Anyway, I've been kind of lax on exercising my creative brain lately, and so I've decided to devote this space to posting up a new thing I'm kind of proud of that I've done during that month.
This will not always be a video -- could be drawings, could be writing, could be music. (Sure, I've never written music before, but who knows?) I'm gearing up for a feature I want to shoot next year, and so it's quite possible there'll be stuff here that relates to it.
Coming up on the end of January already, so I'll share something I did earlier this month. It's footage I shot for someone else's documentary, but I cut it to tell a quick little two minute story. No reason in the world to assume the final doc will have this in it, this was really just to distract me (while I was working on a less entertaining project).
The finished doc features (and is being produced by) Emmanuel Bermudez, who is training to be a boxer. I think it'll be good, which is why I'm working on it.
The last of my MySpace blogs. And man, was it a lengthy one. No wonder I haven't blogged since. Sheesh. Monday, March 16, 2009
Worst thing about forgetting your phone when you're out to an event like Luminaria is not the being out of touch, or even not knowing what time it is. (Seriously, does anyone under the age of 50 wear a watch anymore? We've become a generation of old-timey railroad conductors, checking our pocket-watches every so often, "looks like the 3:17 is right on time...")
The worst part is not being able to document any of it.
Luminaria, for those of you not in San Antonio (or who have somehow avoided the billboards and commercials, and if so, good for you!) is a citywide arts event. Downtown is closed off and given over to the artists.
Or so it was supposed to be, anyway -- I can remember at last year's planning meeting, one artist's work was rejected because "we don't want to get all Ren Fest, do we?" I forget who said that, but clearly he was not on the committee this year. There were fire-walkers and jugglers in the streets, along with the radio station pimps and Jesus-freaks and snack-hawkers and I don't doubt for a moment that it was the best night in months for Ripley's and the various restaurants along Alamo Street. Some tourist asked if I knew where the Hard Rock Cafe was. We have a Hard Rock Cafe? Why?
But there wasn't much art present.
Look, I'm old enough that lasers still impress me. I can remember when they were objects of terror, and I'm still a little wary when they are shot willy-nilly into a crowd -- somebody's going to be blinded! But I guess it doesn't work like that anymore, because that's pretty much what the street art consisted of Saturday. Lasers shot at buildings. Which looked great. But didn't have much to do with art. There were faces projected onto the front of the Alamo, along with what seemed very much like advertising copy. Could that be?
There was some street poetry stuff on Houston, which was kind of nice (but let's face it, easily ignored). And a groovy projection installation there, a little girl being shot through a few rows of gauzy sheets, which was a lot more effective than I'd have guessed. But that was probably the only straight "art" piece I saw outside. Maybe the weather forced everyone indoors? If so, I never found where.
(Which isn't to say it wasn't there -- there were so many people out there braving the forecast that I could have missed a train of elephants, all linked trunk to tail, mere feet away from me. Come on, people, this is San Antonio, we don't go outside if it looks like it might sprinkle. What, was there nothing good on TV?)
I did see a little parade from the Southwest School of Art and Craft, children (and their proud, hippie-dippie parents) carrying paper lanterns through the crowds. It was kind of haunting, really, I couldn't help but smile every time I saw it. Beautiful.
Lots of music in the streets. I had pieces showing on opposite ends of downtown, a couple at Dar's show in Gallery 118 (on Broadway at Houston) and one at Instituto Cultural de Mexico (down under the Tower of the Americas). (I also had something showing at Joey's Film Day SA screening, but... I couldn't find it. Sorry, Joey.) So I had a long walk from one end of town to the other. I heard jazz (ah, Bett Butler, may you always bring the swing!) and classical guitar and conjunto and solo violin. A surprising number of your run-of-the-mill cover bands, too -- someone was pumping out the best of Doug Sahm as I passed that ridiculous orange thing out in the intersection, across from the Convention Center.
But as I drew near the Instituto, a pleasant surprise. A little rear-projected screen behind them, my favorite local Girl/Boy Pop Toy (hell, my favorite Girl/Boy Pop Toy worldwide!), Hyperbubble was playing. A little child was dancing on the sidewalk in front of me. My boy loves this stuff, too. Maybe they should make a kid's album. But when I came back through later, they were at it again (still?) and the grownups were boogying down, ages 17-70. These guys need to be playing arenas and stadiums, not sidewalks. But as long as I can here "Roller Boogie Baby Doll" live on the sidewalk, and for free, I will.
Anyway, I finally got to the screening. Saw a lot of people I hadn't seen in a few months. (Most frequently-heard: "your hair is... back.") Mine was the first to show on the outside screen (nice, loud, clear speakers, why can't we get this on a regular basis?). Naturally, no one was there, including me. It was scheduled to show again indoors, the last one on the program. I wasn't there that late, so I presume it did not screen at all, because I'd have been the only one there, I'm sure. People take off after theirs screens, and who can blame them? I would've. Or might've, had I not seen some great work by friends:.
The Parker Creek project "No Soliciting" screened. I was present for the production (and wrap party, and not much else). I congratulated all involved, I hope, and do so now if I missed anyone. It was good work. I told Justin what a good job I thought he'd done as the lead actor, and he said "we couldn't have done it without everyone there. Which includes you. I guess." Justin has an admirable tendency to not tip a joke, one I try to share, and so I don't know for sure how sincere was his insult. I'd like to think entirely. Get him ready for a Hollywood career of stepping on the little people.
Sam Lerma's "Trash Day" showed at Dar's Gallery 118 screening. It was truly impressive. Sam's probably the most artistically committed director in town, and as such, he doesn't work very often. But what he does is always impressive. I got to be on set for a lot of this one, too, and didn't learn a thing. But I study Sam's work anyway, someday I'll crack the Lerma code.
My old pal Alston Cox did a mini-doc about her new neighborhood. I'm not sure if it was supposed to have sound. It didn't outside (and knowing it's going to be outside in San Antonio, one is wise to omit sound, this instance notwithstanding). But it was an admirable piece, a snapshot of a disappearing chunk of our city's cultural identity. It made me want to move there.
I'm a sucker for color, and so Erik Bosse's "Awaiting the Equinox" really revved my outboard. Deborah Keller-Rihn dancing and creating one of her beautiful mandalas, brightly colored circles of chalky dust. It was maybe the only piece I saw that really was what you'd call an "art film" (except for the Mombassa Code performance piece, with live "microscopy," fire dancing, video montages culled from YouTube and various video archives, and the sort of musical noodling one might associate with an eight-piece band that included not one but two -- TWO! -- droning prayer bowls).
Carlos Pina's "Shicken Chit" was a good time, Carlos returning to the comedy he does so well. Episodic, filled with charming, charismatic performances, and he's really developing as a visual storyteller. I loved his use of close-ups for cutaways and transitions. My biggest complaint was that he wasn't in it himself -- Carlos is one of the loosest, goofiest comic actors in San Antonio film, and I always want to see him on screen.
And then came A.J.... "Death Rattle" sounds like the title of a Stephen Seagal direct to video rental involving snake handlers and meth labs, but it's instead the most beautiful film project ever to come out of San Antonio, film or video. (And it was video, suck on that film-lovers.) A.J. Garces is an astonishing talent, and if he'd just buckle down and commit to being a filmmaker (instead of making his very comfortable living with graphic arts, and too often squandering his camera gifts on projects that aren't deserving of them), he'd be living in a beachfront villa in Spain right now. This should be playing in Cannes, in Berlin, in Santa Barbara, in every film festival that matters. "Death Rattle" is an amazing film.
And here's mine. It's no "Death Rattle," but it has a better title.
I should probably turn this into a short film. Hmm, I've got a 48hr challenge coming up... Posted Monday, March 02, 2009
So, not long ago, I was walking to school to pick up the boy. (Walking because Lisa's got me on a diet, and if I exercise I can afford to drink a beer at night.)
In the street in front of me, some trash. And not just any trash. As I approached, I noticed pictures. Flesh. A lot of flesh. A lot of male flesh. Somebody had tossed gay porn in the street. It was the insert on a DVD. Kids walk to and from school along this street, so I picked it up and figured I'd toss it in the next trashcan. Then ahead, I saw pieces of a DVD case, and finally, the disc itself, artwork on it that was sufficiently graphic.
There's no way this accidentally fell like this, coming apart and rolling hither and thither. Someone tossed out gay porn over the course of a couple of blocks. What the hell was going on in that car? Enough pathology to fill a dozen Jack Chick pamphlets, I'd wager. Good thing a solid citizen like myself found these prurient castoffs and can dispose of them properly.
But as I walked toward the school, a desperate realization began to crawl over me -- it was not trash-day. No one had their trashcans out.
And I was approaching an elementary school with gay porn in my hand.
All right, take it easy. Panic kills. But not as much as showing up at an elementary school with gay porn in your hand. I looked at it again. The title was "Dads Doing Dads." Oh, fuck me! (No, wait, forget I said that.) It's bad enough that it's porn, but specialized porn... for some reason, if it was just "The Curious Taste of Benjamin's Bottom" or whatever your generic gay porn is being titled these days, it seemed like it would be more innocuous. But specifically about dads? Shit, they're going to string me up on the flag pole and beat me with those little stop-sign-poles the crossing guards use.
I began to think about what I could do. I couldn't even just throw it back in the street, now, I was too close to the school. And the churches! Oh my stars and garters, I have to pass two churches on the way to the school! Whose mailbox could I leave it in? There's that guy who put a billboard-sized "No-Bama" sign over his kid's treehouse from October to Inauguration Day, I bet he'd appreciate it...
Literally across the street from the school. Two trashcans. At one, some conscientious home owner was doing yard work and filling his can with leaves. I had to time it just right -- shit, he looked. Okay, okay, stay calm. There, the next can, I can just get there as he bends to pull some leaves out of his rake... got it!
I wiped my sweaty palms on my knees and crossed the street just as the bell rang.
The lesson we learned today? No good deed goes unpunished, my friends. Or always carry a trashbag if you're walking. Or, hell, don't walk. I'm giving up beer for Lent anyway.
I mention in this that "72" would show at the "music video thing tonight at Casbeers." Well, that music video thing, the TMC Music Video Showcase, it's running again this week. Tuesday the 17th at the Josephine Theater. Almost exactly a year after this was posted, Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Worked a couple weekends ago on a project with the Parker Creek gang. (Which would be a good name for a Western, "The Parker Creek Gang!") Should be entertaining. We shot in Michael O'Neal's house, which is a freaking museum of late 50s/early 60s bachelor culture. It's like an altar to my history that I was too young to have been a part of. There's a part of me that really wants to sell everything and buy one of those houses, live that era like he does. Then there's the part of me that has a wife and child, and that part has its foot on the neck of the other part.
Officially, I was the art director, or something like that. But since Michael's place really didn't need any designing, I was just there to hang out. I'm working a little on a poster and maybe the titles sequence. The project should be really fun to watch. It was a great time to shoot.
I don't do that sort of thing enough, collaborations. The past couple of years, most of what I've done has been me alone at my computer, sometimes making up little voices as I talk to myself, sometimes just editing until my eyes cross. I need to get out with real people now and again.
Editing is a weird life. Kind of like being a stalker, really. I shoot a beauty pageant (as I did last month) and edit it into a commemorative video for the contestants to enjoy. That means I spent all of one day with these women (most of them trying desperately to avoid me -- come on, I can almost understand your average schmoe wanting to avoid being on camera, but you girls are beauty queens! By definition, you want people to look at you!). And then I spend days editing the program, getting to know each of them in ways they really don't want me to know. I see everything. EVERYTHING. When I was doing the Rollergirls inaugural season video, I knew them like you might know the characters of your favorite show. It got a little uncomfortable, even -- I was dealing with these women personally, and knew them very intimately, and yet had to restrain myself in conversation with them, as most had no idea who I was!
Still, I'm damned good at it. And it's nice to make a living at what I'm good at. Or at least trying to make one. Just bought a new dedicated computer for editing, anyone wants something done, come see me. I gotta pay for this thing.
I've been really awful about letting the world know where my films are playing.
"72," an experimental pieces I did in collaboration with Mad Mason for my Chez Bernard show early this year, played last week at Girl Fest Hawaii in Honolulu. (It's the piece with the beauty queens, for those of you in the know. I might've shown it at the music video thing tonight at Casbeers, but I've got a meeting.) I didn't go to the screening. Lisa couldn't take time off work, and I'm sure as hell not going to Hawaii without the love of my life. Shame, I've always wanted to go to the islands. We'll get there eventually.
Likewise, that old workhorse "Mars Needs Bibles" has put on its eyeliner and falsies for a screening at a festival in Sao Paolo, Brazil today and Thursday. Wish I could be there for that, I've wanted to go to Brazil for longer than I've wanted to go to Hawaii. But I can't afford it.
A few more in the offing. Talking to London and Barcelona. The one in Spain's far enough away, I might just have to save up for that trip. Never been to Barcelona.
The latest SAL screening was last month, and I know Dar was a little disappointed in the turnout. Not sure if that was the last time she'll do it or not. It seems to be the way with San Antonio film programs, or perhaps all arts-related things here. People think they are excited about it, but when it comes right down to it, they can't be bothered. Maybe it's the natural order of things, maybe these things can't really last more than two or three years. I know Drew at the film commission doesn't donate until the third year, and I guess now I know why. Posted Thursday, May 15, 2008
Busted my hump on this. I need to learn how to really animate, use the proper programs and such. Did this with editing software, a scanner, and my own meaty hands. Got to be an easier way. Now I know why all the animated programs I see have two-thousand Korean names in the end credits.
By the way, please donate to SAL. Good cause, and they need your help.
Go to the SAL YouTube page (or to mine) to see it in high quality (a little "HQ" button below the frame). It's worth it, nice and clear.
St. Baldrick's is still going on. If you're of a mind to shave your head, please let me know. I'll not only donate, but I'll also set you up with Christopher so you can do it for the right cause. I posted this first Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Congratulations on taking your most significant hair-related stand since that time when you changed your part. (If you're a dude... women change their hair color like we change socks, they're used to dramatic changes.) But before you act, please consider these helpful tips and pointers.
1) Sunscreen. Not just after (although if your pigmentation is anything like mine, the scalp under your mop is about as fish-belly white as anything pulled from the bottom of the deepest mineshaft), but before, too. Going under the razor after a day in the sun will result in a comical but embarrassing head pattern that resembles a dumpling in raspberry sauce.
2) Be prepared to look funny. This might seem obvious, but you really have no idea how important hair is to your appearance. Your ears aren't right without hair around them, your forehead may seem suddenly huge or small, and there are some surprises under the scalp, too. You might be a secret pinhead, or look like an uncolored Jack Kirby sketch of Mrs. Grimm's ever-lovin' blue-eyed boy. Eyebrows and facial hair that looked just right beneath a follicle thatch may now be shocking or stark. Facial features that were exquisite when framed by your lovely locks might appear insubstantial after the mowing. Prepare in advance by shaving or growing something. I suggest you start with nose hair.
3) Bring a hat. And don't be surprised to discover that it fits differently afterwards. I've always known that I have a head that would cause Charlie Brown to gape, but I had no idea how much of it was hair. Hats that once did not fit now do, and the rare lid I was able to find that fit over my melon now is looser than before. Refreshingly so, if I may add.
4) Have a damned good reason. For decades, I'd sworn I was going to do this every summer, when my thick hair became a coonskin cap in the Texas heat. But mere comfort was never enough -- I knew my wife would kick my ass if I just did it because it felt good. Or worse, would then have carte blanche to do something just as dramatic herself, and I wouldn't be able to say anything. But if you're doing it for a good cause, ah, now no one can complain... they can still laugh at you, but not complain...
St. Baldricks is an organization devoted to research for children's cancer. Were you aware that 70% of cases of cancer in children is cured? Damn, a cause that actually does something, that's worthy, isn't it? Why not visit my page and drop a buck or two into the bucket?
Thanks to Christopher for both doing the job and alerting me to the cause. Go to his profile and check out the picks under "What Lurks in the Shadow?" if you want to see some scary stuff.
This Luminaria piece is personal in a way that much of my work has not been. After my first son Dashiell was killed in 2000, we got involved with a support group for grieving parents. It did help, and I'm glad we found it. One of the women there talked about people who told her that she loved her child more than Jesus, and that's why he was taken from her. It was horrible, I was shocked that anyone could say such a thing. But I guess not really surprised. Too many people confuse their fundamentalism and hatred with religious beliefs. This post came nearly eight years after Dash's death, Tuesday, March 18, 2008
...then can someone please explain to me why I’m still seeing Huey Lewis on my various screens?
Fitzgerald was full of crap.
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Just posted my Luminaria short on my profile. And here, for that matter.
