Another Present for You!

Posted By on April 11, 2012

Here’s me playing an Aria by Joh. Anton Logy (1650-1721), recorded at the Licata Studios (my bathroom). It’s the first piece most classical guitarists learn.

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Which is to say it’s very easy to play. Which is not to say that it isn’t beautiful. Of all the tunes I play, this one is often a favorite, even though I play many tunes that require plenty more virtuosity. I’m okay with that.

What do you make of that?

P.S. I think you may be hearing this piece again soon.

More classical guitar music here, here, here, and here.

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I Now Interview Me Then

Posted By on April 6, 2012

[My friend Stacey tells me that when several people from your past show up at once, that means there is a fissure in the space-time continuum. What happens when you from your past shows up?]

Hey, what are you up to?

Not much, been busy writing, working on the film, trying to make a living, blogging, the usual.

What’s blogging?

It’s this journal-like thing. You write something about something and then you put it on the Internet.

The Internet? I think I’ve heard of that. It’s a military tool, isn’t it?

It’s changed a little bit since 1981, I guess. So what are you up to?

I’m at the University of Rochester and I’m avoiding studying. I’m watching too much TV. I’m hanging out in the lounge too much. I’m probably drinking too much, too, but I really hate it here and I have to cope some how. So I get the writing, because I’ve just kind of discovered I like doing that myself even though I don’t think I have anything to write about, but you’re making a film? That’s a surprise.

Yeah, sometime in the late 80s I started writing screenplays, and this led me down the filmmaking road. It’s been quite a journey.

What’s it about?

It’s called A Life’s Work and it’s about four people who are engaged with projects they won’t complete in their lifetimes.

Cool. Are there any explosions in it?

No.

Decapitations?

No.

Hmmm.

You’ll understand later.

Well, what do you do for fun?

I have great friends and I hang out with them a lot —

Me too!

— play guitar —

Me too!

Ride my bike.

Bike? Really?

Yeah, it’s a lot of fun. So, can I ask you an annoying question?

Go for it!

What do you want to do with your life?

Oh man! That is an annoying question. Who are you, my parents?

No, I’m you 30 years from now. So?

I don’t know, man, I don’t even have a major. Can I ask you an annoying question?

Sure, that’s only fair.

You’re old, do you have any advice for a young punk.

Dude —

Dude?

Nevermind. I’m not old. Here’s my advice — actually, you know what, I don’t have any. Just do what you’re doing. It’ll all work out. You’ll find you have very few regrets.

That’s kind of weak. Don’t you have a stock tip or something?

Okay, here’s my advice: respect your elders, despite what you think, you’ll be one one day.

[I stole this idea from the brilliant songwriter Jens Lekman. I don’t know whom he stole it from.]

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Connect the Dots

Posted By on April 3, 2012

Charles and Ray Eames

The next time someone asks me if my writing and A Life’s Work are connected (this happens a lot), I am going to whip out this quote:

Eventually everything connects — people, ideas, objects. The quality of the connections is the key to quality per se.

Charles Eames

You can watch the documentary Charles & Ray Eames: The Architect and the Painter for free on pbs.org. I found it worth my time.

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What Frustrates the Filmmaker? Too Many Goodies

Posted By on March 30, 2012

In the previous post (Using the Accident), I quoted a passage from an interview I did with Jill Tarter for A Life’s Work. It’s a gem, if you ask me. The problem is, I’m not sure it fits in the film.

Jill Tarter of the SETI Institute with REI students.

And that’s very frustrating. I have a surfeit of good material. I’m not complaining, this is better than the alternative, but sometimes I wish A Life’s Work were a big fat encyclopedia that I could throw all manner of stuff in. But I can’t, I have constraints.  The film should keep the focus on the subjects, the film mustn’t deviate too far away from its main theme, the film should be under 100 minutes (that’s just me), etc.

So, what to do with all that great material? Well, that’s why there’s this here blog.

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Using the Accident

Posted By on March 27, 2012

I’m doing some work for hire that I can’t talk about just yet, but I can tell you that the other day I researched special effects legend Douglas Trumbull’s animation work on the Stargate sequence in 2001: A Space Odyssey. (I also held in my white-archival-gloved hands a copy of an early draft of 2001. My mind was blown.) Here’s a Trumbull quote from Expanding Cinema by Gene Youngblood.

Screenshot from the the Stargate sequence. (Not the transition mentioned.)

There was one short slit-scan sequence—a bad take, actually—which started out black and instead of having walls of color come at you it had little points of light which were parts of the artwork before it actually developed into walls. It started out black, then a few little red sparks came out, and then a few more and it generated more and more. That particular shot was done with a device I rigged for automatically accelerating the speed… Though the shot is brief, it was the only one with a transition effect: it started out black and slowly became something.

This “bad take” became the transition from a shot of deep space to the Stargate. Unintended. A mistake. It became an integral shot in the film.

Coming across this quote reminded me of something Jill Tarter said when I interviewed her for A Life’s Work.

The Vela Pulsar and its surrounding pulsar wind nebula.

We have a tradition in astronomy of building a new telescope, to look at the universe in a different way, and although we got the telescope funded by saying it’s going to solve this problem and this problem and some other problem that we know about, the most fantastic thing that new telescopes do is show us something that we didn’t expect at all. Something phenomenal.Jocelyn Bell and her thesis advisor, in England, in the 60s, strung a whole bunch of wire on fence posts over the British countryside, creating a telescope that looked at low frequencies at the radio sky. And suddenly, because Jocelyn Bell was extremely persistent and paid attention to the slight little anomalies that were in the data, she found pulsars. A new phenomena. No one could explain it at first. Indeed because these were such regularly occurring pulses in the sky, like clockwork, they were called LGM1, LGM2. Little Green Man. They thought that maybe that’s what they found. But the time they got to LGM4, they were thing that’s a lot of aliens up there, and by about that time, someone had unearthed a theoretical paper from 30 years prior that talked about the observational consequences of a rotating neutron star whose magnetic and rotational axis were not aligned, i.e., a prediction of radio pulses. And so that’s what was discovered. But we have many, many examples of this kind of unexpected discovery on the basis of building something new, something that looked at the sky in different ways.

For the Allen Telescope Array, we can expect that we might have as well, such serendipitous unexpected detections. We will be able, for example, for the first time, to study the transient radio sky. And there are many sources of emission that have been predicted and probably transient sources that no one’s ever thought about, that might be one of the legacies of this telescope. Even if it does not successfully detect evidence of someone else’s technology. It’s really a win-win situation. We’ve built this telescope to do SETI, better than we’ve ever been able to do before. But we can’t make any promises about SETI. However we’re going to look at the radio sky in a different way, and therefore we can be pretty confident that we’ll discover something new and marvelous.

Reading these two quotes I wonder why it is that certain people have an openness to see a mistake or an anomaly as something other than failure, why they might see in mistakes and anomalies something new and marvelous.

So can you be trained to see from this point of view or is it something some are born with and others not? What do you think?

Here’s Jocelyn Bell talking about the discovery of pulsars.

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[cross posted on the mighty mighty Extracriticum.com]

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Bad Math

Posted By on March 20, 2012

There’s a saying I’m fond of: Don’t do the math. What math? The bad math that tells you how much time and money you spend on your art in relation to how much money you earn from your art. The math that reveals your acceptance to rejection ratio and the hours of suffering to hours of elation ratio. For most everyone, the results are grim.

Recently, I discovered another math not to do: the number of drafts. The excruciatingly talented writer John Yearley hipped me to a nice little psychological trick: name your drafts with the date and not a draft number. So instead of MyStoryVer193.doc try MyStory031812.doc. Of course you could just count those 193 drafts, but it’s less in your face this way.

But there are times when doing the math isn’t bad. There is, as I discovered at the Playa artist residency, a good math. About two weeks into my residency at Playa I decided to write 1,000 words a day for thirty days. These thousand words had to be part of new stories, a couple of which I had in mind before I arrived. That would theoretically yield 30,000 words. That’s about 100 pages. For me, that would be a colossal output.

I inherited from my father a fondness for numbers.

I stuck to it, and from February 1 until March 4, I wrote 1,000 or more words. (I took three days off and one day I wrote about 500 words). The result was a total of 31,416 words and 12 new stories generated. The 1,000 words forced me to come up with new narratives. At the end of 30 days, I was cooked, but happy.

I know that 90% of these words are crap, and the stories little more than sketches. Some of them will be developed, some of them will merged, others discarded. But the point is I now have a giant chunk of marble to work with, to chip away at, to carve and polish. For the first time this collection feels and looks like a book.

So what next? I need to get back to A Life’s Work, trying to find money to hire an editor and complete the film. And while I do that, work on that giant chunk of marble. I’ll also be trying to avoid the bad math and trying to embrace that good math.

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Planting a Bristlecone Pine Tree: Interview with Christine Lofgren

Posted By on March 14, 2012

Not too long ago I discovered that one of my Facebook friends, Christine Lofgren, had planted a bristlecone pine tree. I asked her if she’d grant me an email interview and she humored me, so here it is. Thanks, Christine.

I understand you had the privilege of planting a bristlecone pine tree. Can you tell me how that came about? When and where did you plant it?

In the summer of 1993, I was lucky enough to perform my internship for my B.S. degree in parks & recreation management at the Coconino County Fairgrounds located in Fort Tuthill Park in Flagstaff, AZ. Along with my work in the office helping to organize the county fair and learning how to properly pronounce “Coconino” when I answered the phone, my “long-term” project for the summer was to spruce up a run-down nature trail in the park.

While I was first walking the trail to give it the once over, I also decided that putting together a guidebook pointing out the different plants & features along the way would not only be fun & interesting, but would no doubt assure me an “A” for my internship. It was during my research for this guidebook that I learned about the bristlecone pine tree, and was very impressed to discover that they are the oldest living things on the planet, with some thought to be up to 5,000 years old. Later during the summer, I also found out that 1993 was the 65th anniversary of the incorporation of the city of Flagstaff, and I came up with the idea of planting a bristlecone pine tree at the nature trail in commemoration of this date.

What were you thinking and feeling as you planted this thing that could potentially live for thousands of years?

The tree was just a small sapling, and looked just like any normal pine tree would. It seemed very fragile for something with so much potential, and didn’t look anything like the gnarled and twisted older bristlecone pine trees I had seen pictures of. This was the first tree I ever planted, and I have a horrible track record of slowly killing any houseplants I’ve tried to care for, so I was also hoping I wouldn’t do the same with this little guy. I planted “him” (it seemed like a “him” to me by this point) near the end of the trail at the edge of an open meadow, with a picture-perfect view of the San Francisco Peaks in the distance.

After I had planted the tree in his freshly dug hole and wished him luck surviving my black thumb, I was thinking about how maybe hundreds, or even thousands, of years from now, long, long after I’m gone, this little sapling might look like one of those twisted and gnarled pines in the pictures, and might still be here, enjoying the beautiful view. It’s kind of difficult to put into words, but I guess I was feeling the sense of amazement you sometimes get when you can glimpse the big picture and understand how the puzzle pieces of life should fit together. As I’m writing this, I hope that my little guy has made it, and I’m envisioning that beautiful view I hope he’s still enjoying.

When I interviewed Jared Milarch, he said when you see a bristlecone pine, it’s a different “wow factor” than when you see a redwood, for example. Did you find that to be true? What was that “wow factor” for you?

Well, the tree just looked like any little pine sapling would, but, yes, there was a certain “wow” factor in that this small little tree could one day possibly be a strong & mighty tree; it might still be around not just hundreds, but thousands, of years from now, and who knows what it will see in its lifetime? I guess I felt a lot of respect for that little tree, and that the inherent wisdom it contained at this young age already made it far wiser than I would ever be in my lifetime.

Have you been back since you planted?

Unfortunately, no. Now I’m having thoughts of a road trip to Flagstaff with a mission to see if the tree made it and how it might look after all these years.

Did you have a favorite tree as a kid? Do you have a favorite species of tree now?

No, I never had a favorite tree as a kid, and I don’t have any favorite species now. I know it sounds corny, but they are each unique & special in their own way, and each has it’s own important role in the web of life.

Well, now that I’m thinking about it, we did have a tree house when I was a kid, so I especially loved that tree, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what kind of tree it was, except that it wasn’t a pine tree, and definitely not a bristelcone pine tree!


When we first communicated, you mentioned a project you thought you wouldn’t see completed in your lifetime. Can you tell me about that?

I could write a lot about this, but I’ll try and keep it short & sweet, I’m working on helping to end factory farming. I do what I can to educate others, and I’ve been working as an intern (volunteer really) with the Humane Society of the United States’ Farmed Animal Welfare Department, helping out with things like fact-checking papers, etc. I’m not a vegetarian, but the lives the animals on these “farms” live is truly horrific, from the day they are born until the day they die. There are a lot of other very serious concerns stemming from factory farming, including pollution & environmental threats, overuse of antibiotics & growing antibiotic resistance, putting small & healthy farms out of business, and the threat to a safe food supply.

Factory farming is not only extremely inhumane, it’s one of the biggest threats out there that a lot of people don’t seem to be aware of. For instance, a 2006 U.N. report states that livestock production puts out more greenhouse gas emissions that the entire transportation sector (cars, trucks, trains, everything). The list goes on and on, but this is a very complicated issue, with a lot of strong and very wealthy industrial lobbyists. While I do see small improvements in the welfare of these animals happening in my lifetime, I unfortunately don’t see a complete end to factory farming happening until after I’m gone. That thought can be depressing, but does that mean I shouldn’t do what I can and am able to do to help in my lifetime? As Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” While the justice will happen after I’m gone, I’m doing what I can in my lifetime to help that arc in its journey towards that goal. (To learn more about Christine’s work, email her at c l o f 1 0 1 [a t } g m a i l { d o t ] c o m )

Here’s a clip of Jared Milarch talking about the oldest of the old.

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The awesome Starlee Kine hipped me to this Radiolab story about the Prometheus Tree, which according to the ring count (4,844 rings/years), was older than Methuselah. It starts around 14:50 seconds in, but the first segment is worth a listen as well.

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Homeward Bound

Posted By on March 9, 2012

I leave Playa today. It has been a remarkable experience. The environment has opened up a creative vein, the people have stimulated, inspired, and nourished. As a writer, I have been more productive here these last two months than I have been in the last three years combined.

Spending two months in a place like Summer Lake makes me wonder: could I live in a place like this? Let’s put aside for a moment the fact that spending that amount of time at an artist residency is not living in a place. I have been living in a fantasy world where things like money, work, family obligations, health issues, and food shopping are shoved conveniently to the background.

Have you put that aside? Great. While you’re at it, let’s put aside the question entirely.

In NYC I don’t need to leave my building to have an impromptu dinner with my beloved niece; I can meet my friend S. in the middle of a Friday afternoon for coffee and insightful conversation; J. for Sunday Thai brunch and chuckles; M. for hearty early breakfasts and heart to hearts; bike across 57th Street to the Upper East Side to serenade lil’ E. and have takeaway with J.; bike over the Manhattan Bridge for an eggy lunch with W. and P.; head uptown for cheap ethnic eats and a catch up with the globetrotting A.; meet S. for Vietnamese food and share many laughs over sometimes painful subjects; teach my wonderful guitar students in my welcoming apartment; exploring Chinatown and other neighborhoods with my dearest El. These are some of the people in my life in NYC.

The New York Public Library, Lincoln Center in the summer, SummerStage in Central Park, Central Park, the Hudson River, the bike path along the Hudson River, Fairway, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Noguchi Museum, Sullivan Street Bakery … The things I cherish in NYC are too numerous to list.

And that, I think, answers the question.

So, it is with gratitude and a little sadness that I say goodbye to this place, to these new friends, and to the hawks. But it is with excitement that I look forward to saying hello again to my loved ones and to being home.

Here are some photos of Playa.

buckaroo

I take a picture of a buckaroo. Photo by Jayne Marek.

bug

I must have killed 100 of these things.

birdhouses

Birdhouses!

sunflower

Sunflower in winter

pond

Reflection in the pond.

flowers

Flowers for you.

sparky

Sparky!

taking photos

Two against one, no fair.

Scott

Scott, Keane plays piano

chicken

Whatcha lookin' at?

crystals
Highway 31, OR

HWW 31, OR

Dock

Snowy dock.

Rough road

No kidding!

Playa cabins

Playa cabins

footsteps

Footsteps.

Muddy boot

Muddy boot.

laundry

My laundry, drying.

pond

Pond and studios.

kitchen

The commons kitchen.

food jars

Organic!

Playa commons

The commons living room. Great fireplace!

playa dining

The dining room table. And computer.

loft

I did some writing and a lot of guitar playing up here.

ping pon

Where I did my best work.

Teasel

Teasel, for Johannes.

hawk

Hawk. Oh, my hawks!

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Dispatches from Playa: True North

Posted By on March 5, 2012

Here are some photos I took of a piece by fellow Playa resident, sculptor Rob Licht. It’s called True North, and he was out on the Playa many nights, using his stride to measure distances and using a laser point to line up the stones.

It’s impossible to get the scale of this in these photos, and that’s kind of the point. Something about it reminds me of trying to measuring time, and that reminds me in a big way of the film.

I really like this piece. Good job, Rob.

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Here and There

Posted By on March 3, 2012

Inspired by the last Ask the Filmmaker post, I started thinking about the things I do at residencies that I don’t do in my real life, and vice-a-versa. Here are some lists for your perusal, because who doesn’t like lists?

Things I do at residencies that I don’t do at home:

  1. Wake up at dawn.
  2. Go to sleep before midnight.
  3. Drink four cups of coffee.
  4. Watch DVDs projected on a screen along with poets and visual artists.
  5. Take a lot of photographs.
  6. See a million stars.
  7. Play ping-pong.
  8. Hike.


Things I do at home that I don’t do at residencies:

  1. Sleep until 10am.
  2. Go to sleep at 2am.
  3. Spend HOURS on the internet daily.
  4. Food shop.
  5. Carry my wallet and keys with me every time I step outside.
  6. Lock my door.
  7. Shower daily.
  8. Ride my bike.

Things I do at residencies and at home:

  1. Floss.


Things I don’t do at residencies or at home:

  1. Fly a jetpack.
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