scene

Overhead shot. Woman climbs onto one side of a bed. Medium shot, side view. Nightstand in the foreground – a jewelry stand with two rings. Rake focus to woman lying in the bed. She turns from her back toward the camera. Zoom into eyes. Cut to animated attic space. Parallel edit. Felt woman is on her side on the floor surrounded by photographs and letters. She sits up and looks …

start with the end

I think it was Timmerman who advised me to figure out the ending and then work my way to it. I remember him waxing despondent about how we would go on and not remember him. I didn’t know he had cancer and was dying. But I do remember you, you bastard. He was a good professor, by no means an easy man to be around. But I respected him, and …

rag doll

One, two, three One, two, three Lurch One, two, three One, two, three Break One, two, three One, two, three Rise One, two, three One, two, three Fall Repeat, to the sound of an out of tune toy piano waltz. At first, punctuations of representation of memory: photographs, letters, a ring, a key. One, two, three One, two, three One, two, three I remember…this. SHE STOPS A MOMENT BEFORE THE …

monkey progression

So I have been stuck with “Monkeys In the Attic”. I had a series of dialogs, but no end to the story. What if the monkey-voices are represented as loops? They might be literal broken records, skips, obsessively repeated motions. I can choreograph the movements. Repetition can go the direction of increasingly frenetic, or become depressingly the same and ponderous. The advantage of representing the monkey chorus this way, is …

staying where you are is still a choice

…whether it be physical, mental, emotional or even the relative position in a relationship. “It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” Alice in Wonderland “If I don’t like where I am, I could…I should move or make myself comfortable where I’m at.” She runs through the various spaces she occupies. “No, no, no, that won’t do.” She can put her home to right. Though …

this is the place I make

We can’t leave this Winter. We have things to do. I wander down steps in an old hotel. It’s night, the snow is deep. Tita Bella isn’t coming back to the apartment. I have a show to put on. Crunching snow. I look back. It’s a dilapidated three story Victorian of faded red and white trim. Is it like my old place on Rowley? No driveway. Three trees that started …