I’m working on an idea for the treatment of a poem and I want to incorporate a slow dissolve from one picture to another. On the way to the supermarket this morning I thought I’d see if any iPhone apps would do the trick and I found one called FaceFilm that does exactly what I wanted. It does it pretty fast though so I exported the movie file to iMovie, chopped it a bit and slowed it down. Here’s the result …
I did a few things today because last week was a bit challenging in many ways and I didn’t do enough creative stuff. Nothing much I can put up here yet. The slide shows that follow were just me messing about with the slider and some selfies from the last few weeks and October.
I was 10 years old. It was 1970. The end of a busy summer spent mostly on stage in the Eblana Theatre under Busaras, in a popular play called It’s a Two-Foot Six Inch Above the Ground World. The first play in Ireland in which the word ‘fuck’ was uttered (by Eamonn Morrissey’s character).
That summer, I was also in a Cadbury’s commercial, made a new friend (Donal – now Pastor Happy – Murray), bought a Chopper bicycle for myself
saw Helen Mirren (twice) in Stratford-upon-Avon, and drove a train (yes, a real train).
It was also the summer that my parents’ marriage collapsed.
Here’s a taster …
Here’s what’s in the highlighted bit from this draft letter from my dad to his solicitor …
‘That situation has deteriorated rapidly since our meeting and has now reached the stage where my son, David, is afraid to be left alone in the house with his mother. I do not exaggerate.
… this fear of David’s specifically came to a head last evening, Friday 25/9 when my wife, without any warning, whilst preparing the evening meal suddenly threw mine, David’s and her own, plates and all, at me. She then struck me several times with her fists and would not calm down in spite of many requests. Shouting “You bastard” over and over again and finally shouting that “I would like to slit your throat with a knife and watch the blood run, and I would be glad to swing for it”.
David was terrified during the episode and I have now, unknown to my wife, made arrangements to have him go to his grandparents (my parents) straight from school and if I am called away on business, for him to stay with them. He is content with this arrangement – anything rather than be left alone with her.’
I’m a bit frustrated by the limitations of iMovie. I have the Adobe suite of programs so it’s about time I learned how to use Premiere Pro. This is just a small experiment in manipulating still images. It’s a bit rough but I’m getting the hang of it. Looking forward to learning more.
More tea bag art … It’s interesting how you can make different shapes from the tea bags, depending on how you unfold them. I’ve now got the knack of emptying them too, with the minimum of damage.
Clicking on this will make it bigger.
I like to believe that people tell me the truth. I’m not sure that I could bear to go through life questioning everything that people say to me, wondering if it’s true or what their motivation is for saying it. The problem is, though, that when someone does lie to me, it comes as a shock. And it makes me feel a bit naive and foolish. But, on balance, I think I’d prefer to be naive and foolish than cynical.
I came across images from the Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations many years ago: striking make-up, dramatic clothing, interesting symbolism. A couple of years ago, I saw an advertisement for a Dia de los Muertos celebration in Dublin but it was only this year that I felt that I had sufficient energy to think about participating in some way. So, I decided that, at the very least, I would make myself up and take a few pics.
Anyway, it all gathered legs. Christine expressed an interest. I found a party event in 777, the Mexican tapas-style restaurant on South Great George’s Street, and we decided to go.
I got some make-up advice from Gillian Perdue and Vicky Sargeant, bought some supplies from Pennys and the Art and Hobby Shop, some clothes from a second-hand shop in Temple Bar, some artificial flowers and a scarf to wrap around my top hat from shops in Nutgrove, and got pretty excited about the whole thing.
Still working with the blended pastel on rag paper idea but marrying it with some Celtic knotwork. I was looking for something romantic to write over it. And then I thought of Eavan Boland’s poem Quarantine, about the famine. And a starving man who carries his sick wife until he could go no further. Their bodies are found the next morning. And Eavan Boland’s description is a simple but heartbreaking expression of love.
I’ll do more with this in due course (I have in mind a stop motion sequence) but, for now, I’m just going to call this The Kiss …