On Cinema & Time

Linklater // On Cinema & Time from kogonada on Vimeo.

If cinema is the art of time, Linklater is one of its most thoughtful and engaged directors. Unlike other filmmakers identified as auteurs, Linklater’s distinction is not found on the surface of his films, in a visual style or signature shot, but rather in their DNA, as ongoing conversations with cinema, which is to say, with time itself.

See also an extended conversation between Kogonada and Linklater.
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Categorized as Cinema

Library-induced realism

The library had, for the thousandth time, performed its mundane magic trick: It had vaulted me into the future — the prosaic, dog-eared, heaped-by-the-bedside future — that this book and I would, however promising our first encounter, inevitably have ended up having anyway. The initial flush of book-lust promises: This book will change everything; this will be the one that finally gets you into epic poetry; this will teach you how to meditate. The library says: This book will contain a stranger’s ancient receipt and will be out of your life in three weeks. […]

And in dispelling my fantasies of permanence, the library does more than save me the cost of a paperback — it provides me with a template for navigating the great sea of longing and disappointment that is life. […]

Library-induced realism is a great thing, one that can do much to increase your happiness. Because the world in which you are perpetually under the impression that the next book purchase, the next apartment, the next significant other will be the one that finally delivers the goods is not a life of happiness. It is a life of perpetual dissatisfaction, a life of thin and sugary highs followed by long and unenlightening lows. The library is, with its careworn and temporary offerings, as lovely and as poignant a reminder of our actual human condition as the tides or a forest in fall. To quote Penelope Fitzgerald (whose books are well worth owning): “Our lives are only lent to us.”

Library Books: A Small Antidote to a Life of Perpetual Dissatisfaction, Ben Dolnick, The New York Times, December 8th 2020.

Oublier comment écrire

That’s the thing about writing.  Every time I think I’ve figured out how to write, I discover that actually, I’ve just figured out how to write the thing I just wrote, and I have no clue how to write the next scene, the next story, or the next book.

Maureen McHugh

J’ai trouvé cette citation – qui m’a frappée par sa justesse – dans l’infolettre de Austin Kleon cette semaine. Il citait son amie, une femme dont le nom m’était très familier. Un clic… Ah voilà! Il s’agit bien de l’autrice avec qui j’ai eu la chance d’échanger il y a quelques années lors d’une longue balade à Venice Beach, alors qu’une amie commune nous avait présentées l’une à l’autre. « Je sais que vous allez bien vous entendre. » Ce fut le cas et même si nous ne nous sommes pas revues après cette première rencontre, je suis ravie de ce hasard qui me permet de la croiser de nouveau aujourd’hui. J’apprends du même coup qu’elle publie une infolettre, comme tous les cool kids de ce monde. Et un abonnement de plus!

À chaque fois que je démarre un projet d’écriture, ou même quand j’ai laissé un texte en plan pendant quelques jours, je m’étonne de voir comment l’acte d’écrire me paraît étranger, peu naturel, au-delà de mes capacités. Petit moment de panique : je ne sais plus comment on fait! Et c’est bien pire quand il s’agit de projets personnels. Après des années à écrire sur commande, j’ai peur d’avoir complètement oublié comment le faire pour moi-même.