I don't, well, please stop calling. You're giving me the creeps.
|
|
It's Friday night now. Last night I arrived back home to San Antonio from occupied Redford,Texas. The whole of southern Presidio County is (as usual) lousy with Border Patrol and other assorted men in uniform terrorizing the locals.
The plan was to get away for a week or so and visit my friends down in the desert. Also, I thought I might shoot some interviews of people, with a bit of cacti and mountains thrown in for b-roll, and see if I might return with something I could submit to the Texas Monthly film contest.
The first person I interviewed was Rosendo Evaro. When I lived in Redford, about twenty years ago, Rosendo was already an old man. Now he certainly qualifies as one of the town's elders. I've always enjoyed Rosendo's wry humor. But as Redford's most committed capitalist, perhaps not everyone is a fan. Years ago, when he was farming cotton on his land, day laborers would come and work in the fields (back then it was legal along the border). One of the guys from Palomas (the tiny town across in Mexico) wrote a corrido about Rosendo, claiming he was so pinche that he paid a one-legged man only half a days wage, because he was only half a man. I assume it loses something in the translation. And, really, who of us gets to have a corrido written about him. I believe Rosendo's somewhat proud of this fleeting fame.
Rosendo has spent his life trying to scrape a living in the poorest region in the poorest county in Texas. Through hard work he's managed to take care of his family. But it was never easy. and because of his tenacity (opportunism, if you will), Rosendo's life parallels the ups and downs of the Redford economy.
The problems in the farming industry in Redford are rather complicated, involving the US government's slippery laws which allowed, at times, Mexican day laborers to freely cross in the border regions, as well as NAFTA, which did a number on small farms along the US-Mexican border, on both sides. But by the time I arrived in Redford in the early 1990s Rosendo had stopped farming. He rented his land out to other families. The cash crop at the time was alfalfa, and Rosendo's hay fever forced him to change careers.
When I moved to the area, Rosendo was the hardest working man in the town. He was about 60 at the time. He turned his old packing shed into a convenience store. He also built several apartments which he rented out to the Outward Bound field school. The Redford Post Office was moved into the store and Rosendo became the local Postmaster (the previous Postmistress had worked out of the living room in her house half a mile down the road). And Rosendo also drove the school bus. (The story of education in Redford is long and sad -- Redford is in the Marfa school district, and there was a time when they bused the kids to school ninety miles away.)
As I interviewed Rosendo, I was surprised to learn that his convenience store had been built just a year before I arrived. It had seemed so well integrated into the community.
Everything seemed to be going fairly well for the year or so I lived there.
But things started to really go down hill when high school student Esequiel Hernandez was gunned down by an ill-trained group of Marines on a covert operation as part of this obscene "war on drugs" (which is quickly morphing into the Mexican front of the "war on terrorism"). Half of the town was related to Esequiel, and everyone loved him. Even the infamously pinche Rosendo dug deep into his savings to help send a delegation of Redford citizens to Washington and remove the Marines from the border.
Because there are already plenty of documentaries about this horrible incident, I never asked Rosendo to talk about Esequiel. Besides, I knew it to be a very painful memory, still.
Instead, he told me that because the Marfa Independent School District shut down the one-room school house in Redford and took with them that little bus, Rosendo lost one of his many jobs. With no school, they had no need for a school bus driver.
And then the war on terrorism. A month after 9/11 the federal government closed all the legal crossings in Big Bend except for the International Bridge at Presidio / Ojinaga. The footbridge at Candelaria was dismantled. The chalupas (the little boats) at Redford, Lajitas, Boquillas, etc. were all shut down.
And this is why Rosendo closed his store. You see, the population of the little hamlets across the river in Mexico is greater than on the US side, and therefore the majority of Rosendo's customers were coming from Mexico. Remember, this was a legal crossing. And when it was shut down, it wasn't just commerce which was impacted. There were families divided. Siblings, cousins, and even parents and their children were suddenly denied what was once their sense of extended community. And then there was Rosendo. He told me with a smile and a shrug, "I remember the year I sold 35 thousand dollars of Bud Light. But when the chalupa stopped running, I couldn't go on."
In 2008 a huge flood came into Presidio and Redford. Heavy rains were filling the reservoirs in Mexico which were fed by the Rio Conchos. The Mexican authorities began releasing enormous amounts of water to control their flooding. But the Conchos feeds directly into the Rio Grande. This was the worst flood in recorded history for the region. Redford was cut off. The river road was washed away both towards Presidio and towards Lajitas. The entire farming fields were inundated. The levee was destroyed. And when the waters receded, requests for federal assistance were met with a terse reply that the land wasn't of great enough value to rebuild the levee system. Nothing has been done to restore the farm lands.
And then there's the Outward Bound field school. I don't know how long they'd been in Redford. But I do know two important things. Their Big Bend adventures were immensely popular. And they were a huge economic driver in a town which could no longer farm. The organization rented houses and apartments from five families that I knew of. They also paid some of the locals to use their land up in the foothills of the Bofecillos Mountains for camping. No one in Redford has a clear idea of why Outward Bound pulled their most popular school. The speculation is that the continued government propaganda that Redford is the drug capital of the southwest had given them cold feet. (I know these people. The only citizens of Redford with enough money to need a financial advisor would be the parents of Esequiel Hernandez who were awarded a couple million from the US government who murdered their son, the most innocent person on the border.) So, without the Outward Bound rent, Rosendo has placed a big For Sale sign in front of what was once a decent operation. But now it's just a cluster of empty buildings in front of a half-mile strip of dusty and now un-irrigable farmland which runs down to a river patrolled by paranoid passive-aggressive assholes, the Border Patrol, who seem to mainly consist of skittish city-boys in their mid-20s.
Que cosa!
@@@@@
The other interview I did was with my friend Enrique Madrid, If you've ever seen a documentary about the Big Bend region, it's likely to feature Enrique. Even the great Michael Wood talked with Enrique in the Cabeza de Vaca section ("All the World is Human") of his four part BBC production, Conquistadors. You can see him in Alan Govenar's excellent documentary, The Devil's Swing. He's a prominent figure in heart-breaking POV documentary, The Ballad of Esequiel Hernandez. He's also in this low budget documentary about the closing of the Texas border crossings called, I believe, The River Never Divided Us. It's weird, but I have seen all these four films in the living room of Enrique and Ruby Madrid's home, in Redford, Texas. And each of these viewings would slip into deep and lengthy discussions of border issues.
Anyway, all I wanted from Enrique was something light and simple. I hoped to create a short film which, if nothing else, would be a vehicle to humanize these beleaguered people who have been shamefully libeled as immoral criminals.
After an amazing meal of asada, with rice and beans and homemade corn tortillas, I set up my camera in the Madrid's backyard. It was night. The clear sky brought down Orion and the Pleiades, close enough to touch. I set an old steel tubed chair in from of a mid-sized cactus tree. I placed my little battery-powered camera light on a battered table off to an angle. And then I coaxed Enrique into the hot seat. I wired him up with a lavaliere microphone and he told me about what this little town was like when he was a kid. He told me about the Gypsies who used to come across from Mexico. They'd buy goods from his father's shop. And they'd read palms, tell fortunes, and they would show films from an old rickety 16 millimeter projector against the white washed wall of the adobe church. He told of the old timers who still followed the Indian ways of their grandparents, building sweat lodges, fashioning moccasins, and giving morning thanks to the gods of nature, such as Sierra Rica, the mountain to the south which brings the rains. He told me about the current economic privations, as well as the intrusive nature of all the armed men in uniform on the border. "They say that every seven seconds men think about sex." Enrique looked down at his hands. Then he looked back up. "Every seven seconds, we think about the Border Patrol." He paused. "I wish we could think about sex." His thoughts on the future of Redford were not terribly heartening. But, because Enrique identifies with his Jumano Indian ancestors who have been in the area of for thousands of years, he takes the long view. "Our people have been farming this region for over 3500 years. I suspect we'll be here for thousands of more years." He shrugged and offered a sad, pragmatic smile.
@@@@@
Before heading back from the Big Bend, I harvested a medium amount of popotillo (AKA, Mormon Tea, Apache Tea, Ephedra, Soma, etc.). This common desert shrub is perfectly legal. You boil the sticks for about 20 minutes. The infused water is a great relief for bronchial obstruction, such as that caused by asthma. But it also gives you a bit of a lift, but not so ragged as caffeine. Back when I lived in Redford I would take ten mile hikes during the insanely hot afternoon hours. My canteen was usually filled with popotillo water. Refreshing, and you could walk forever.
I also was carrying three leafy branches of creosote (AKA, Greasewood). My sister wanted this common desert plant to hang in her home. Creosote is a humble and ignoble botanical critter, beautiful in its own way. Whenever I walk past a creosote plant -- especially if it's dried and dying -- I reach over, strip off some of the leaves, rub them to dust in my hands, and then I inhale the scent from my hands. It's the smell of the desert. A mixture of ozone, blood, and soil. When rain falls in the Chihuahua Desert, the smell is magical, evocative -- it's the smell of water on the backs of the dry and thirsty creosote bushes.
Anyway, I made sure to put these suspicious botanical samples in the bed of my pick-up. On my drive from Redford to Dallas I passed through two (or was it three?) Border Patrol checkpoints. I only noticed confusion once. The guy was leaning over the edge of my truck, clearly looking at the plants, which were openly displayed. He blinked and wet his lips. And instead of asking "what the fuck is that?", he stepped back from my truck, swallowed, and told me to have a nice day as he waved me through.
I wanted to wink, and tell him that I thought about him every seven seconds, but I just returned his guy-to-guy nod, and drove on.
Fuck the border. All borders. We're human. This is our planet. Goodbye nation states, goodbye. Brothers and sisters, you're now free to walk around your world. I hope to see you all soon!
@@@@@@
Here's a pretty picture I took of the Rio Grande.
@@@@@
And here's a taste of my next blog post. This is a still from a film I'm shooting for my good friend Amanda Silva.
And so now, good night!
|
|
(Friday.)
Well, the diagnosis on my computer was dire. It's back with me, but with a new hard drive, and lighter by about 200 gigs of miscellaneous files. Hell, I don't even know what's missing. So, tonight I begin the long process or reinstalling Final Cut Studio. This is a massive suite of programs which will clog up this new hard drive with over 50 gigabytes of stuff. The first things I put on were the browsers I actually use. Firefox and Google Chrome. For some reason, I just can't warm to Safari. Also, Handbrake and MPEG Streamclip (handy workhorses for video hackery). And you gotta have VLC, as a great universal (and free) media player.
The biggest pain in the ass was one lost file. A little and seemingly inconsequential Final Cut project file. This is what kept track of all my cuts and fades and effects of an 18 minute edit of the last Windows Performance for Jump-Start. About 15 hours of work has vanished. I still have the original HD video files, so I'm not in panic mode, just surly and bitchy.
@@@@@
One of the more constructive things I accomplished today was to get my CAAP proposal off to OCA. OCA is the Office of Cultural Affairs. Most local artist know them because of the funding they provide to art and cultural organizations, as well as individual artists. They have a sizable budget, which is principally pulled from a percentage of the San Antonio hotel / motel tax. One of their new programs is the Community Arts Access Program. This initiative will allow the creation of a San Antonio artists roster. Artists and art organizations submit proposals of what they have to offer to communities. If they are chosen, then they will be placed on the roster list. Community organizations, cultural centers, schools, etc, can then request these artists, performers, groups, and such. The artists will get their full fee. OCA will match the fee on a sliding scale of 50% down to I believe 25% (depending on the total amount). It's similar to successful programs which have been presented by Humanities Texas and the Texas Commission on the Arts. One big downside is that it actually puts the onus on the artists to get out and hustle and find community organizations to invite them to come do their thing.
The two videos I wanted to use for work samples were also lost on the Great Hard Drive Crash of 2011. But I had a third option. I went with that.
As I filled out the online proposal form last night and this morning, it occurred to me that my proposal might not fit the criteria. I offered what I called a Digital Documentation Workshop. I would work with various arts and cultural organizations, training their staff on how to record their projects and events using digital video cameras, audio recorders, and nonlinear editing systems. The hands-on workshop would also include taping one of their events or performances and making sure that, by the time the workshop had wrapped, they had a finished piece. These videos could be used for their archives, to broaden their audiences by posting video files online, and to create more polished and professional video clips when seeking grant funding.
Because what I'm proposing isn't in itself art, I hope I don't get kicked out in the early stages before I have a chance to defend the proposal.
@@@@@
(Saturday.)
I woke up too late to make it to the Cesar Chavez March. Bummer. I love that feeling of positive group energy. If you've never marched in a rally, you're missing out on an amazing experience. This is when you truly understand that the streets belong to the people, And if we ever become as complacent as I fear we will, it will be because fewer and fewer people and organizations take to the streets for events, rallies, demonstrations, and even parades. I remember once my sister asked me why I sometimes join with bicycle clubs on group rides. I couldn't give her an answer. I had to confess that it's just one of those things you have to experience for yourself. And I hate giving lame answers like that.
So, blowing off the Chavez march began a series of shirking other cool events I had wanted to attend. The Dignowity Park Pushcart Races. And the events put on by my friends at the American Indians of Texas (AIT-SCM) down on their land on the far southside.
I did, however, manage to take a short bike ride out along the Mission Trail. It is finally Spring, and there is no turning back. The swampy and rich fecundity wafting from that creek which feeds into the San Antonio River near MIssion San Jose was filled with all the odors of hatching mosquitos, the fruity-tinged scent of the mountain laurel, sun-warmed mud, algae blooms, and all the earthy agitations which come from the rising of the sap, from flora and fauna alike -- all those birds and bees and horny feral dogs back in the thickets. I feel we've finally emerged from that dark tunnel of winter. Fuck, yeah!
@@@@@
The big deal was Saturday night. I had a short film, "A Bourbon Would Be Nice," screening at the Guadalupe Theater. It was selected to screen with over a dozen other entries to the Neighborhood Film Project contest. I was pretty sure I wouldn't win the $3,000 prize for best film in the Southside division. I had seen Rod Guajardo's short, and realized it was, um, well, a bit better then mine. But still, I wanted to see all the work; support my fellow local filmmakers; have my peers, cast, crew, and anonymous audience members, see my piece; also, I wanted to see how it played to a live audience (I'm still not sure if I want to fix the obvious problems and send it off to festivals, or just put it to bed and move on to the next project).
Click on this sentence to view the film on my Vimeo page.
Lisa Suarez is my star. I very much wanted her to see the piece, so I asked her to be my date some weeks back. This gave him time to contact a "Mami-sitter" to look after her mother, who has Alzheimer's.
I was happy to have a good turn-out of my cast and crew. Below is a photo of Amanda, sporting a new 'doo.
There was Lisa and I. Deborah came to join us. Shimi. Amanda. Nikki. And there were other supportive people around. Many of the cast and crew of Robb Garcia's film were sitting in the row in front of us. Nikki, with her PrimaDonna Production posse, was across the aisle. The place was filled with many artistic people who I truly care about and who I respect. I felt very honored to be in such company. And my row had the coolest people. Amanda Silva, who I've known since she was 17. She was an amazing teen, and is now an even more amazing adult, A wonderful actress, performance artist, writer, producer, and so on. And then there was ST Shim, who I'm been so lucky to have befriended. We have collaborated on several projects. She is a wonderful actress, dancer, writer, and, well, she's just incredible. And then Lisa Suarez. I don't know her all that well yet. She's an insanely gifted actress and writer, I certainly know that. And a warm and wonderful human being. I hope to work with her on future projects. And then there was also Deborah Keller-Rihn, one of my best friends. An important local artist who allows me to occasionally conscript her into helping me on my little movie projects. I hope my dependance on Deborah hasn't kept her from doing her own work, because I think she's one of San Antonio's top visual artist. I sometimes wonder if I'd still be hanging around San Antonio if she wasn't here.
The films began. They were broken up by the four regions. There were 16 in all. One might think that there would be four films for each region. And because there were two categories, student filmmakers and non-student filmmakers, it should have been the two strongest student films and the two strongest non-student films per each four regions. But one of the problems was that the Eastside only had two entries. Just two fucking entries!?!? And no student entry. This threw symmetry out the window.
Let me just say that I am not $3,000 richer (Rod won for the southside, and I applaud the judges, his piece is very well done -- were I a judge I may well have awarded his piece more points than my own). But, and here's the cool thing, while my piece screened, the people in the audience laughed when they were supposed to. I succeeded in entertaining people. And maybe, just maybe, the audience response has pushed me towards reshooting three scenes, adding three new scenes, and doing a bit of ADR ... and then sending the piece off to the festivals. There is this major reality gap when your friends are giving you critical feedback. Your friends suck at this. And actors are even worse. And actor friends .... are you nuts? Anyway, I'll switch this around and look at that one scene which people say they like most. The scene with Shimi and Chris. I agree. This is my favorite scene. It has the best acting, the besting lighting, the best location, the best background distraction (the very very sexy Shimi), the best audio, and, well, just the best sense of playfulness. So, if people are praising what I think is the most praiseworthy scene, it helps me to feel that I'm not too filled with absurd self-delusion (and, let me tell you, there's that in shit-loads amongst San Antonio independent filmmakers). But, people, help me out. If you don't want to tell me when I suck (and, really, I can take it), tell me when I DON'T suck. That also helps.
Mostly I agreed with the judges' decisions. I'm proud for us all. And when I saw Joy-Marie Scott, one of the judges, I had to walk over and tell her how much I loved her FaceBook comment which she posted following the screening session for the judges. (Let me add that Joy has recently moved to San Antonio from the California Bay Area). Here's what Joy wrote: "A few Saturdays ago, I was lucky enough to screen all the film projects in competition -- what a way to get a crush on the city. I can't wait to see the finalists on the big screen, and then I'm gonna search out those fish hanging from the bridge and the horses Southsiders keep in their garages."
I was quite put off by the low turn-out. I'm not sure how many people the Guadalupe can fit, but the place was only about half-filled. Last year the event was held at SAMA, They filled up that auditorium (not too much smaller than the Guadalupe), and at the last minute they created a second screening.
So, by having the event on the westside, we lost serious audience. I don't blame the westside. I blame ill-educated audiences. They need to learn that not only is the westside safe and friendly, it's also pretty fucking hip.
Well, it was a great night.
One of the more high-profile after-parties was over at the El Tropicano Hotel. This party was put together by Rod Guajardo's better half (and trust me, he's a handsome guy, but reserve judgment until you meet Rosemary, because, well, oh my goodness). The party served to celebrate the whole night of great films. But also we were celebrating Rod's birthday. It was all very sweet.
Here's a photo of Roman Garcia, Me, and Lisa Suarez.
Around midnight I dropped Lisa off at her home. She needed to let her Mami-sitter leave. And I headed home. After I was back home at my computer, more than a bit inebriated, I got a text from Rod. It seemed the after-party had become an after-after-party at the Pedicab Bar and Grill. I ignored the text. I was already home. And ten minutes later, the phone rang. It was Rod. A bit drunk. I let him know I'd be at the Pedicab Bar in ten minutes, but he'd better buy me a beer, because last call was coming up fast.
The Pedicab Bar is maybe four blocks away from my place as he crow flies. But there's that pesky river. So I decided to drive. I was there in maybe five minutes. It was my first visit to the Pedicab Bar. Funny, I had tried to get the Bike Porn traveling film fest there many months ago. And I had written a short story where a fictionalized version of my actor / wrestler friend Gabe the Babe works as one of the Pedicab drivers for a somewhat fictionalized version of this bar and pedicab business. I was happy to find that it was just the sort of laid-back cool divey venue I had thought it to be.
And even though when I walked in to some motherfucking Karaoke, the coolnes of the place wasn't diminished. The place is raw and punk. And no amount of flirtation with mainstream bullshit will strip away the Pedicab Bar's friendly fuck-you attitude. I like the place.
I hate, and I mean absolutely hate stand-up-comedy. But when I arrived there was my friend Roman Garcia, actor and comic, He took to the stage (there were very few people in the bar). He did a version of his recent act. But very laid-back. He was talking to us, and responding to us. But not in some antagonistic format. The bottom line was that Roman was giving Rod a wonderful present -- a free performance. I have to say it was one of the most sweet and playful stand-up routines I've ever seen. If all stand-up was like this (a weird kind of community event), there might be whole new audiences. And then Roman did some Karaoke. It was a Journey song, I think. He fucking nailed it. So now I know that Roman isn't just a great actor and comedian (I already knew that), but he can fucking sing.
Jose Bañuelos was also there. I know him as an excellent actor and committed filmmaker, but until I heard him do Elvis -- and damn well -- I have to admit, I have new respect for the guy.
They eventually shut down the bar, and I was able to escape without ever having to take the stage and bellowing out some song.
The night eventually ended. I do wish I had won. Three grand would have been nice. If I won, I would have taken a thousand dollars and distributed it equally among cast and crew. And the balance I would have used for another project, where I could also pay my wonderful collaborators.
Oh, well. I'll keep trying. Maybe I'll get a bit better with each new project. That's always been the idea. And sometimes it even seems to work out that way.
@@@@@
(Sunday.)
The second screening of "A Bourbon Would Be Nice." Again at the Guadalupe Theater. It played with about a dozen other films which were submitted to the Neighborhood Film Project. The Westside and Southside, only, in keeping with, I presume, the longstanding rivalry between those two sections of the city. This was part of the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center's Cinema in the Barrio series of free movies. I was glad to have an opportunity to see some films which weren't selected to play last night. Such as a cute and polished narrative from Scott Greenberg. I was dismayed by the very thin turn out. And dumbfounded how few directors of these thirteen or so films were in attendance. Just Scott, Rod, and myself. (True, I did see Alejandro Rodriguez in the audience, and he was a central crew member on Ismael Leiva's film.) Manuel with the Guadalupe contacted all us filmmakers. Free passes for ten of our friends and a chance to get on stage for a Q&A session. Who turns their backs on that? And we three all did films for the Southside. Not a single Westside filmmaker was in attendance. And the Guadalupe is ON the Westside -- in fact, it was featured prominently in many of the Westside films. What's up? I think I know who won this throwdown.
|
|
(Wednesday.)
I'd like to credit Kellen, of Bihl Haus Arts fame, for succeeding in driving me from my house today. I had been in a horrendously useless mode. How I even managed to drag my ass to Eddie's Taco House to pick up a chilaquiles plate for breakfast at their drive-thru is beyond me. But sometime around 2:30 Kellen called to ask if I could help her burn a DVD which would loop for the Bihl Haus event Thursday night. No problem. I grabbed my laptop, a spindle of DVDs, and assorted devices (as I didn't think to ask what sort of media I would be working with). I headed over to C4.
She showed up with a DVD, what I refer to as a "playable DVD," meaning one which is encoded for a DVD player. I would have preferred a file, but ever since I've learned the ropes on HandBrake (a wonderful and free piece of software for ripping files from DVDs) I am no longer daunted by these sorts of procedures. After a couple of false starts, I had a disk formated the way she wanted. And finally I was able to see the video. This was the Bihl Haus offering for Luminaria. It's about 6 minutes. The narrator is Barbara Renaud Gonzalez reading her own words. I'd never given much thought to how much strength of character her voice carries. Wow. Also, there was an appearance of Marisela Barrera's adorable little girl.
Coincidently, I'm finishing up a quickie edit of a video clip of Marisela where she took her bilingual story-telling talents to a classroom of very young and very excited kids. (When I shot the performance one of the boys asked if I was Superman. Kids these days must be used to setting their bar very low. I tried my best to let him know that, on a good day, I might aspire to be Clark Kent, but that was about it.)
The one thing I planned on doing today was to attend a free film workshop at the El Tropicano Hotel (pardon my redundancy, but I think the sentence flows better with the double-barrel bilingual article, "the El" -- also I don't want people thinking I'm trying to write Tropicana, 'cause this super cool retro hotel is all male, baby, decorated in high Rat Pack machismo: I mean, fuck, the ballrooms are named after famous brands of cigars!). Workshop? No. I knew it wasn't so much a workshop as an out-reach seminar. The idea was to let people know about the upcoming Texas Monthly short film contest, "Where I'm From." But still, it sounded like the place to be on a Wednesday night.
First, I decided to get some grocery shopping out of the way. As I was getting out of my truck at the La Fiesta on S. Flores, my cell phone rang. It was Deborah. She wanted to know if I was going to this "workshop." I said I was. And if she wanted to go, I'd pick her up after I shopped and put away my groceries.
Later I learned that she'd heard that the event started at six. I'd read the information on the Texas Monthly website which said seven o'clock. We arrived a few short minutes after six, and discovered that there was a free reception / mixer from 6 to 7, followed by the presentation. The local host for this event was the San Antonio FIlm Festival (AKA, SAFilm), which is headed by Adam Rocha. As Deborah and I were walking up to the entrance of the El Tropicano Hotel, we saw a couple of Adam's film students walking up: the uber-talented Jessica Torres and her mom, Sandra. They were accompanied by Jessica's boyfriend, whose name I'm embarrassed to say I forgot.
Inside we saw Adam in the lobby. Good thing, too. I was thinking the event was going to be held in one of the ballrooms or meeting rooms on the ground floor. Nope. Third floor. Adam let the way.
One of the first people I saw when entering the meeting room was Joy-Marie Scott. Her presence at an event is always a good indicator. There were somewhere between thirty and forty people there. And I only knew about half of them. This is good. This means new people are coming out who are interested in making movies.
Here we have Adam introducing the event.
Texas Monthly magazine is gearing up to promote the second year of their regionalism-embracing short film contest, "Where I'm From." The panelists were John Phillip Santos (filmmaker, writer, and San Antonio native son), Miguel Alvarez (San Antonio-raised Austin filmmaker), and David Gil (representative of the Austin Film Festival, who are a major partner for this contest). John Phillip talked about his experience making his first film here in San Antonio years ago. And he talked about the "Where I'm From" essay he wrote for Texas Monthly. Miguel talked about his life as a filmmaker. We also had an opportunity to watch his short film, "Kid." Well-crafted and powerful stuff. David Gil talked about, as he said, the "boring stuff," like the contest rules. Be he also gave a bit of insight into how film festivals program their screenings.
Two additional films were shown. I hope neither won best film for last year. Both were rather weak. However, because both were created by nonprofessional filmmakers, they probably appealed to the curious amateurs still sitting on the fence as to whether they wanted to do this or not.
One was from Beaumont. It was rough and raw, but it made me smile. A lot. It was basically a slide show of decently composed photographs with a quirky voice-over narration. Oh, and the occasional animation was also pretty cool. And then we were shown a piece submitted last year from San Antonio. Another voice-over narration. The writing was promising. But I assume that the filmmaker was reading his own copy. He should have hired an actor. It would have sounded less pretentious. And even though I think the narrative arc to his video essay was smart and well-thought-out, it was emotionally flat.
I'm wondering, are we supposed to see these ephemeral works of hobbyists as something to emulate, or something to exceed?
I guess it really doesn't matter. If I decide to submit something to this contest, I'll simply do my best, and hope it doesn't suck too much.
My hope is that San Antonio will be well-represented. I want loads of San Antonio filmmakers to submit. And for each of these semi-pros I want there to be at least one matching film made by an absolute amateur. I'm fine with some quasi-literate sewer worker to win with her flip camera documentary of her father's westside taco truck. You bet!
So, let's all roll up our sleeves and make some movies.
@@@@@
(Thursday.)
As I was getting ready to burn a DVD for a fellow artsy type who needs some support material for a grant, I discovered that my fancy new MacBook Pro suffered some catastrophic ailment. It began the process of booting up, but it couldn't progress beyond the corny Beatles chord, and then that pale blue screen would just star at me, with mute disinterest. I say mute, but I could just barely hear a soft clicking sound which I've always associated with dead and dying hard drives.
Remembering that one can't just tuck that laptop under one's arm and saunter into an Apple Store, I went to the nearest Apple Store's web page (thankfully I have another computer hanging about). I could find no link to make an appointment, so I of course called the store. After ten minutes of listening to Beatles music, Brent answered with a sort of chirpy disdain. I explained my problem, succinctly and calmly, and closed with, "so, could I go ahead and make an appointment?" He told me that there were three ways I could set up an appointment with one of their um geniuses. "Your iPhone, on the web, or by calling the Apple Care line .... would you like me to connect you?" I said sure.
I was at that point, of course, talking to a robot. I was instructed, by a prerecorded voice, to name the particular Apple product I was having trouble with. "MacBook Pro," I said slow and firm. "I'm sorry, but could you repeat that, please?" I did. "You've said iPod Nano." And then I was shouting into my phone, "MacBook Pro, MacBook Pro, you miserable fucking robot." I rather think that my neighbor Debby, who usually returns around this time of the afternoon, must have been a bit concerned. I hung up. And after ten minutes of poking around on the Apple Store's webpage, I finally found the labyrinth to make my appointment. 7pm.
This left me an hour to try and find away to get Mari's DVD burned. Even though the Final Cut project file was trapped on my dead computer, I still have the media file on an external hard drive. So I fired up my old rickety version of Final Cut Pro, and began processing the video the way I wanted it. I started the DVD burn, gathered up my dead laptop, power cord, original disks which came with the machine, and even a couple of external drives just in case they were able to coax it back from the brink long enough for me to tease away a couple of crucial files.
When I walked into the Apple Store, Jared pushed his glasses up his nose and asked how he could help me. I explained I had an appointment, and-- He held up a hand with a wisp of a smile. I should, he explained, check in with Marcus. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder and resumed his conversation with girl in dreadlocks. I walked towards the back of the store. I stopped in front of a young man whose tender years were telegraphed by the sad showing of an attempted mustache. "Marcus?" I asked. He nodded energetically. "Yep. And you?" I gave him my name. "I have a seven o'clock appointment." He looked down at the iPad which he cradled like a clipboard. There was my name on a spread sheet. He tapped his finger on my name. A new screen appeared. "Consider yourself checked in! Jason will be with you momentarily."
A couple of minutes later, Jason tracked me down. I followed him to a counter. I explained the problem and produced my computer. He nodded. Hooked it up to an ethernet cable. After a few minutes. "Yep, hard drive. Though it could just be the hard drive cable. And then you'd be fine. We'll check it out." He printed out some paperwork (which shocked me as a sort of throwback to the 20th century), and I signed ... with ink ... on paper. What a world. When he gave me that paper receipt I felt like snapping, "What, you want me to lug THAT around? Can't you email it to me?" But I held my tongue, least Jason or one of his tribe spit into the exposed underbelly of my beloved laptop as it lays exposed under the harsh fluorescent lights of the back warehouse.
Here's hoping it's just a bum wire, because if I have to recut that Jump-Start Fish Tale performance again, I'll open a vein (not because the [performance was bad -- quite the contrary -- but I fucked up on a couple of places whilst shooting, and it took me AGES to fix my messes). I did luck out because even though the Fish Tale files were on my sick (dead?) computer, I still have all the original files on my spare CF card.
@@@@@
I drove home, pulled the burned DVD from my lesser laptop, and I headed out to Bihl Haus Arts. This disk was going to find it's way into Mari's hands no matter what. I know she's insanely busy because she running so many events. And I wanted to make sure she got her work sample in hand on time to deliver for the grant deadline.
The Bihl Haus was putting on a multi-media performance, "I Was Born Here." The piece was directed by Virginia Grise. The text which served as the foundation was a poem by Barbara Renaud Gonzalez, one of this city's literary stars, a woman of playful wisdom and unyielding conviction. Of the four actresses who performed in various stations in the space, I was familiar with Marisela Barrera and Natalie Goodnow. Mari and Natalie were brilliant, as I knew they'd be. But everyone shined. While the performance was happening, a film component of the work screen on wall off to side. The video had been shot by my good friend Pocha Pena. Also, the video included a performance by Mari's adorable little girl, Inez. The whole space was wonderfully decorated by Deborah Vasquez; it was a chaotically cozy installation ... a sort of familiar organic psychedelia. Kellen Kee McIntyre, Executive Director of Bihl Haus Arts should be incredibly proud of all the creative individuals and forces she brought together to make this special night.
Here's one of the performers who I don't know. She kicked some serious ass!
And then I headed home. I too have a grant thingy I need to work on. The problem isn't just that the media I want to use as support material is on an absent computer, but that now as I look at the proposal form, I'm beginning to wonder if my planned proposal actually fits the criteria....
Probably I should just go to bed and work on it in the morning. Too bad I never made it to the store to replenish my coffee.
Now THAT'S upsetting!
|
|
(Monday, March 21.)
Back in 2008 I took a little tour of the old Kress building in downtown San Antonio. Dora Pena was the head of the video component for the first year of Luminaria. Several rooms on the ground floor of the building would be set aside for video projections. It was an interesting space. Rough, and in various stages of demolition from it's previous tenant, some sort of music club. Four years later (tonight, in fact) I entered the same space, now dramatically transformed into the restaurant Texas de Brazil. But the purpose of my visit was strangely similar -- an echo through time. This is where a party was being held for the 2011 Luminaria Board and Steering Committee. I invited Deborah along because it helps to have a pretty woman to hide behind when one has little to say to a bunch of people -- besides, Deborah knows about as many of these people there as do I.
We were in a side meeting room with a spread of munchies and a little bar area where a couple of guys were making some damn tasty caipirinhas. There was a point where the noise level in the room pretty much negated my ability to hear what people were saying to me (especially those of diminutive stature). So, I apologize to those of you who I was smiling and nodding to while you told me about your daughter's divorce or that recent procedure to correct a prolapsed rectum. My condolences.
Deborah and I rode the trolly from King William to the Alamo and walked the three blocks to the Kress Building. Afterwards, we walked back to our neighborhood. It was a beautiful night, and it's always a joy to walk through downtown and King William, especially with a good friend.
@@@@@
My plan is to make it out to the Big Bend in a couple of weeks. Not the National Park, but the tiny town of Redford, AKA, El Polvo. It's a tiny, impoverished farming community along the Rio Grande. The fertile river valley is between the Bofecillos Mountains on the US side, and Sierra Rica, on the Mexican side. I'd love to stay for a couple of weeks with my friends down there, but I'm involved in three projects which need my attention in April. And I can't slip out of town until the very end of this month because of an unwise commitment I made. Well, there is also a fun gig as well (some work which will actually pay!).
(I feel a need for a digressive parenthetical rant. Many of us in the arts and the production communities find ourselves, on occasion, doing work for free. There are various reasons we do this. Me? I volunteer for loads of reasons. And sometimes I never explain why. The reason, at times, might be personal, and no one needs to know. But I've come to discover that many people who I find myself helping out take my willingness to give, as a form of weakness. This must be a common mindset, because I often see people treat their unpaid crew in shockingly crass and cavalier fashion. God, I hope I don't do that to the wonderful people who have been so gracious to help me out. The bottom line is, if you ask me to help on your movie project and you don't treat me with the slightest regard, and, in the future, you wonder why I don't want to continue to do pro-bono work for you, well, it's because I have had my fill. If you've brought me on to your project and I realize I'm not there to qualitatively enhance your production (such as adding a certain technical expertise or creative insight), but, instead, I see that I'm essentially a quantitative component (another pair of hands who will show up on time), well, don't expect to see much of me in the future. This is not to say that I'm all pissy and will never help people again. Far from it. I love collaboration. But collaboration means mutual respect. I also am fine with helping intelligent and creative people on their excellent projects, if I'm quite certain that they will help me on mine. Mutuality and reciprocity kick ass! I will give until I have nothing left to like-minded and community-minded people and institutions. But ego-driven projects are pure poison to me. And the truth is, I'd rather be the first bridge someone burns than the last, because that sort of crude and dismissive behavior is bullshit--particularly when it dribbles down upon an unpaid crew.)
But I was talking about a trip to the desert. I hope that March has brought a fair amount of rain. The cactus flowers -- yellow, white, and red -- are beautiful. And the ocotillo, when in bloom, are amazing. This weird plant of twisted, thorny stalks, produces a tear-shaped cluster of blossoms at the tip of each stalk. The flowers are bright scarlet. And when they bloom, the desert is covered by a mist of red, floating five to twelve feet over the ground.
I also want to replenish my stocks of popotillo. This is a low-laying plant usually found in the arroyos. It grows as a cluster of green sticks, a little thicker than wooden matches. The plant has leaves, but they are so tiny they are often missed. Popotillo is cut from the bushy plant, allowed to dry, and boiled and drunk as a tea. It is also known as Mormon Tea and Apache Tea. The Mormon's prize it because it has a kick to it which isn't caffeine, which they avoid. The active alkaloid of popotillo is ephedrine. There is much evidence that the "soma" drink mentioned in the Vedas, half a world away from the Chihuahua Desert, utilized a plant almost identical to popotillo.
And what's it like? It's a tasty tea, when you add honey and lime. A bit bitter without. When I lived in the desert years ago I would make sure my canteen was filled with popotillo-infused water. And I would go out on ten hour hikes back into the Bofecillos Mountains in July and August, where it would get over 115 degrees. Yep. I swear I could walk all day. It's the good stuff. In fact, I'm pro-popotillo.
The truth is, I'm afraid what I'll find when I make it to Redford. It was freaky enough when I visited three or four years back and discovered that my friend Enrique had lost his leg to infection, compounded by diabetes. And while I was there he came down with some respiratory infection and was rushed to the nearest hospital over a hundred and twenty miles away where he almost died, and was eventually kicked out, still undiagnosed, because he had no insurance. The people of Redford have much in common with the people of the Rio Grande Valley, (where so many of my San Antonio friends come from). Crushing poverty, poor to nonexistent health care, and, to make life almost intolerable, they are essentially living under occupation in this insane war against drugs. In southern Presidio county there are paranoid bastards with badges over every hill and behind every bush. ICE agents, the DEA, Border Patrol, state troopers, National Guard, the US Marines (who are supposed to have been removed from the region following the shooting of Esequiel Hernandez in Redford some years back, but there are those who say they have returned), and on a good day throw in the Texas Rangers, FBI, and, if you can believe some of the locals, the CIA. All this for an empty stretch of inhospitable desert, sparsely populated by some of the poorest people in the United States. It's a pretty ugly situation. There are helicopters at night, unmanned drones, and motion detectors and hidden cameras placed on private property without the owners' knowledge.
The history of abuse and violence directed towards the American citizens of Mexican heritage along the river in the Big Bend area goes back to the 1870s when citizenship and land was offered to Mexicans to settle this wild frontier. And ever since then, they have carried a metaphoric target on their backs for any American thug in uniform with a gun and a badge. This despicable heritage goes back much longer, because the Mexicanos of the Big Bend are, for the most part, descended from the Jumanos, the indigenous people who worked this rough region before European contact. If you want to know what THEY had to put up with, ignore the history books and pick up Cormac McCarthy's grisly "Blood Meridian."
I have visited this area often over the decades. The locals call it La Junto. Or, La Junto de Los Rios. This is where the Rio Conchos joins the Rio Grande. Archeologist have learned that this region has been settled, uninterrupted, for ten thousand years. These are proud people. They once had a sort of playful defeatist outlook. But when an American Marine, with a secret drug interdiction force, happened to shoot to death a young high school student who was out taking care of his family's goats after school, well things changed dramatically on the US side of the border. A patient, pragmatic, and patriotic people were allowed to see just how ugly and boundless American institutionalized racism can be. These were law-abiding and innocent men and women who had problems mostly with the harassment of the Border Patrol agents and the corrupt legacy of Sheriff Thompson, of Presidio County, who is currently serving a life sentence for drug trafficking. But many of the men of La Junto proudly served their country in the armed services. And yet, the Marines, the best of the best, had been skulking around the farms of Redford, unknown to anyone. They were outfitted in ghillie suits which blended into the desert scrub. And when a young Marine, hunkered down with his camouflaged crew, grew suspicious of a carefree teenager, who was out walking on his family's property with a small herd of goats and a couple of dogs, and happened to be carrying an ancient rusty single shot .22 rifle ... well, some naive, ill-advised "profiling" got way out of control. We might never learn what really happened that day, but by the time the sun set, Esequiel Hernandez lay dead, having bled out before the Marines ever got around to radioing for help. And that's when it all changed on this stretch of the border. When a large region of the United States views the US Marines as monsters because their most beloved and innocent teenage citizen was slaughtered by the most noblest branch of the US military, well, something has gone terribly wrong.
The most beautiful region of Texas has been wounded. The people are still in mourning. And the occupation continues. I want to go have fun, tramping around in the desert. But I know the locals aren't the carefree gente I used to know.
We seem to always come in and fuck up paradise. We do it abroad, and we do it here at home. This is what happens when we turn our back on community.
|
|
(Friday.)
Because I don't want to retype, please allow me to cut and paste from a FaceBook comment of mine:
"Friday, March 18, 2011. Spring Break, Lent, and Friday. These factors created a perfect storm on the southside where the crowds at Rudy's Seafood on S. Flores were so massive that police were directing traffic in the parking lot. In fact, those who couldn't get in had to take sloppy seconds at the Fred's Fish Fry down the block (and I NEVER see people in there)."
I drive by this place a couple times a week and have never seen this sort of excitement. But I had a hint from Sandra Torres' FaceBook comment that she'd seen the craziness during lunchtime. Apparently they have famous lent specials. And there I was, heading to the La Fiesta to buy groceries some hours later. This would be the early dinner crowd. People were parking in obviously illegal spots. But that's fine. If you hire cops to keep order, they'll watch your back, even turning a blind eye to minor infractions of your patrons. The right lane was all cars idling with flashers for two blocks waiting their turn at the Rudy's goodness.
@@@@@
At La Fiesta is a young woman who works the registers. Her name is Disney. That's right, Disney. And yet she seems wonderfully well-adjusted. While I was waiting for my groceries to be rung up at the adjacent register, I overheard a woman tell Disney: "I love your name. My sister-in-law had two daughters who she named Merry and Melody." For my San Antonio friends, this is exactly why I shop at La Fiesta instead of Central Market (AKA the Gucci HEB).
@@@@@
My day was fairly unproductive. I did, however, deposit a smallish check into my bank over on the eastside. As I was returning, I noticed a film crew a few short blocks from my house. They were across the street from where Sam Lerma used to live, so I was pretty sure it was the crew for his new short, Lilia. I pulled over, grabbed my camera, and walked over. Producer Ralph Lopez came up. We chatted. They were in the middle of day two, with two more days scheduled. I watched the action happening across the street. There was Sam, Dago, Rosalva, and several people I recognized, but whose names I didn't know. Ralph headed off to deal with important production stuff. I crossed the street and took some photos. Between setups Sam came over and said hello. Things seemed to be running smoothly. There was a shitload of equipment, and a crew who seemed on top of things. I'm looking forward to a truly fine and polished short film. I have been a fan of Sam's vision for years. He is clearly one of the best filmmakers in town. I hope his steady successes culminate in a big break. It couldn't happen to a better person.
Here's a photo from Adams Street.
@@@@@
I met with an emerging filmmaker tonight (Friday) at Tito's. Noi Mahoney was at the PGA mixer the other night at the GCAC. He's a newspaper writer and editor who's wanting to get into filmmaking. He's done some early work which is rough. He knows this. And, like all of us, we have to start somewhere. He's eager to learn and I hope he begins to find like-minded people here in town he can work with and learn from.
The San Antonio film community does exist. It's a bit fragmented, and certain corners seem to run on high-octane spite. But mostly, we're nice and reasonable and helpful people. Yes, it's great that we find ways to be polite and helpful even to those who we are periodically at war with. But what I really want to see is honest and constructive criticism. We, as a whole, need to stop sucking so much. I'm as guilty as the next person. Let's admit our inherent lameness, and figure out each filmmaker's particular weakness, and then, collectively work to remedy these defects.
Noi asked me to name some of my favorite filmmakers. When I mentioned Guy Madden, he said that not only was he aware of Madden's work, but he had a friend who lives in Winnipeg. This is a city in the Canadian great plains where several wonderfully weird and idiosyncratic filmmakers live and work. Noi's Winnipeg friend asked him if there was anything in San Antonio like the rich film culture in Winnipeg. Noi truthfully said no. The sad fact is that this Canadian hicksville with a population of 600,000 is internationally know as a home for innovative filmmaking, and San Antonio, with over twice the population, has little of which to be proud in the film area.
We need to find our odd, idiosyncratic, regional geniuses, and make them shine. Winnipeg has Guy Madden, Portland has Karl Krogstad, Baltimore has John Waters, Wellington has Jane Campion. We need our Guy Madden. And we need to stop making fucking zombie movies and films about drug deals gone bad. Jesus! What's wrong with you people?
@@@@@
(Sunday.)
I was cleaning my place earlier this afternoon. I'm not much for house-cleaning, so when I discovered a piece of mail addressed to one of my neighbor's under my sofa, I realized it could be maybe two years stale. It was from his family in England and didn't have any sort of dated cancelation stamp. This is a neighbor whose house and dogs I often looked after when he was out of town. I hope nothing horrible happened because he never got this letter. Perhaps there had been some rift in the family with him being eradicated from a will. The neighbor in question has moved to the other side of the county. I guess I'll give him a call and get his new address.
Oh, well….
Rod Guajardo gave me a call about an hour later. He told me he was heading to Tito's. Did I want to join him? I said, sure. If it got me away from cleaning (which was, in turn, keeping me from doing a final pass on editing a project which, um, I've already been paid for). When I walked into Tito's, Rod was at a table in the side room with his wife Rosemary, and their two youngest kids.
(The other night Rod had emailed me a link with a password so I could view his submission to the Neighborhood Film Project. I did the same for him. He and I will be competing against one another as filmmakers representing the southside. I'm not sure who else we're up against. His film is damn tight and very good. If I had been the judge, I would have given his work more points than mine. Ah, and now I'm depressed.)
After a late lunch, we headed over to the Friendly Spot. This is a laid-back "ice house." True, it's infested by alcoholic hipster parents who can toss their kids into the fenced playground and suck back their cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon al fresco, but the truth is, it embraces all types of patrons. The place was pretty crowded. Rod showed me his new lens for his Canon Rebel. It was a zoom lens with a very wide aperture. I asked him how much it cost. Rod look up. Rosemary was fussing with their little girl, and was about to walk her back over to the playground corral. "I'll tell you when Rosemary leaves." I assume she heard him, be decided not to comment. When Rosemary walked out of hearing range, Rod told me. It was about what I had assumed. And as envious as I was, the lens was far beyond my budget.
@@@@@
I headed home and took a short nap. Then I headed over to the series of events at Gallista Gallery. It was: "Spring Equinox: The Chicano New Year, Curated by David Zamora Casas." The event had other events within. Such as an anti-nuke rally. Some music performances. And various artists with shows in the studios there at Gallista. The main reason I was going was because of Monessa M. Esquivel. Her show, "Underground Ghetto Cartoon People: Part Juan," was also there at Gallista. I'm very fond of Monessa. She's an extraordinary actress (one of this city's best), a compelling performance artists, a sensitive and accomplished writer, and, I now know, a smart and playful artist who can damn well rock a sheet of graph paper. She's also one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. I tend to get a bit tongue-tied around her, but I was able to get her to pose for a picture in front of her art.
I was also impressed by the work of Roberto Sifuentes. His flat varnished neo-pre-Renaissance panels were very impressive. Here's the largest. Maybe ten feet by eight feet.
Some guy, and I forget his name, had a room of very cool stuff. But my favorite piece was this, which is clearly a collage made from the flattened paper of hundreds of roaches. What a beautiful abstract work!
I stayed for a few songs with Rithe, a tight trio very influenced (in a good way) by Joy Division.
A very nice Sunday. I just wish I could have made it to the eastside where there was an art kite event. That would have been fun to shot photos and video.
|
|
(Wednesday.)
I woke up feeling uninspired. Even after a huge mug of cappuccino, hecho a mono, and a tasty bowl of mote pillo, I still wasn't up to much.
I did, however, call up my dear friend Enrique Madrid in Redford, Texas. I was hoping to be able to see him at a Big Bend conference coming up in San Marcos at the end of the month. He had been invited as a speaker. But because of recent health issues as well as a lack of funds to make the trip, he had to opt out. He sounded in good spirits. But it's hard to tell over a phone. I didn't get a chance to speak with Ruby, his wife. But I told him to expect me to come down for a visit in the beginning of April. I miss my friends down there. I miss the desert, too.
He wryly suggested that there was a new sport in Redford. "Oh, and what might that be?" I asked, playing the straight man. "Drone streaking," he said. "Oh?" "Yes, it's when you take off all your clothes and run along the dirt road atop the river levy. The Border Patrol sensors are activated and they send out the drones to video-tape the activity." Yes, I remember now. Occupied southern Presidio County, where the only crimes seem to be committed by corrupt or ill-trained American men in uniform.
Enrique also said that he'd been recently interviewed by Texas Monthly for their Texas Food issue. He gave the reporter his famous tortilla-making lesson. Enrique has a mathematical formula for creating the perfectly round tortilla. I have it around somewhere, but it'd take awhile to find it. It is, as he is found of explaining, a formula analogous to the expansion of the universe following that early period of hyper-inflation. Enrique's tortilla lessons are wonderful. I keep planing to make a short film. I'm not certain that the guy from Texas Monthly understands the charm and audacity of Enrique's world view. But I understand completely. Enrique Madrid is one of my three mentors / gurus, all which, for some reason, are multidisciplinary intellectuals (mostly self-taught) who also all happen to be Chicano activists.
Maybe that's what I'll come back with. A video tutorial of how to make the perfectly round flour tortilla, using a mathematical formula which is shockingly simple, when you realize that the formula can also be used to recreate the universe if, you know, we fuck this one up.
San Marcos don't know what it's missing.
@@@@@
Later in the afternoon, when the high octane caffeine was wearing thin, I decided that I needed to address the issue of a few up-coming projects. I might be working with Slab Cinema again for Alamo Heights Night. If so, it will be a live broadcast inter-active presentation. There are also two performances where I will be working with Seme Jatib. My hope is that we will be able to add a live video manipulation / projection component to her dance performances.
I priced out a few AV carts and tables. I decided on a particular portable DJ table. It is more than stable enough to support my laptops, switchers, faders, external drives, mix-board, and even a monitor. The price was right. And even though the adjustable legs can only raise it up to 40 inches, I can probably get two slabs of four inch thick styrofoam to lift the equipment to what I have become accustomed to, this four foot-high standing desk which I'm using right now.
I also placed an order with monoprice.com, a great place to buy cheap audio and video cables. I think I have ordered all the cables I need to do VJ work, as well as improve my home video and audio editing suite.
@@@@@
Yesterday there had been some emails floating around. Someone was trying to find a place in San Antonio where a representative of PGA (the Producers Guild of America) could talk to San Antonio filmmakers.
When the dust settled, it was the Guadalupe Theater, 6pm, Wednesday night.
I was the first person there. The parking lot was empty. I thought I'd find out how to adjust my dashboard clock for the daylight savings time switchover. But before I could do that, Dago Patlan rolled up. He was one of the people who arrange this event. We went inside.
Manuel Solis, the head of the media programs at the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center, greeted us. He was carrying a couple bags of ice through the lobby. The ice was for the keg of beer. And then I looked up and there was Vicente Williams, the representative of the PGA. He was carrying a stack of pizza boxes. The PGA paid for the pizza and the beer. Things were looking good.
Before the activities began I found myself talking with Manuel. I assume he knows who won the prizes for the Neighborhood Film Project, but he wasn't saying nothing. He did, however, express delight in the performances in my submitted short film, "A Bourbon Would Be Nice." He said that not only will it screen Saturday night (March 26), but also Sunday afternoon. The Cinema in the Barrio series at the Guadalupe will be a showdown between the Southside and the Westside, two regions with fierce pride and a long history of rivalry. Puro San Anto! And I'm representing the Southside. True, I've only been in the outer edge of the San Antonio Southside for a mere eight years or so, but my star, Lisa Suarez, is a Southside girl going all the way back.
I wandered inside and talked with the slowly growing crowd. Twenty-five San Antonio film people showed up. A good number for short notice. I knew everyone except four (and one of those, a journalist interested in making films, I later friended on FaceBook -- we're meeting soon for coffee). Vicente Williams gave us a fairly comprehensive explanation on what the PGA is, does, and how, if we can get in, it can help not only the fledgling members, but all filmmakers in a region with a sizable membership. Vicente is on the PGA Diversity Committee, and he gave us some insight into what that program offers. He mentioned more than on one occasional that he grew up in San Antonio, and because he returns often to visit family, more meetings and info sessions can be arranged in the future. In fact, Dago, who teaches filmmaking to high school kids at the Harlandale ISD's Film School of San Antonio, has begun developing a program, via Vincente, with the PGA. There are opportunities everywhere. Every now and then you just need to stop, take a breath, and look around.
Here's Vicente.
And some people I know who showed up:
@@@@@
(Thursday.)
Actually, it's Friday, as I noticed that it just turned midnight.
I've been procrastinating on what should be a small video project. I shot the Windows Show two weeks ago. (This is an occasional free show that Jump-Start stages in the window of their theater every couple of mouths or so during First Friday.) I used my 7D. There were two performances of the 18 minute show. This allowed me to shoot each performance from a different angle. The idea was to edit like a two camera shoot. I've done this before. It's great as a theory, but in practice it can often bite you on the ass.
The footage looks great. And the finished product will be fine. But these sorts of things always take longer than expected. It's like when I do rare book appraisals. I always quote an estimate based on how many hours it would take me to do the gig … if I was my idealized version of myself. Sorry to say, I'm not that guy. But I keep hoping. And I always honor my quotes. Same with video work.
Anyway, I've basically finished it. A quick tinker in the morning. Burn to disk. Deliver. Move on to what's next…. What's next? Oh, yeah. An internet commercial next week which should be a blast, because I'm working with friends.
@@@@@
I took a low-impact bike ride this afternoon from Mission San Jose to Mission Espada and back, with several protracted dead end detours around where the work crews are taking their sweet time between Espada Dam and Mission San Juan.
On a return from one of these dead ends, I slowed down as another cyclist approahced. He made eye contact and we both stopped. "Hey, dude. You have a cigarette?" I shurgged stoically and gave him a sigh, as men do, and said I didn't. I leaned forward and psuhed on. But, really, what the fuck? Do I look that awful? I should have locked eyes with him. "Nope. Furthermore, I do not have an apple pie, a tallboy of Lone Star, nor a gram of heroine stored up rectum in a fingerstall."
It was a lovely day. The heavy wind coming from Matamoros helped to make the ride back effortless and exciting. I think winter is finally vanquished. And don't think I'm not rejoicing.
|
|
Some years back I was walking around downtown San Antonio with one of the founders of a well-known local arts nonprofit group who can often be seen staging community-driven performances in the public spaces around town. As we were crossing Houston street she looked up with a smile and said, "We own this town." It seemed rather an audacious statement to blurt out. At the time I assumed she meant that she and her organization are popular and highly-visible. Perhaps it isn't such an peculiar thing to say of an organization which can be found in almost all parades and important events. And over the years I've spent in this strange and wonderful city I, too, have found myself becoming something of a public person. I have marched and paraded in the streets for both political and celebratory purposes on at least a dozen occasions. I have made my way into the local corridors of power (not too impressive in this sleepy little city), powwowed with the media for many diverse causes, and I have worked on committees and boards to bring art and expression into the streets. So now, when I think of the declarative pronouncement, "We own this town," I see a much richer interpretation. Sure, there's a bit of braggadocio, with the "we" becoming the "royal we." But more importantly is the notion that the people, the entire population of San Antonio, owns this town. We politic in the streets, we honor our champions and our dead in the streets, we party in the streets. So, if you feel comfortable saying "we own this town," I assume you are asserting that you are actively engaged in keeping San Antonio centered around the spirit of community.
And this brings us to Luminaria. There are champions and there are detractors. Me? I'm a little of both. This lavish one night annual art event brings in huge crowds to downtown San Antonio, makes shitloads of money for included vendors, and does a decent job of bringing attention to the arts. Last Saturday night brought us the fourth year of Luminaria. I've been involved since the beginning. The first year I volunteered. And for years two, three, and four I have sat on the steering committee as one of the artistic chairs. All four years I have contributed as an artist.
What I've noticed over the years is a tendency to release giddy rhetoric abut the importance of art and creatively. The artists are asked to dream big. But, for budgetary concerns, the funds available to help these artists bring these dreams into the real world begin to diminish as the logistical needs of running such a large production become more apparent. Renting stages, hiring security, closing streets, purchasing liability insurance, securing ASCAP and BMI event rights, marketing, lighting, audio equipment, chingos of projectors, and on and on.
There is that horrible realization that to be able to do a good job of presenting the art, the lion's share of the budget goes, not to the art (ostensibly the reason people are coming), but to the infrastructure, the context in which the art will be inserted. I'm wondering if in the future this might be remedied by treating the artists as vendors or contractors, with their own legitimate needs to bringing in sub-contractors to help with the installations and equipment rental.
I could go on all night blathering on about what I think Luminaria should be. It's a silly game which hundreds of people are doing this week.
But I think there is one thing of which Luminaria should never lose sight. The artists are the draw. Keep them front and center in all decisions.
One other important matter is the issue of diversity. What I have learned of San Antonio history has revealed a serious struggle over the past few decades where individuals and institutions have pushed for rights and inclusion of all people no matter what their gender, ethnicity, or sexual orientation might be. I do know that this was an issue for the first three years of Luminaria -- by issue I mean that the committee members were all made to understand that the line-up of artists should represent the diverse face of San Antonio. I'm not so sure we succeeded this year. I do know that Victor and I -- co-chairs of the Media Arts committee -- kept diversity in the forefronts of our minds during the entire process. But the only reason we did this was because we have worked for community arts organizations in the past, and this sort of sensitivity is clearly etched in our minds.
(As an aside, I wonder if this was the reason that, during the opening ceremony, board member John Phillip Santos made something of a grand exit while the mayor was still speaking. I have a hard time thinking he was just looking for the water fountain.)
@@@@@
Fuck the behind the scenes stuff. What did the punters see?
They saw something magical and extraordinary.
This year Luminaria filled almost all of HemisFair Park. There might have been 250,000 people. That's what we were expecting. Personally I think it must have been less. The crush of humanity was heavy, but not intesne.
I was too busy trouble shooting various stages and artists to really explore. But what little I did see was so cool.
Of the curitorial zones, I was most cognizant of Ray and Cindy Palmer's zone. It was between two areas I was shuttling back and forth between: the dance stage in Plaza de Mexico and the Pumphouse Lounge.
Ray and Cindy brought in some great artists. And two of my friends were right there in the Palmer's zone. Gisha Zabala had a beautiful three channel video projection in one of the fountains. And Deborah Keller-Rihn had a breath-taking installation of illuminated floating altars in a little cement pond near Gisha's piece.
I had little opportunity to take pictures. I did show up for the piece which ST Shimi and I collaborated on. "City Hoop." I made a film. Shimi danced to it. It was pretty fucking awesome. Here are a couple of photos:
I also got an opportunity to see the dance piece created by my friend Seme Jatib. Amazing!
Okay. Here's my Luminaria film, City Hoop, featuring ST Shimi. And because I still can't figure out how to embed video on the blogs for this site, I'll do the next best thing. Add a link:
 vimeo.com/21004530
I've been laying low these last few post-Luminaria days. The whole thing left me physically tapped and mentally drained. And like the shutting down of any other sizable production, I'm sadden with the realization that many of the people I had been working with in such an intense manner I will not be seeing much in the future. A lot of the core players don't move in my humble circles. The post production depression is a common affliction for those who work on collaborative time-based projects. I did make it out Monday to have a late breakfast with Deborah. Afterwards we took the thirteen inflated inner tubes out of the bed of my pickup truck. They were from her Luminaria installation. We were in the parking lot of Blue Star, each sitting on an inner tube and holding the stopper pin with a key. They deflate very slowly. After we'd done two apiece we decided to go ahead and take them all up to her studio. She could deflate them later, at her leisure. I suggested that she fob off this chore on the deadbeats who hang out in her studio while she's trying to work -- at the least, they can make themselves useful.
Deborah was also feeling that numb sense of bathos. She keeps saying how her piece would have been better had she done this or that. I keep reminding her that it was incredibly beautiful. She worked long and hard on it, and it paid off. Here's a photo of her floating altars by Ramin Samandari:
There are twelve portraits (photos and paintings -- all by San Antonio artists). The portraits are of leaders in the creative communities who have passed away in recent years. As moving as the piece was (aesthetically and conceptually) I have to admit I laughed aloud when Deborah told me that during the night of Luminaria a drunk woman on her cell phone tried to walk across the floating art and fell into the pool. The only casually was Deborah's new iPhone, which got wet when she got into the pool to reset her art. And as anyone who has ever dealt with a water-damaged iPhone knows, there's no recourse but to buy another.
@@@@@
I wasn't able to spend much time at the Pumphouse Lounge, where some of the video was being screened. I was just too busy doing other things. Unfortunately, because of the high winds during the afternoon, Angela and Rick of Slab Cinema weren't able to place their inflatable screen in our preferred area. There was no place to anchor the front of the screen, and the weights we borrowed from Magik Theatre just weren't heavy enough. Also, it was too windy to blow up the inflatable furniture. Even if it wasn't, I didn't have anyone to help inflate them. Here's a note to those of you on FaceBook. When someone posts a request for help on their page, don't take that as an opportunity to crack wise or make pithy remarks. Find out how you can help, or shut the fuck up.
And while I'm bitching, this is for the passive aggressive tech guy at one of the stages who wanted to chew on me because there had been no plan on how to run audio from the DVD player beside the projector across the plaza, over to the the sound board beside the stage. While I was trying to figure out how to remedy the problem (instead of trying to find someone to blame), he finally let me know that he had taken it upon himself to drive to his house, on the other side of town, to get his own wireless equipment. I felt like explaining: "Dude, I assume you're getting paid for this. Not me. And, yes, I for one am damn happy you took it upon yourself to save our asses, but, please, hold back the bile until you're working for the Spurs or Cirque du Soleil, instead of a volunteer-driven arts event where the only people getting paid are the goddamn marketing firms, vendors, rental companies, and stage crew."
Fuck.
But I was talking about the Pumphouse Lounge. Between screenings of short films, Aztec Gold was putting on an interactive show they called the Green Screen Bonanza, where people could walk in front of a green screen. A video camera would play back their images live, embedded into scens from one of several popular movies. I was curious how well this would work. And though I only had a short time to check it out, I was impressed. The technology, though low, worked well, and the people seemed to be digging it. Pocha and Payan pulled it off!
While I don't recall having eaten anything that night, I did find myself passing one of the volunteer booths. Kathy waved me over and asked if I wanted a beer. Those volunteers have it all worked out it seems. I thanker her and took a short break on the porch near the command center to quickly down a can of beer. Also, on the two times I dropped by to check in on Joseph Hladeka, who had a three-channel projection on the south wall of Magik Theatre, he was happy to share with me a bottle of some sort of flavored vodka. So it wasn't a night of total privation.
Probably my favorite part of the night was stopping every so often, in chance encounters, to chat with friends, enemies, colleagues, and FaceBook "friends," most who are also, in some manner, involved in the San Antonio art world.
You see, we're an amorphous and dysfunctional cabal who own this town. And we know it.
|
|
I'm afraid I'm shirking some of my Luminaria steering committee duties because I'm so busy working on own Luminaria project. I'll try and get back up to speed tomorrow.
I got a call from one of the folks at Creative Civilization. They're the one's doing the marketing for Luminaria. Anyway, it looks like I'm going to be on the morning TV show on the local Fox affiliate. There are two local stations each with a morning show. I've been on each one or two times over the years. Because I haven't had a TV since the big digital change-over, I really have no idea about local television. I will say that each time I've visited the local TV studios, everyone has been wonderful, professional, and amazingly efficient.
Speaking of Luminaria, I decided to look at the website the other day. There's a schedule of the evening's events as well as a list of artists. The link to my web presence goes to my WordPress blog. I stopped using my website (www.eyewashpictures.com) because I hate those swine at 1&1 which were hosting my site. Also, I decided I no longer wanted to brand my work under the kooky, self-deprecating, and slightly clever banner of Eyewash Pictures. Anyway, I had not yet got my new website (www.rebosse.com) when I submitted my artists proposal, so I used my blog instead. Now I should point out that I've pretty much stopped posting on my blog. I'm currently blogging on my website. And so, when people click over to my blog from the Luminaria webpage, they are confronted by the bold title of my last blog posted to this site, with the piquant title of "Recovering from the Suburban Shit Hole."
@@@@@
Tonight I headed out to shoot some miscellaneous urban video clips downtown. I wanted some generic nighttime scenes of lights and traffic to use for the one minute introduction to the video component of the Luminaria collaboration Shimi and I are putting together.
Here's a quickie edit of what I shot tonight. I hope this Vimeo link will embed on this new website.
vimeo.com/20863527
Well, I can't figure out how to embed. Do just click on the link.
I don't do this enough. Make video montages.
For people working in video, this is an interesting period of history. The DSLR is king for low-budget movie makers. But the DSLR as a hot tool is already being pushed aside by a new breed of camcorder with a large chip, the ability to take cheap prime lenses, and topnotch audio acquisition. So, for the period of 2010 to 2012, we will see an influx of photographers playing around with digital cinematography, seeing as how their tools can take great HD video. I've already seen some great still shooters enter into the movie world. This is good. Many people I know who have trained to make movies with three chip prosumer camcorders are horrible shooters. They have no sense of composition, can't light worth shit, and are absolutely clueless about optics 101. Enter the photographer who begins to play around with motion on his or her HD vid-enable DSLR. These folks are kick-ass from set-up to set-up. But sometimes they are weak understanding how to shoot for mise en scene editing. But, as I have always maintained, when I find myself on set (for a project of mine or someone else) I'm always heartened if the lead cast members have a deep theater history and if the camera crew have a serious background in still photography.
And so, I'm wondering, is there is a sudden resurgence of those wonderful pretentious experimental films of decades past when it was common to find breathtaking art films with beautifully composed clips? Is this happening? I'm a bit out of touch.
I want the San Antonio chapter of NALIP to return to those great video slams of the past. Anyone was welcome to show up with a DVD and share their work. There was no slamming, really. Just keep the clip under a certain length. It helped to bring people together. And it helped to see what the seasoned professionals were doing in their spare time, as well as the sometimes brilliant work which came from self-taught hobbyists.
Maybe I'll bring this up at the next NALIP-SA meeting. I sometimes forget I'm a board member.
So, if you're playing around with making movies on a DSLR, please stretch your creative wings and take our breath away.
An actor I worked recently -- great guy, talented and professional -- called up to know if could pass my contact information on to a friend who was working on making a TV series. "A cross between Seinfeld and Sex in the City." I help my tongue and didn't say what I was thinking. (Which was: "I can't think of anything more horrendous.")
Because of all the shit I've seen generated by well-meaning naifs who own a video camera and an editing suite, I no longer will work on projects which can be pitched as resembling this or that TV show or Hollywood blockbuster. Folks, you are all in over your heads.
Give me artists, documentarians, and those pimply-faced neurotics with their "passion projects" which resemble nothing you've ever heard of before.
|
|
What I really should be doing right now is editing two particular projects. I'm helping Jump-Start put together a short reel for a grant application. I said I'd turn in a preliminary edit tomorrow afternoon. Also, my Luminaria film needs some serious attention. The deadline isn't going to go away.
On a positive note, I now have all the video shot for my Luminaria film. I just need to knit it together into something on the fabulous side of adequate.
The film is a simple affair. A series of night shots of ST Shimi hoop-dancing in interesting areas of downtown. We'd already shot several locations along the river walk. In Main Plaza. Under the arch at HemisFair park. And tonight we shot bridges.
First was Houston Street where it passes under highway 281. This is part of Bill FitzGibbon's permeant art installation titled "Light Channels." Both the Commerce Street and Houston Street underpasses are lit with LED lights which change colors and flash in patterns. They are collectively and colloquailly known as the "Disco Underpass." It's an awkward place to shoot. The level of light coming off the LEDs (though they create a lovely tableau) is fairly dim for shooting video. Even with my f1.4 lens and my ISO cranked up around 4000, it was a challenge. I set up a little kicker light I picked up years ago to mount on my Canon GL2. I used my Gorillapod as a light stand. Here are a few still images from the shoot.
![](<a href="http://s60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/?action=view&current=stsdiscobirdge1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/stsdiscobirdge1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>) 
Next, Shimi and I headed over to the Hays Street Bridge. Now I should come clean and admit that I'm generally suspicious of urban renewal projects. They usually portend some savage gentrification master plan (which is why I hope that the vile motherfuckers responsible for the Cevallos Street Loft project all fall on their asses and fail -- if it succeeds as the developers wish, it will drive a stake into the heart of Southtown and South Flores, eventually pricing all of the artists from the neighborhood). But I digress. I was talking about a bridge project. A bridge which is fucking awesome. It serves no real purpose. Sure, it goes over a railroad track. The train still runs down there. But the steel girder bridge was not originally built to handle heavy vehicular traffic. When I visited before the renovation, it had a wooden surface which was heavily rotted. Anyway, the bridge has a new wooden floor. It is now a huge foot bridge. But more than that, it's a park, a piece of preserved history, an example of industrial construction as historical sculpture … it's a lot of things. But mostly it's fucking awesome.
I want to stage theater, dance, and film events here. I want to use it as a location in every film I shoot.
Here are a couple of photos from tonight's shoot. The wider shot is perfect, except Shimi has her eyes closed. In the close-up photo I have used my kicker light mounted on my Gorillapod with its articulated legs wrapped around a nearby girder. The wide shot is all existing light on the bridge.
|
|
Friday.
A nice San Antonio day. I started things off with a late breakfast at Los Sarapes, one of my local eateries. Their chicken chilaquiles in a tomatillo sauce is sweet ambrosia. I lounged in my booth, sipping coffee and reading the paper. I hadn't read the Express-News in months. It's become a piss poor excuse for a newspaper. Or so I'd thought. This issue was heady with conflict, San Anto-style. All sorts of shit about the Alamo. The 175 anniversary of the battle is underway. There was a story about the Daughters of the Republic of Texas (a seething and disfunction snake pit of bigoted harridans), and how charges have been aimed their way that they have mismanaged resources. There was also an article as well as an editorial about the goddamn tourist traps in Alamo Plaza, like the Ripley's Museum. And then there was a piece about how the Alamo narrative taught in schools ignores the importance of the Tejanos, those people here for generations before the fight at the Alamo--people who, in fact, built the Alamo, and the missions, and this city.
Next I stopped by URBAN-15 to drop off my video projector. They want to use it for their event Saturday night. A big party where the ensemble members watch a live feed from the Carnival parades in Brazil. George Cisneros wasn't around. He's in Savannah. David Rubin's Psychedelic Show, which originated at the SanAntonio Museum of Art, is now on the road. And George has a room-sized installation. So I guess he was traveling to set it up in Georgia.
There are a couple of things which have happened concerning URBAN-15 and George Cisneros having to do with Luminaria--actions I find fairly disturbing. I hope these over-sights and poor behavior seemingly originating from Luminaria can be resolved. I don't want to see something with such great potential as Luminaria becoming a battlefield because of petty and ill-advised behavior.
Time will tell.
I then had to motor up to the outer cracker belt where Seme Jatib is teaching at some suburban dance studio. She wanted to show me what she's been working on with her three dancers. She has a work in progress which she will be presenting at Luminaria. I like it a lot. Very energetic.
She also showed me a few parts of a long work she will be presenting in April and May, work which she wants me to help with video work for the final multi-media performance. And I'm already coming up with greet ideas. It's gong to be two extraordinary performances!
I drove back home and began gathering video and audio equipment. I'd been asked to video tape the First Friday show at Jump-Start.
The show, titled "Fish Tale," was part of Jump-Start's window series. These are free shows which seem to happen during First Friday events. They're short and innovative, and utilize the large window which looks out from the theater's lobby. Sometimes that action also happens outside, in front of the window. "Fish Tale" was created by Billy Munoz and ST Shimi, with Shimi performing the solo performance art piece.
I showed up with my 7D. I love this camera, but the limitation of each clip (about 12 minutes, and you need to start again), while doesn't bother me when shooting production style, is a bitch when you're shooting a real world event which unfolds for more than those measly 12 minutes. But, I knew I had two performances to shoot. I'd have material with which to cut back and forth to.
Once I checked out the layout of the performance space, I left my stuff inside Jump-Start and checked out some of the galleries and studios. Now that Annette Laundry and her husband (both excellent photographers) have moved into a space upstairs from Jump-Start, I now have another studio where I can drop in and visit with a talented artist who I enjoy talking with.
I made it back to "Fish Tale" and set up my tripod for the first performance. I had almost no idea how the piece would unfold. But I knew I would have a second chance to shoot. So, suddenly, show time!
It was a great piece.We open on a beach. This is a region of pavement in front of the Jump-Start window. A woman who is visiting the beach as a tourist is having a nice relaxing time in her lounge chair as she slathers on the suntan lotion and then begins to read a magazine. But then things go wrong. She begins to explore. Discovers tar balls all over the place. The damn stuff is on her skin. She can't get it off. Not with rubbing, not with sea water. She panics. And then she finds herself turning into a fish … well, sort of a Lady Gaga sexy mermaid. This takes us to the second and final act. She appears inside, fully fishyfied. The tableau is a lovely art-designed underwater set with seaweed and shit. Fans mounted on the floor of the stage (the seafloor) are blowing Shimi-fish-Gaga's blond wig all over the place, and it looks damn well like she's swimming around. All is wonderful as this sexy fish-woman is cavorting under the sea … until the music turns terse. And a curtain slowly rises, from the bottom of the window, to the top--it's the rising of crude oil mucking up the ocean. Shimi-fish is struggling, panicking. It dons't end on a good note. (A smart mom adroitly escorted her toddler son off when she saw how the narrative would play out … she left the boy with a sweet memory of "that pretty mermaid girl.")
The second show was just as good. I switched angles. And I think I cut together both performances.
As I was packing up my equipment, I took this still image. Troy Wise was snapping some of his brilliant photos after the show, and I surreptitiously snapped a few shots of my own from the wings. Here's a nice shot of Shimi, in her under-the-sea environment. And even though the photo is from behind, I think most people will agree that ST Shimi is sexy and compelling and outrageously fit from any point of view.
![](<a href="http://s60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/?action=view&current=shimitail.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/shimitail.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>) 
@@@@@
Saturday.
Another nice San Antonio day.
I caught up on my RSS feeds. Had a sumptuous double cappuccino from the espresso machine. And eventually I made my way downtown. I had a meeting with ST Shimi. And because I had squandered away so much time making dirty love to dark roast coffee and foamed milk whilst browsing Reddit, I realized I didn't have time to walk or take the trolly downtown. So I hopped in my truck and drove to my favorite and super-secret parking space which is always available. Because I was lugging my camera with me, I took a couple of photos around the corner where I park. Check them out. Maybe you will recognize the block and crack my code.
I met Shimi at Luke. And as much as I want to add an apostrophe and "S," I'll respect the signage and website. It's a Louisiana-style eatery on the River Walk. I'd been there once before with Shimi and Marisela. Good fishy fare with nice happy hour prices.
The bottom line is, this place is too damn fancy for me. But one of the things which endears me towards Shimi is her love of mildly sophisticated comforts. She's not a snob, but she loves good food, good drink, and generally being treated special. I can dig it. And though it isn't my personal custom, I do enjoy this world on occasion.
I got there about five minutes before Shimi. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a pricy and tasty brown ale on tap. When Shimi showed up, we decided to sit outside. We ordered the craw-fish boil, because Shimi had been thinking about craw-fish all day. And little did I know, Shimi wanted us to sit outside because she'd learned a Mardi-Gras-esque river parade was scheduled at a bit after we arrived.
It was pretty cool. We were looking over a stone wall down at the river as boats filled with costumed dancers threw beaded necklaces up to us. It was a lot of fun.
Our meeting involved several projects. First there is our Luminaria project. It's a film and live performance collaboration. We still need one more night of shooting. And then there is a performance coming up at Jump-Start. There is a need for some video, and I've been asked to help out. Of course I said yes. Once things are put into place, I'll mention in this blog the particulars. And then there was a lager matter. Jump-Start wants to bring me on as their official video person. The pay might not be so great, but I will know in advance what work is coming my way. Also, I will be working with people I respect and care about. But most important, I will be in a position to expand my relationships with some of the most interesting and accomplished creative individuals working in the performance arts of San Antonio.
I feel incredibly honored to be asked to be part of what I have called on several occasions the only truly experimental theater in San Antonio. Also, Jump-Start is the venue where some of the most interesting dance performances are held. There are easily ten individuals who are either Jump-Start company members, or folks who often perform at Jump-Start, who I hold in rock star status--well, local rock star status. It's very satisfying to find myself on friendly terms with people like Shimi, Lisa, Monessa, Steve, Billy, Dino, Laurie, Marisela, Ana, Doyle, and on and on.
@@@@@
Back home I took a nap. And then I headed out to pay my rent check … a bit late, but I've been distracted recently. True, not an excuse I would ever articulate, but, well, whatever ….
As I was leaving the house to drive to my landlady's place I noticed Doyle Avant riding his bike down my street. I had been talking to Doyle the previous night at the Jump-Start window show. Doyle does, on occasion, these massively brilliant performance art monologues at the W-I-P (Works in Progress) program at Jump-Start. He's a very good performer, but what always amazes me is the writing he does for his monologues. He's probably the best writer currently working in San Antonio. And, yes, I know what I'm saying. He's even better than me.
I dropped my rent check off to my landlady. I then made a stop at my grocery store (the La Fiesta on S. Flores). The lovely young Latina working the register was new to me. I read her name tag. Disney. I really wanted to ask her how she felt about her name, but because I have little respect for the Disney industry I was afraid I might come across dickish. Actually, it could be a pretty name, were it not tainted by, well, you know, Disney.
@@@@@
Around 9:45 tonight I decided to head over to URBAN-15. I was invited to their private viewing party. They were watching the Carnival events from Brazil televised on satellite TV. I've been to a couple of these parties before. The feed from Brazil is insane. This stuff is pure psychedelia. You need no drugs. But it's exhausting to watch this sort of stuff. The imagery is so dense and varied that the brain, at a certain point, no longer cares to try and make sense of all this vibrantly colored madness.
And so, tonight at URBAN-15, I had a great deal of fun, for a short period of time.
|
|
Back in 2008 I was selected to attend a weekend professional development workshop for artists run by the NYC art funding organization Creative Capital. The San Antonio Office of Cultural Affairs sponsored this event, and I assume that members of that bureaucracy were involved in the vetting process. If that's the case, thank you so much OCA! There were, I believe, 23 of us at this two day session. Twenty-three San Antonio artists. Of this group, I only personally knew two; three others I had heard of; the rest were new to me. But after the workshop, I would say that fifteen of these folks I am now connected to -- I go to their shows, I advocate their work, and some of them I collaborate with. The truth is, these annual workshops have run from 2007 to 2010 (and hopefully they will continue), and my deepest artistic collaborative relationships are with these Creative Capital alumni.
Creative Capital provides funding for many artistic disciplines. They divide them into two clumps. One clump per year. So, each disciplines, like, say, film/video, is funded every other year. I missed the last funding cycle. But not this one. I cut short my lucrative gig in Dallas a day early to head home. There were some important materials I needed for my proposal which were in a hard drive I'd left back home in San Antonio. So, I hopped in my truck, and headed out of Dallas around 8:30 at night. I got home a little after one in the morning. I worked on my proposal until about 4 when I took a nap for a few hours. I got back up, made coffee, and got back to work. And, hey, don't point and laugh. I had begun it a couple days back. But it's deceptively comprehensive. Eventually I hammered out something .... at least. It probably sucks. But I made the deadline. I have placed my proposal into the 2011 Creative Capital hopper.
Here's hoping the hopper smiles back. But I won't know until sometime in June. We'll wait and see.
@@@@@
I've been in a fairly foul mood lately. Luckily I'm unemployed, so I can lay low and not make other people miserable.
In fact, I wrote a lengthy blog the other night railing against things which were pissing me off. I decided not to post it because, even though I didn't mention people by name, canny San Antonians might be able to read between the lines. And it's not those people I'm upset about. Sure, I find myself, often, interacting with people who grate on my nerves and who I have little respect for, but whose fault is that? Certainly not theirs. So, I decided that unless I have a solution, I need to stop bitching about the problem. But, damn, I get sick of hearing myself bitch.
Instead of just lashing out and shutting people out of my life who I think are even more pathetic than myself, I've decided to take it slow. I've managed this with a couple of individuals already. Just dialed down my interaction. Eventually I just stopped reading their emails and listening to their voice mails. There are maybe six other people I need to start doing this to. Now that I have a a successful non-confrontational passive-aggressive template of success, it's time to take it to prime time.
@@@@@
It was a lovely day. My iPhone promised it'd get up to 80 or so. I don't know if it ever did. When I went out for a bike ride around one this afternoon it was about 70. I wasn't feeling very ambitious, so I tossed my bike in my truck. On my way to Mission park I stopped at the fruteria on Roosevelt near the golf course. I picked up a fruit cup. And then I drove to the parking lot of Mission Park behind the old Mission Drive-In. I picnicked on my fruit cup. Then I suited up and rode out to Mission Espada and back. Maybe 10 miles. I stopped at a little hill between Mission Espada and the San Antonio River. I sprawled out on the grass and took a little nap in the sun. I forget, sometimes, that life can be good.
@@@@@
I've been asked to film the window show at Jump-Start tomorrow. Jump-Start Performance Company often has free outdoor theater events during the monthly First Friday art celebration in my neighborhood. The Blue Star Art Complex is ground zero for this artsy bacchanalia. And Jump-Start, one of the most prestigious venues in Blue Star, makes its presence known by staging experimental theatrical works for free. The crowds remain outside. The action happens in a large window, or the raised loading dock of their front entrance, or the ground level, under the window … or, more often, a combination of two or more of these locations.
I have no idea how tomorrow's show will play out. But I'll be there. It'll be fun. Jump-Start never disappoints. And I understand that tomorrow's show was created by ST Shimi and Billy Munoz. And, they too, never disappoint.
|
|
It was an unproductive low-impact kind of day. After a late breakfast at Eddie's Taco House I made my way to some hotel at 1604 and 281 (and why anyone would willing travel to such a suburban shit hole -- let along live there -- is beyond my comprehension (that is where my imaginative prowess breaks down). Anyway, this is one of the locations chosen by OCA (the San Antonio Office of Cultural Affairs) to hold their community outreach workshops where they explain to interested artists and arts organization a new initiative of theirs. CAAP, or the Community Arts Access Program, has been created to replace the Neighborhood Cultural Initiative (something like that -- and I would never dump on that now retired program, because Ramon, Deborah, and I benefited from it back in 2005).
The Drury Plaza Hotel is a sad structure. Maybe a year old. It's one of those buildings so popular in Texas' edge cities, built out of aluminum, styrofoam, and industrial stucco. It's an eyesore now, but wait five years and it will be an unkempt eyesore, as those disposable materials with which it was constructed begin to give way. (And, really, most of the new growth hotels in downtown San Antonio are in the same boat. If only I had the money to purchase them, I'd buy them and set the wrecking balls loose up them.) I do know I'm digressing. But one last dig. While we were in the meeting room (I believe it was room 103), I had to suffer an hour and a half with two semi-recessed ballasted lights in the ceiling flicking, out of synch, every two to seven seconds. I sure hope OCA didn't dish out any money for this dreary Drury venue.
I'm done.
The presentation was run by Frank Villani. Frank's cool. He's smart and funny, and very sharp. He's a good man to have on the side of the arts. I've met with him on several occasions, but I'm never sure if he remembers who I am.
The CAAP sounds like a good idea. The concept is for OCA to petition San Antonio artists and art & cultural organizations to submit proposals to be listed on a city arts roster. This is similar to what we here in Texas have on a state level (until those god damn Republicans pull the funding for the arts in Texas … just as they pull funding for education (these fiscal conservative tea party assholes won't be happy until the general US population's cultural and technical literacy is akin to that of Somalia).
I've worked with Humanities Texas and their roster of experts for an event I produced. I was able to find a sponsor to get the needed matching funds to bring in a guest speaker.
This is how CAAP works. There is a sliding scale of the percentage which OCA will pay the artist. The organization who wants the artist (or group) to preform or present needs to find a way to come up with the balance. So, this is basically an incentive program. But here's the weird and wonderful thing. Okay. Say you are an artist who passes through the vetting process. Let's say you're a performance artist who wants to reach out to kids. You create a story-telling style. You offer several stories. Video examples are posted on the CAAP website. A school calls CAAP. They've seen that you will come out with your guitarist for 500 bucks. They pay 250, and CAAP pays 250 (and don't quote me on the breakdown, because it's not always half and half) -- and, here's the great thing: of that 500 dollars, it all goes to the storyteller (hopefully she (or he) throws some to the guitarist). But you see that this can be quite empowering for the artists in town. Yeah, I'm sure there are already people thinking of how this is just a divisive crock, but, me? I'm using the next five weeks or so until the submission deadline to figure out how I might present myself as a wonderful artist, educator, facilitator, for this new venture of OCA.
And let me say this about the San Antonio Office of Cultural Affairs. If you are an artist in San Antonio and you feel that OCA doesn't give a rat's ass about you, well, what are you doing about it? As a filmmaker with little in the way of a CV -- I don't have a Masters and I don't often screen at festivals -- I have managed to work with OCA in such a manner that I worked on a group project (Dia de los Artistas) which was heavily funded by OCA; I attended a professional development conference as a member of NALIP, and OCA paid a good chunk of that; OCA sponsored me for their annual Creative Capital weekend retreat; I was one of the judges for the first annual Neighborhood Film Project, co-sponsored by OCA and the San Antonio Film Commission; and for three years I have sat on the Luminaria Arts Night in San Antonio steering committee, an annual event heavily funded by OCA.
You said, hey, OCA's not helping me much! Well, does OCA know who you are? OCA barely knows who I am, but OCA has given so much to me. Oh, and, yeah, I try my best to give back to OCA. Don't worry. It's fine. All San Antonio artists and performers are part of my family, my community. And that includes the arts administrators. Sure, there are many of you (artists and bureaucrats) who I don't really like (many know who you are), but if you're besieged, I'll leap in to defend you.
@@@@@
As the sun began to set tonight I realized I really wanted to see an art instillation on the nearby riverwalk extension. I had seen the installation before several times, but only in the daytime. This is a footbridge with sandstone blocks on the sides which have been painted in festive colors. But the paint has been mixed with a luminous agent. They been made into glow-in-the-dark bricks. It sounded so cool to me. I love glow-in-the-dark anything! So, tonight, I decided to go out and see it. I wanted to take pictures, so I grabbed my Canon 7D and a tripod. I got there at twilight. No big deal. The bridge is only a quarter mile from my place (but because I still have a cold I feel vindicated that I drove there instead of walked).
As the sun set, I took some pictures of the river. Here's a slow shutter image.
And when the sun finally set, I walked back to the glow-in-the-dark bridge.
What the fuck? It was lit by a bright sodium vapor street light on the railroad bridge above. Here's a shot of the bridge at night, lit by that damn lamp.
So, what's the problem? Who allowed this to happen? OCA? PASA? I know we can't blame the artist. This problem has to be fixed. I know something like this would never have happened on the northern museum extension. The city had better get their shit together. Don't leave the southside hanging. Kill this light and fix Anne Wallace's bridge a mile down river.
|
|
I was posting something on a FaceBook page about post-pop music created by Eric Bosse (my doppelgänger who spells his name with a C). I shared a link to a song by a band called Shock Header Peters. They arose from the dissolution of the Lemon Kittens (mostly known for band member Danielle Dax). Anyway, I mentioned a fond memory of my father. First, let me explain what will be the punchline below. The Shock Headed Peters named themselves from the German children's book, Der Struwwelpeter, which, in English translations is titled either Shockheaded Peter, or Slovenly Peter. The books are famous for the buzzer and grizzly images to scare your kids shitless and make them behave. For instance, there's a little story about a little girl who plays with matches. She, of course, burns to death. Anyway, back to my father. I was maybe sixteen and hanging out at the family bookstore. The phone rang. My father answered, "Aldredge Book Store." He paused while the other person spoke. Then: "I'm sorry, but that's a very personal question." He hung up the phone returned to perusing the Weekly World News. "Well," I finally said. "What was that all about?" "Oh, they wanted to know if I had a Slovenly Peter."
And then there was the occasion I was doing some minor leather restoration on a set of 18th century bindings. The phone rang. He answered. "Aldredge Book Store." Pause. Then: "No, but I think I have a book about rats in Tibet. … Hello?" He shrugged and hung up. He returned to pricing a stack of Texana items. "Well?" He looked over at me. Took a sip from his can of Lone Star beer. "Wanted to know if we had anything about Meissen china."
@@@@@
Today was the deadline for the Neighborhood Film Project. Friday, Feb. 17. 3pm. The date and time had been stamped on my brain since my first day of shooting, back on February 8th.
Here's a random screen grab. My star, Lisa Suarez, is so damn appealing.
I can't remember when I first came up with the story concept. When I decided to enter the contest I was assuming Seme and I would collaborate on a Dance for the Camera piece. Her choreography, my cinematography and editing. But then had the opportunity to take a workshop in Brussels. Pretty cool. I rethought things and decided to do a straight narrative.
My idea was all dependent on Lisa Suarez. Sure she's shouted out to me on the night of the Jump-Start Performance Party something like, "When are we going to work together." But was she serious. I decided to write a short script where I could exploit her ability to play an elderly woman. I created the charter of a woman who runs a local theater hitting tough times. She decides to use her theatrical skills to transform herself into an old lady and rob a bar. I was thrilled when Lisa said yes.
There were several things working against me. Lisa is a very busy woman. And I had to accommodate to her schedule. I'm not complaining. I knew this going in. Besides, if I win this film contest, it will be because of her. She's fucking amazing--clearly the secret weapon giving me an edge. There was also the problem that I needed to shoot some b-roll of dense First Friday crowds. But the one opportunity to shoot was such a cold and miserable night that there were no crowds. And worst, I guess, was the fact that I had no crew. I've not shot a narrative in three or four years. I've fallen out of touch with my so-called crew base. And I put off the pre-production so long that I wasn't able to give potential crew a reasonable lead-time to adjust schedules.
My crew consisted of three friends. On one day I had two. On two days I had one. And on one day I had none--just me.
When it came down to me editing the footage, I was dismayed that the audio on some of the days was way too soft. I can't fault my crew. I established the audio settings. Well, we do what we can do. Hopefully we learn. I think I fixed some of the problems I created for myself shooting the JSPC Performance Party video. I became more conscious of my aperture. I created a solid workflow during the editing process. And I delegated more to my tiny crew.
I wish I had secured a couple of locations I never actively pursued. I wish I had started earlier. And I wish I had had a larger crew. But nonetheless, I had a masterful cast and a small but wonderful crew, I enjoyed every shoot. What a great time!
Here's a clip from the film (well, just a link because I can't figure out how to embed video here):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UffvhGvAieI
At around 2:30 I dropped my entry off at the offices of the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center. Manuel Solis, who runs the GCAC's CineFestival (and I assume all their media programs) told me they'd already received about 30 entries. Knowing how insanely tightly filmmakers ride a deadline, I was confident that there could still be 30 more entries. As I was chatting with Manny, Pablo Veliz entered to drop off his entry. He told me his was for the westside. Mine, the southside. Good. Who wants to compete against Pablo?
I went home to hang up my laundry. And because I hadn't eaten all day, I decided to chase down a mid-afternoon breakfast. My choice was Ric Ron's Cafe. Their food is good but not great. But they are open 24 hours a day. And, really, trying to find a Mexican Cafe open after 3pm in San Antonio isn't so easy -- they're basically breakfast and lunch. I had a tasty cheese enchilada platter.
Then I headed home to take a nap.
But Deborah called. She said she was at Ric Ron's and would I like to join her.
I don't believe in the supernatural, but in the interest of a narrative device, it's clear we have a psychic connection.
I rushed right over. I mean it was Deborah. And I don't say no to Deborah. When I say down at her booth, I pulled out my iPhone and showed her the photo I had taken of my Ric Ron's cheese enchilada which I had eaten only an hour earlier. And to make it stranger, she was sitting at the same booth I had been sitting at. And the booth we normally sit at was one space away.
We hung out for a couple of hours, drinking bad coffee and swapping chisme. I'd also brought along my laptop and a copy of my film to give her. We watched it on the table, but because the audio on a laptop isn't so robust, and there were other conversations going on, I did my best to explain the storyline. She seemed to enjoy it. I popped out the disc, gave it to her, and suggested that she watch it somewhere where she could control the volume.
I headed back home to take my laundry off the line.
|
|
I think Old Man Winter has finally been put down. Me, well, I'm happy to dance on the sour bastard's grave. I earned my first sunburn of the year by spending a wonderful day shooting video out and about on the southside.
The morning was a bit suspect. And as I was assembling my morning cappuccino, I found myself looking out on a dreary morning with a light mist settling down on the neighborhood. I knew it was supposed to clear up and get warm by late morning or early afternoon. But it looked like the first scene I planned to shoot of the day would be overcast.
I planned to shoot in the large central parking-lot of the Blue Star Arts Complex. But the construction crews working on the river walk expansion were out in noisome force. Backhoes, cement mixers, bobcats, big diesel generators. Shit! I decided to move to that little alleyway back towards the UTSA satellite gallery. Jacinto Guevara was the first to show up. He was to play the role of a fictional Southtown artist. He gave his character a name. Odum Hohnerman. My friend Deborah showed up to help me out. And then Nikki Young showed up. She was to play the role of a TV news reporter. I had sent her a script. And she made some great embellishments, such as creating a name for the TV station, as well as giving her character a name. Nova Mendoza. She showed up absolutely glamourous in a stylish suit. (Afterwards, Deborah said that Nikki really should be a TV reporter or news personality, but she might be too cute with too much fashion sense.) The shoot when great. Jacinto and Nikki were perfect. I only hope we didn't get too much in the way of artists Bryson and Holly Brooks, because we were basically shooting on the front porch of their Blue Star loft.
Deborah and I took a late breakfast at Los Sarapes (a cafe on S. Presa, located in the building which once housed the late and lamented Pepe's Cafe). I highly recommend the chicken chilaquiles with the tomatillo sauce.
And then we drove back to the Blue Star parking-lot to meet up with Lisa. And that's when the sun came out. Perfect. I wanted clear skies to shoot a montage of Lisa jogging along the river on the southside.
Lisa brought along her mom. Mom can walk, but she's getting up in years, and we were planning to set up shots where we needed to walk a bit of distance, so Lisa had brought along a wheelchair. Lisa's mother suffers from Alzheimer's, and it's fascinating (and quite moving) to watch the coping mechanisms which they both have developed to help them navigate through their days.
We shot at five locations along the river, from Blue Star, all the way down to Mission San Juan. Lisa grew up on the southside, so she knew the area well. And Deborah has a long history of the area as well. And I also know the area fairly well. The four of us had a great time.
What I was shooting was a montage of Lisa jogging. It's important to the script to show her as a strong, fit woman. And I knew she could pull it off. Lisa isn't just one of the more talented actors in town, she's also a certified gym rat. She teaches various workout classes. For a woman almost as old as me, she's beautiful, sexy, and very fit. Here's a still from today's shoot.
![](<a href="http://s60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/?action=view&current=lisastuesday.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/lisastuesday.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>) 
@@@@@
We wrapped around five. I headed home, with the thought of taking a nap. I never managed to get around to that. I had some pressing email to deal with.
By seven in the evening I gathered my audio equipment and headed north to a grocery store on the far northside to crew on a short film which the good folks of PrimaDonna Productions were shooting. It was just a two and a half hour shoot.
The best thing was that I got to see Katsy Joiner. I love her. I haven't seen her in probably four or five years. She's a wonderfully accomplished and lovely actress. She's not aged a day. What I like about Katsy is that she always treats everyone with the same warm and kind consideration. She's engaged and curious about the whole production process. I like to think that in high school she was this bombshell who looked like she should be a cheerleader, but she was actually something of a nerd in the AV club.
So, now, it's pushing 1am. I'm winding down. Drinking Modelo. I should be editing or sleeping. I'm foolishly doing neither. I'm gonna had to bust ass tomorrow and Thursday. I need to turn all this mess (video and audio clips) into a coherent eight minute (or less) short film, with the delivery date and time of 3pm at the Office of Cultural Affairs--oops, I mean the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center (this is good, because the parking will be easier to find).
And, now that I think about it, I realize I've not eaten since Los Sarapes. I wonder what's in the refrigerator…?
|
|
|
| | |
