BOX With Box, the short film released today by production house Bot & Dolly, never-before-seen robot-powered projection mapping on moving objects is revealed. In Box (above) a performer engages with a morphing set, as a flat panel transforms into a cube, and then a graphic world where shapes bend and blend and teleport across the stage. Eventually its revealed that a robotic mechanism is hidden behind every illusion. As demonstrated in the film …
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 …
Tita Do passed away last week. At a grand age of 93. She was dad’s oldest sister. When dad was in his teens, he lived with her in California. Crazy. It’s like Benny…and Elice…and Elaine with Curt…they all stayed with me for a time while getting their wings ready to take off. Her hand is in everything through her kids and my cousins, through my dad to us. Here is …
by Hoang Tien Quyet
There’s this story in a book about zen teachings. The story goes some dude argued that his appearance and behavior didn’t matter so much because his inner self was good. The other stuff was just surface. The teacher offers him a fine wine, and he enthusiastically says he would happily take some. The teacher brings out the wine in a jar (one that functions like a bedpan/urinal in that country). …
Just start typing. Enough of this thinking. Waking up to a whirring mind is not optimal. It would have been better to do a lazy turn and smile at my lover’s sleeping form. I would have taken being licked awake by Ripley. The intellect is resentful of this intrusion of work in my home. “Hi. What do you guys want?” Noot and Ripley are watching me type. Maybe they’re trying …
Every once and a while it is time to clean all the things. Part of it is leaving mom and dad’s place and seeing all the memory laden things there. Mom is talking selling the house in time. It’s okay, they are only things. We have memory enough. Makes my own place feel h e a v y. Too much. Still purging and rearranging.
21 days to make something a habit. Game on. Stretches the hand; rubs the wrist. Nothing there to limber one’s mind. The going answer to “How are you?” has been, “Creaky.” Everything. All the joints. Thoughts skip like a scratched record. (Do they know what that sounds like? Have they ever touched one? Played one?) It’s noise. White noise. Fits with the snow and freakin’ brrrr. They’re related, I’m sure. …
Right. Tabla rasa. New Year. Figure out the title after I figure out what I’m doing. But then again, that’s a bit of life right there, isn’t it? Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone… Christmas was good. I mean, it really was great to hang out with my brother and sisters. We had a video chat with Beau and met …
