☂ carol custodio

nevver: · You

Wed, 30 May 2012 13:44:32 -0400

nevver:

· You

Zee and Master Shakespeare. Budding romance?

Mon, 28 May 2012 13:41:20 -0400

Zee and Master Shakespeare. Budding romance?

Sobre artistas fotógrafos, minicomentário

Mon, 28 May 2012 11:00:30 -0400

Há tantos bons artistas fotógrafos, tantos! Fico tão feliz com o acesso a equipamento, a popularização da arte de escrever com luz. Isso obriga aos artistas se superarem cada vez mais, desafiar a tecnologia e colocar o OLHAR em primeiro plano. O artista fotógrafo posiciona seu corpo no corpo da imagem, produzindo sua melhor tradução do que pensa que vê. Ele nos dá à luz seu pensamento visual, ele traz à tona seus incômodos, perturbações, estigmas, paixões, tesões, seu passeio foto-dinâmico pela tradução de si mesmo projetada no espaço e no tempo. O artista fotógrafo é um animal fotoguiado em seus desejos, está localizado em um plano outro, muito além do oceano sem fim de imagens digitais que se renova a cada segundo no plano imaterial. O artista fotógrafo é foda, a tecnologia é superada por ele e para ele.

Make good art.

Sun, 20 May 2012 13:20:09 -0400

Make good art.:

Neil Gaiman addresses the class of 2012.

34th Commencement
May 17, 2012

I never really expected to find myself giving advice to people graduating from an establishment of higher education. I never graduated from any such establishment. I never even started at one. I escaped from school as soon as I could, when the prospect of four more years of enforced learning before I’d become the writer I wanted to be was stifling.

I got out into the world, I wrote, and I became a better writer the more I wrote, and I wrote some more, and nobody ever seemed to mind that I was making it up as I went along, they just read what I wrote and they paid for it, or they didn’t, and often they commissioned me to write something else for them.

Which has left me with a healthy respect and fondness for higher education that those of my friends and family, who attended Universities, were cured of long ago.

Looking back, I’ve had a remarkable ride. I’m not sure I can call it a career, because a career implies that I had some kind of career plan, and I never did. The nearest thing I had was a list I made when I was 15 of everything I wanted to do: to write an adult novel, a children’s book, a comic, a movie, record an audiobook, write an episode of Doctor Who… and so on. I didn’t have a career. I just did the next thing on the list.

So I thought I’d tell you everything I wish I’d known starting out, and a few things that, looking back on it, I suppose that I did know. And that I would also give you the best piece of advice I’d ever got, which I completely failed to follow.

First of all: When you start out on a career in the arts you have no idea what you are doing.

This is great. People who know what they are doing know the rules, and know what is possible and impossible. You do not. And you should not. The rules on what is possible and impossible in the arts were made by people who had not tested the bounds of the possible by going beyond them. And you can.

If you don’t know it’s impossible it’s easier to do. And because nobody’s done it before, they haven’t made up rules to stop anyone doing that again, yet.

Secondly, If you have an idea of what you want to make, what you were put here to do, then just go and do that.

And that’s much harder than it sounds and, sometimes in the end, so much easier than you might imagine. Because normally, there are things you have to do before you can get to the place you want to be. I wanted to write comics and novels and stories and films, so I became a journalist, because journalists are allowed to ask questions, and to simply go and find out how the world works, and besides, to do those things I needed to write and to write well, and I was being paid to learn how to write economically, crisply, sometimes under adverse conditions, and on time.

Sometimes the way to do what you hope to do will be clear cut, and sometimes it will be almost impossible to decide whether or not you are doing the correct thing, because you’ll have to balance your goals and hopes with feeding yourself, paying debts, finding work, settling for what you can get.

Something that worked for me was imagining that where I wanted to be – an author, primarily of fiction, making good books, making good comics and supporting myself through my words – was a mountain. A distant mountain. My goal.

And I knew that as long as I kept walking towards the mountain I would be all right. And when I truly was not sure what to do, I could stop, and think about whether it was taking me towards or away from the mountain. I said no to editorial jobs on magazines, proper jobs that would have paid proper money because I knew that, attractive though they were, for me they would have been walking away from the mountain. And if those job offers had come along earlier I might have taken them, because they still would have been closer to the mountain than I was at the time.

I learned to write by writing. I tended to do anything as long as it felt like an adventure, and to stop when it felt like work, which meant that life did not feel like work.

Thirdly, When you start off, you have to deal with the problems of failure. You need to be thickskinned, to learn that not every project will survive. A freelance life, a life in the arts, is sometimes like putting messages in bottles, on a desert island, and hoping that someone will find one of your bottles and open it and read it, and put something in a bottle that will wash its way back to you: appreciation, or a commission, or money, or love. And you have to accept that you may put out a hundred things for every bottle that winds up coming back.

The problems of failure are problems of discouragement, of hopelessness, of hunger. You want everything to happen and you want it now, and things go wrong. My first book – a piece of journalism I had done for the money, and which had already bought me an electric typewriter from the advance – should have been a bestseller. It should have paid me a lot of money. If the publisher hadn’t gone into involuntary liquidation between the first print run selling out and the second printing, and before any royalties could be paid, it would have done.

And I shrugged, and I still had my electric typewriter and enough money to pay the rent for a couple of months, and I decided that I would do my best in future not to write books just for the money. If you didn’t get the money, then you didn’t have anything. If I did work I was proud of, and I didn’t get the money, at least I’d have the work.

Every now and again, I forget that rule, and whenever I do, the universe kicks me hard and reminds me. I don’t know that it’s an issue for anybody but me, but it’s true that nothing I did where the only reason for doing it was the money was ever worth it, except as bitter experience. Usually I didn’t wind up getting the money, either. The things I did because I was excited, and wanted to see them exist in reality have never let me down, and I’ve never regretted the time I spent on any of them.

The problems of failure are hard.

The problems of success can be harder, because nobody warns you about them.

The first problem of any kind of even limited success is the unshakable conviction that you are getting away with something, and that any moment now they will discover you. It’s Imposter Syndrome, something my wife Amanda christened the Fraud Police.

In my case, I was convinced that there would be a knock on the door, and a man with a clipboard (I don’t know why he carried a clipboard, in my head, but he did) would be there, to tell me it was all over, and they had caught up with me, and now I would have to go and get a real job, one that didn’t consist of making things up and writing them down, and reading books I wanted to read. And then I would go away quietly and get the kind of job where you don’t have to make things up any more.

The problems of success. They’re real, and with luck you’ll experience them. The point where you stop saying yes to everything, because now the bottles you threw in the ocean are all coming back, and have to learn to say no.

I watched my peers, and my friends, and the ones who were older than me and watch how miserable some of them were: I’d listen to them telling me that they couldn’t envisage a world where they did what they had always wanted to do any more, because now they had to earn a certain amount every month just to keep where they were. They couldn’t go and do the things that mattered, and that they had really wanted to do; and that seemed as a big a tragedy as any problem of failure.

And after that, the biggest problem of success is that the world conspires to stop you doing the thing that you do, because you are successful. There was a day when I looked up and realised that I had become someone who professionally replied to email, and who wrote as a hobby. I started answering fewer emails, and was relieved to find I was writing much more.

Fourthly, I hope you’ll make mistakes. If you’re making mistakes, it means you’re out there doing something. And the mistakes in themselves can be useful. I once misspelled Caroline, in a letter, transposing the A and the O, and I thought, “Coraline looks like a real name…”

And remember that whatever discipline you are in, whether you are a musician or a photographer, a fine artist or a cartoonist, a writer, a dancer, a designer, whatever you do you have one thing that’s unique. You have the ability to make art.

And for me, and for so many of the people I have known, that’s been a lifesaver. The ultimate lifesaver. It gets you through good times and it gets you through the other ones.

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do.

Make good art.

I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Make it on the good days too.

And Fifthly, while you are at it, make your art. Do the stuff that only you can do.

The urge, starting out, is to copy. And that’s not a bad thing. Most of us only find our own voices after we’ve sounded like a lot of other people. But the one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can.

The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That’s the moment you may be starting to get it right.

The things I’ve done that worked the best were the things I was the least certain about, the stories where I was sure they would either work, or more likely be the kinds of embarrassing failures people would gather together and talk about until the end of time. They always had that in common: looking back at them, people explain why they were inevitable successes. While I was doing them, I had no idea.

I still don’t. And where would be the fun in making something you knew was going to work?

And sometimes the things I did really didn’t work. There are stories of mine that have never been reprinted. Some of them never even left the house. But I learned as much from them as I did from the things that worked.

Sixthly. I will pass on some secret freelancer knowledge. Secret knowledge is always good. And it is useful for anyone who ever plans to create art for other people, to enter a freelance world of any kind. I learned it in comics, but it applies to other fields too. And it’s this:

People get hired because, somehow, they get hired. In my case I did something which these days would be easy to check, and would get me into trouble, and when I started out, in those pre-internet days, seemed like a sensible career strategy: when I was asked by editors who I’d worked for, I lied. I listed a handful of magazines that sounded likely, and I sounded confident, and I got jobs. I then made it a point of honour to have written something for each of the magazines I’d listed to get that first job, so that I hadn’t actually lied, I’d just been chronologically challenged… You get work however you get work.

People keep working, in a freelance world, and more and more of today’s world is freelance, because their work is good, and because they are easy to get along with, and because they deliver the work on time. And you don’t even need all three. Two out of three is fine. People will tolerate how unpleasant you are if your work is good and you deliver it on time. They’ll forgive the lateness of the work if it’s good, and if they like you. And you don’t have to be as good as the others if you’re on time and it’s always a pleasure to hear from you.

When I agreed to give this address, I started trying to think what the best advice I’d been given over the years was.

And it came from Stephen King twenty years ago, at the height of the success of Sandman. I was writing a comic that people loved and were taking seriously. King had liked Sandman and my novel with Terry Pratchett, Good Omens, and he saw the madness, the long signing lines, all that, and his advice was this:

“This is really great. You should enjoy it.”

And I didn’t. Best advice I got that I ignored.Instead I worried about it. I worried about the next deadline, the next idea, the next story. There wasn’t a moment for the next fourteen or fifteen years that I wasn’t writing something in my head, or wondering about it. And I didn’t stop and look around and go, this is really fun. I wish I’d enjoyed it more. It’s been an amazing ride. But there were parts of the ride I missed, because I was too worried about things going wrong, about what came next, to enjoy the bit I was on.

That was the hardest lesson for me, I think: to let go and enjoy the ride, because the ride takes you to some remarkable and unexpected places.

And here, on this platform, today, is one of those places. (I am enjoying myself immensely.)

To all today’s graduates: I wish you luck. Luck is useful. Often you will discover that the harder you work, and the more wisely you work, the luckier you get. But there is luck, and it helps.

We’re in a transitional world right now, if you’re in any kind of artistic field, because the nature of distribution is changing, the models by which creators got their work out into the world, and got to keep a roof over their heads and buy sandwiches while they did that, are all changing. I’ve talked to people at the top of the food chain in publishing, in bookselling, in all those areas, and nobody knows what the landscape will look like two years from now, let alone a decade away. The distribution channels that people had built over the last century or so are in flux for print, for visual artists, for musicians, for creative people of all kinds.

Which is, on the one hand, intimidating, and on the other, immensely liberating. The rules, the assumptions, the now-we’re supposed to’s of how you get your work seen, and what you do then, are breaking down. The gatekeepers are leaving their gates. You can be as creative as you need to be to get your work seen. YouTube and the web (and whatever comes after YouTube and the web) can give you more people watching than television ever did. The old rules are crumbling and nobody knows what the new rules are.

So make up your own rules.

Someone asked me recently how to do something she thought was going to be difficult, in this case recording an audio book, and I suggested she pretend that she was someone who could do it. Not pretend to do it, but pretend she was someone who could. She put up a notice to this effect on the studio wall, and she said it helped.

So be wise, because the world needs more wisdom, and if you cannot be wise, pretend to be someone who is wise, and then just behave like they would.

And now go, and make interesting mistakes, make amazing mistakes, make glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules. Leave the world more interesting for your being here. Make good art.

_MG_3757 on Flickr.

Sat, 12 May 2012 16:04:32 -0400

_MG_3757 on Flickr.

heartburning life

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 19:50:26 -0400

a dor no estômago não me deixa pensar. não me deixa sentir, não me deixa usufruir do bom e do melhor. dizem que dor no estômago é medo. como fazer essa revisão, o escrutínio do “de onde vem o medo”? medo de quê? procuro, procuro, não encontro. medo, te convoco, mostre os dentes, aliás, mostre sua banguela amarela. dizem, também, que foram as pimentas do almoço. assassinas. a plague, a plague in both thy houses. minha vida está em chamas, nesse momento. não consigo pensar. o estômago comanda, nos leva onde quer. somos movidos a víscera.

Sherlock Rain Man

Thu, 19 Apr 2012 10:47:49 -0400

Quando escolho um livro em uma loja, em geral, escolho-o como vou ao cinema: no escuro, como em um blind-date. Não gosto de saber quase nada sobre a narrativa. Claro, com a quantidade de informações circulantes na Internet, isso é quase impossível. Mas ainda me permito surpreender. Faço assim: leio os títulos. Se algum me interessar, leio a orelha. No máximo. O que me chamou a atenção nesse livro foi o selo de premiação na capa. Um autor premiado e desconhecido (para mim). Isso em interessou. O cachorro de cabeça para baixo também, além do vermelho; não vou mentir. Escolhi esse livro praticamente por seus elementos paratextuais.
Por isso mesmo, as primeiras páginas foram um tanto quanto torturantes. Não entendia muito bem a forma simples com a qual o narrador se comunica com o leitor. São 226 páginas de um texto muito limpo, em primeira pessoa. E uma primeira pessoa autista. Um autista é uma pessoa – sem firulas técnicas aqui – que não consegue e nem quer se conectar a outras pessoas. Tem dificuldades de expressão, a interação social é bastante difícil e, em geral, há manias e rituais, como gritar e bater com a cabeça em uma situação de estresse (muitas pessoas ao redor, por exemplo). O QI costuma ser comprometido, mas há casos de gênios autistas – como vemos nos filmes “Rain Man” e “O solista” (interessante o título deste último, já que o autista leva uma “vida solo”). Assim é Christopher, nosso narrador adolescente. Um rapaz autista, gênio matemático apaixonado por Sherlock Holmes, seu conterrâneo no espaço da ficção. Haddon nos leva à cumplicidade com esse narrador inesperado, ao qual levamos um tempo a nos acostumar (os narradores das ficções a que estamos acostumados são tão assertivos!): acompanhamos seus dias de investigador minuciosamente, sua super memória não permite que nada nos escape (e desconfio, sinceramente, de que o personagem Sheldon, de Big Bang Theory, tenha sido inspirado no menino criado por Haddon). Essa investigação – não serei spoiler – leva a muitas descobertas, muito além das expectativas de Christopher. É uma história de superações, permeada por uma inteligência elegante, que nos obriga a enxergar o mundo pelo viés de uma lógica a que não estamos acostumados. Sem o autismo, Christopher talvez fosse um nerd insuportável, apaixonado pela garota impossível, um Michael Cera da Sessão da Tarde. Com autismo, temos uma novíssima aventura, um tatear pelo imprevisível com surpresas reservadas em cada linha.

closed 01 on Flickr.The best brownie in this galaxy.

Sun, 15 Apr 2012 21:53:52 -0400

closed 01 on Flickr.

The best brownie in this galaxy.

the rest of your youh, a set on Flickr.when it comes to...

Fri, 13 Apr 2012 00:31:58 -0400

the rest of your youh, a set on Flickr.

when it comes to you
you’re 30.
and you’re 20 years to be half way there.
theses 20 years, you find out,
they happen to be running away from you,
in case you choose to live like humdrum,
like a machine thrown in a corner
these 20 years to go half way the 100th party,
they better be well spent
your skin tells
every mark
every little spot
wrinkle,
your face is the canvas
of the life you’ve been
drinking from
so drink it
drink your life up
be the thirstiest person in the world.

Carol Custodio, São Paulo, April 13th 2012, friday.

Sixteen Things Calvin and Hobbes Said Better Than Anyone Else

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 18:54:41 -0400

Sixteen Things Calvin and Hobbes Said Better Than Anyone Else:

solipsism:

On life’s constant little limitations

Calvin: You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocket ship underpants don’t help.

On expectations

Calvin: Everybody seeks happiness! Not me, though! That’s the difference between me and the rest of the world. Happiness isn’t good enough for me! I demand euphoria!

On why we are scared of the dark

Calvin: I think night time is dark so you can imagine your fears with less distraction.

On the unspoken truth behind the education system

Calvin: As you can see, I have memorized this utterly useless piece of information long enough to pass a test question. I now intend to forget it forever. You’ve taught me nothing except how to cynically manipulate the system. Congratulations.

On the cruel reality of commercial art

Hobbes: Van Gogh would’ve sold more than one painting if he’d put tigers in them.

On the tragedy of hipsters

Calvin: The world bores you when you’re cool.

On the tears of a clown

Calvin: Isn’t it strange that evolution would give us a sense of humour? When you think about it, it’s weird that we have a physiological response to absurdity. We laugh at nonsense. We like it. We think it’s funny. Don’t you think it’s odd that we appreciate absurdity? Why would we develop that way? How does it benefit us?

Hobbes: I suppose if we couldn’t laugh at things that don’t make sense, we couldn’t react to a lot of life.

Calvin: (after a long pause) I can’t tell if that’s funny or really scary.

On the falling of sparrows (or providence’s lack of a timetable)

Calvin: Life is full of surprises, but never when you need one.

On why winter is the cruellest of seasons

Calvin: Getting an inch of snow is like winning 10 cents in the lottery.

On the gaping hole in contemporary art’s soul

Calvin: People always make the mistake of thinking art is created for them. But really, art is a private language for sophisticates to congratulate themselves on their superiority to the rest of the world. As my artist’s statement explains, my work is utterly incomprehensible and is therefore full of deep significance.

On playing Frankenstein with words

Calvin: Verbing weirds language.

On realising God is more Woody Allen than Michael Bay

Calvin: They say the world is a stage. But obviously the play is unrehearsed and everybody is ad-libbing his lines.

Hobbes: Maybe that’s why it’s hard to tell if we’re living in a tragedy or a farce.

Calvin: We need more special effects and dance numbers.

On why ET is real

Calvin: Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us.

On looking yourself in the mirror

Hobbes: So the secret to good self-esteem is to lower your expectations to the point where they’re already met?

On the future

Calvin: Trick or treat!

Adult: Where’s your costume? What are you supposed to be?

Calvin: I’m yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Madison Avenue and Hollywood, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you’re old and weak. Am I scary, or what?

On the truth

Calvin: It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy…Let’s go exploring!

_MG_3050 on Flickr.

Mon, 09 Apr 2012 23:06:01 -0400

_MG_3050 on Flickr.

Na Liberdade…, a set on Flickr.…aprendemos como é...

Mon, 09 Apr 2012 14:17:31 -0400

Na Liberdade…, a set on Flickr.

…aprendemos como é feito o macarrão tradicional chinês, em um dos melhores e mais aclamados restaurantes da região, o Rong He [Rua da Glória, 622-a - Liberdade, São Paulo, SP.

Angeli, ocupai-nos!, a set on Flickr.Fotos da nossa visita à...

Mon, 09 Apr 2012 14:16:29 -0400

Angeli, ocupai-nos!, a set on Flickr.

Fotos da nossa visita à Ocupação Angeli, no Instituto Itaú Cultural, São Paulo, SP - Brasil.

Mais sobre a mostra no post mais que excelente de Juliana Protásio: quadro-a-quadro.blog.br/?p=15045

neighborhood, a set on Flickr.uma volta pela rua à tarde nada a...

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 19:13:55 -0400

neighborhood, a set on Flickr.

uma volta pela rua
à tarde
nada a declarar
só a conhecer
hello, stranger

Baden Baden Weiss on Flickr.PARA NOSSA ALEGRIA!

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 22:24:02 -0400

Baden Baden Weiss on Flickr.

PARA NOSSA ALEGRIA!

At Girondino Café - SP on Flickr.coffee, no sugar and flower. no...

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 18:44:18 -0400

At Girondino Café - SP on Flickr.

coffee, no sugar and flower. no better life.

at Vega+Jack’s, a set on Flickr.pieces of us

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 18:38:18 -0400

at Vega+Jack’s, a set on Flickr.

pieces of us

I wanna be loved by you, a set on Flickr.I wanna be Marilyn...

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 18:37:13 -0400

I wanna be loved by you, a set on Flickr.

I wanna be Marilyn Monroe exhibit at Cinemateca, São Paulo - SP

"Shame" e a cultura da vergonha [breve comentário]

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 23:41:00 -0400

Shame, palavra anglófona que significa vergonha. Especialmente para os americanos, que adoram a fricção da palavra em uma acusação. Fica forte: “Shame on you!”, dizem as mães a seus filhos. Ou então o clássico “What a shame”, ou ainda a retórica “Have you no shame?” [fucking nope!]. A “cultura da vergonha”, achei que tinha acabado na década de 60, mas percebo, cada vez mais, que essa geração tão elaborada na imagem e no caractere, ela vem sendo requentada, saindo do alicerce judaico-cristão e passando para o fluxo bit-sec. Vergonha me foi ensinada como a pior coisa que existe e, no entanto, algo que devemos ter e cultivar bonitinha o tempo inteiro, algo que não podemos perder, de jeito nenhum. Perde-se para sempre quem perde essa marca que, biblicamente, é representada em nossos corpos pelo umbigo. A maior vergonha da humanidade, segundo os autos religiosos, seria termos saído do corpo de outra pessoa, melhor, de uma mulher. Hoje, procuro a vergonha e encontro-a cada vez mais nas redes sociais: vergonha alheia, vergonha de sentir vergonha [afinal, sou foda diguidin!], vergonha da foto que saiu ruim e o amigo meteu uma tag, vergonha de ter dito aquelas coisas no twitter, pegou mal. Vergonha => DELETE. Mas, sempre vem um e dá copy-paste e aí sua vergonha, tome aí, fica boiando na modorrenta internet F O R E V E R. “Forever alone”, aliás, é uma das marcas da vergonha hoje, um atestado de óbito social. Vá você discordar. É troll. Mas vamos, que está tarde. Fiquei amarrando essas fitas antes de entrar no cine e me entregar a “Shame”, o filme. Muito comentado, aliás, pelo lance oblíquo da genitália do ator Michael Fassbender [siiiiim, o Magneto do reload do X-Men], é um filme de densidade inesperada – ao menos para mim, que só estava ouvindo os tais comentários que mencionei anteriormente, “eyke enorme, bee!”. A enormidade dessa narrativa dirigida por Steve McQueen é contada entre tomadas longas e sequências curtas, com enquadramento bem fechado, como em fotografias 50mm em que nos posicionamos perto demais do assunto. Essa proximidade, para quem não sabe o que significa a palavra shame, coloca o leitor em um espaço sem desvio. Não há como fugir: aqui está posta a vida de um homem capturado pelo vício em sexo/pelo sexo viciado e pelas relações familiares, que insistem em discorrer sobre os mesmos assuntos, as mesmas marcas – me lembrei, no momento em que entra em cena o tema “família”, de “Lavoura Arcaica” [vamos, pesquise, você consegue]. “Você me encurrala”, berra o protagonista para X [vá ver o filme para saber]. Essa tensão é cultivada pelos movimentos dos corpos, especialmente do olhar. Os olhos contam grande parte da história, são tema em algumas cenas, são discutidos, inclusive. Os olhos e as cicatrizes, que também estão por toda parte, dialogando com os cortes nas cenas. Interromper para prosseguir, olhar desviado, pele marcada [interromper a dor, o coito, a vida]. E, para quem sabe o que significa a palavra shame, vem a confirmação, quando procuramos não a vergonha em si, mas as setas que lhe são apontadas, algum padrão; padrão, no filme, é o que menos se encontra, é uma narrativa que vai se descarrilando quando estamos achando que encontramos seu/um fio condutor. Ela se quebra e é assim mesmo, biscoito fino. Um dos comentários pós-filme: “é sobre a sociedade de hoje, as relações da internet, tudo fácil, impessoal, rápido”. Concordo, mas discordo em pararmos por aí. O peso de existir fica, IMHO, em primeiro plano. Como dói isso de existir! Como a palavra sexo, por exemplo, pode remeter à sua etimologia, de seccionar, separar! “Com quem fazemos sexo?” – Shame, o filme, aprece acusar que estamos sempre transando sozinhos, com nosso próprio corpo, nossas expectativas, nossos passados, nossas distâncias entre o aqui e droga nenhuma, nossos desejos [artificiais, artificializados por um discurso, etc.]. Então, que vergonha é essa? Por quê isso de vergonha logo no título, me perguntei, diversas vezes. Claro, há situações em que o protagonista é chamado a sentir-se uma merda, claro, lhe jogam na cara – e quem joga está, visivelmente, com vergonha – o modo nada convencional como “encara” o sexo [um atoleiro de pornografia na rede]. Aí vem junto, saltitante, a hipocrisia, mas isso nem chama muito a atenção, sabe. O que me puxou as cordas foi pensar em uma vergonha de não saber como existir, talvez. De chorar ao ver alguém cantando de um jeito diferente, sentido – de não saber como sentir, de não saber para onde olhar, o que cultivar, pelo que lutar. De não saber cultivar uma relação duradoura. Vergonha de entender essa solidão e não querer compartilhar, deixar para amanhã: amanhã eu te conto, vai. Vergonha não de ser/fazer, mas do débito. De se estar em dívida, essa acusação maior de ser egoísta: egoísta, sozinho, condenado a existir sozinho e levar isso até o fim e, se possível, não levar ninguém junto. A sociedade, prestando um pouco de atenção ao assunto, pede o contrário, temos de ter a competência de levar alguém junto, sempre [para mim, o egoísmo maior]. Que vergonha de ser sozinho, de me sentir melhor com desconhecidos! – mas vergonha de quê mesmo? Foi essa a angústia que me perseguiu durante todo o filme de McQueen. O pênis do Fassbender se apequena diante da nauseante linha firme da solidão que se amarra em nossas gargantas ao longo de 101 minutos.

O Wagner Brenner, do Update or Die, em um post interessante –...

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 16:53:14 -0400

O Wagner Brenner, do Update or Die, em um post interessante – embora rápido – nos mostra algumas das referências fotográficas do artista Norman Rockwell. Não me furtei em comentar o seguinte: A imagem acima nos permite ver o trabalho da tradução intersemiótica, de fotografia para pintura. como ele, Rockwell, se colocava na pintura, comprovando, entre outras questões, essa dissolução entre o devir, a obra e o tradutor, que vai ser continuada pelo leitor. O inacabamento de Rockwell e sua obra está entrelaçado em cada seleção, das fotografias aos elementos que ele se permite inserir, suprimir, recuperar. Perseguindo ou não esses rastros, ficamos impressionados com a narrativa que se cria ali: um rádio, o balconista fumante e despenteado com olhar aquilino sobre o garoto, o guarda com o ombro mais cansado e mais largo. Qual o segredo compartilhado pelos três? Rockwell pintava e escrevia, nos permitindo escrever com ele – e, especialmente, SEM ELE – em nosso próprio momento, em nosso hic et nunc de zilhares de reprodutíveis sobrepostos em nosso imaginário.

Comentário feito por mim originalmente em: http://www.updateordie.com/2012/03/21/as-referencias-fotograficas-de-norman-rockwell/?fb_comment_id=fbc_10150668816314404_21196455_10150669026464404#f350834e84