Olaf, Celine @ Blue Sky
It’s no secret. I love me some Nordic countries. Specifically Greenland and Iceland, but Norway is on the list as well. So imagine my super delight when I found out today that the Blue Sky Gallery just down the street has a new exhibition containing images from Greenland & Norway. Icebergs, fog, cold grey waters. Blue Sky, get out of my head.
The cold, the absolute ridiculous nature of living in a place that is constantly trying to kill you. I am amazed by the fact that people live out their lives in such a bleak, white place. Their choice is a cause for me to consider where I live, why, and how terribly easy my life must seem.
To quote the appropriately Nordic RÓ§yksopp, “It’s what I want that’s easy, it’s getting it that’s complicated.”
The bird brains of Portland
Talking Birds art show from Aaron Rayburn on Vimeo.
Alright so the show is still up at the Land Gallery. This was my first show, meaning I had no idea what on earth was going to happen, who was going to show up, or how drunk my friends were going to get. Considering my doomsday predictions, miraculously no art was destroyed, no humans mamed, and I actually slept well after.
The Mirror, 1975
Following Clifton Burt’s recommendation to poke around The Auteurs I uncovered this dusty old Russian film, The Mirror. This is one of those films you sink into, totally get lost in, and days after watching still can’t find your way out. I suppose that sounds creepy. It does make you think at any moment an axe murderer is going to elegantly slay the entire cast. Perhaps it’s just Russian stoicism being filtered through my predictability screen.
The film has been deemed unwatchable, yet its finale has been hailed as the greatest in cinematic history. Each scene is artfully crafted and could be considered fine art if hung on ones wall. Five minutes in, I began grabbing snapshots left and right.
It took me an hour to realize that it is not a film at all. The Mirror is in fact a stream of consciousness-associated memory stockpile. The visual display of nonlinear, fragmented, disjointed human experiences. To say the storyline is understandable is pretty much a crime.
Despite all this noise, The Mirror is fully engrossing. What a surprise on a Tuesday night! Its is basically like ingesting Peyote through your eyes. Delicious.
The highly acclaimed final sequence, set to J.S. Bach as directed by Andrei Tarkovsky:
Don’t worry, you won’t understand a thing. In fact this might as well be the opening. Oh and if you speak Russian you’ll likely be more confused.
We’ll take care of you
We’ve begun. we’re excited, confident, scared, optimistic, nervous, and giddy. This is the bike leaving the parents guidance. No training wheels. Empty space between our shoes and the ground. We’ll try to remember this feeling for a long, long time.
FortPort is on.