Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Friday, March 05, 2010
rose scented
Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but. When I walked out the door I was engulfed with the scent of rose. Mmm, my hands were in the pockets of my vest, it was chilly outside. I have not used the rose scent of late, and my shirt is fresh from laundry, and although I have been wearing this lime green vest of late...I just have not used my rose scented spray of late. Traveling on bart I still smelled it. Maybe it was someone near me? Soon later, on the shuttle that takes you from Daly City Bart Station to SF State, I still smelled it. Walking to my cinema class, I still smelled it! Ok, this is no coincidence, it is not someone I chanced near, it is me. But how could this be?
I took a full breathe as I walked toward the fine arts building. Enjoying the rose. Yes, I was still tired, and now I was post grumpy...the scent of rose really doing me wonders. And the enjoyment of mystery.
***
The other day I bought rose coned incense and a deep redwood-gold star foiled incense holder for my dear friend e*. Before I gave her this gift, I put 3 rose scented cones in my pocket. Like premonitions of a secret to follow, three days later.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Shooting Water (Book Review I wrote)
Below is a book review I wrote for Hyphen Magazine
Read the book, see the movie it references!
***
Shooting Water: A Memoir of Second Chances, Family and Filmmaking
a book by DEVYANI SALTZMAN
Coming of age is never easy. Especially when your life brings you up close and personal with the sharp edges between two parents, cultures and religions. In Shooting Water, Saltzman writes with a rawness that will make you embarrassed for her and then humbled by how honestly she explores and grows from her insecurities. The memoir begins in 1999 when Saltzman decides to accompany her mother, filmmaker Deepa Mehta, to the holy Indian city of Varanasi to assist with the production of Mehta's controversial film Water, about the plight of widows in colonial India. The planned three-month shoot was going to be the longest time Saltzman spent with her mother since her parents' divorce when she was 11, when Saltzman chose to live with her father-a Jewish Canadian photographer. Instead, Hindu fundamentalists shut down the movie one week into production. The subsequent five-year struggle to produce Water is the backdrop for Saltzman's multi-layered narrative, which chronicles her relationship with her mother with honesty and clarity. In the meantime, Saltzman falls in love, hits the crash of heartbreak, and goes to Oxford. Four years later, Saltzman rejoins the film crew in Sri Lanka as the film's still photographer. Saltzman's photographic eye serves her well. She writes her memoir eloquently, translating her journey into adulthood with a memorable, poetic and political lens. -Kirthi Nath
Read the book, see the movie it references!
***
Shooting Water: A Memoir of Second Chances, Family and Filmmaking
a book by DEVYANI SALTZMAN
Coming of age is never easy. Especially when your life brings you up close and personal with the sharp edges between two parents, cultures and religions. In Shooting Water, Saltzman writes with a rawness that will make you embarrassed for her and then humbled by how honestly she explores and grows from her insecurities. The memoir begins in 1999 when Saltzman decides to accompany her mother, filmmaker Deepa Mehta, to the holy Indian city of Varanasi to assist with the production of Mehta's controversial film Water, about the plight of widows in colonial India. The planned three-month shoot was going to be the longest time Saltzman spent with her mother since her parents' divorce when she was 11, when Saltzman chose to live with her father-a Jewish Canadian photographer. Instead, Hindu fundamentalists shut down the movie one week into production. The subsequent five-year struggle to produce Water is the backdrop for Saltzman's multi-layered narrative, which chronicles her relationship with her mother with honesty and clarity. In the meantime, Saltzman falls in love, hits the crash of heartbreak, and goes to Oxford. Four years later, Saltzman rejoins the film crew in Sri Lanka as the film's still photographer. Saltzman's photographic eye serves her well. She writes her memoir eloquently, translating her journey into adulthood with a memorable, poetic and political lens. -Kirthi Nath
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Pond
Her name was Girijha. When she was a child of five, the sunsets would be most dramatic. There were never other dramatic sunsets. The sky bled loudly. Time existed only as a way for her to express her personality. Hop scotch squares drawn with the colors blue, yellow and green. Sea shells as dice. With death, she did not die, only her personality.
This to that take it
in a splat.
Did I ever tell you about the pond?
Richly.
His voice sounded different to his sister. Does it, are you sure, what is different about it. Was she hearing the minute latitude of change? In five years this may be how his voice ends up, how exciting if she hears it from the beginning. The very beginning. This will be a very difficult thing to keep track of, I hope you understand this before you start investing so much attention. And plus, it might all be a hoax.
What a way.
How is he related to Girijha? He is not like the moon is not round.
On the pond
Me you and mildew
Farting
In the pond
It seemed so clear, so blue
Haunting
I don’t want to be there for you anymore.
On the forth day it started to disappear.
We all wanted to be strong.
-1999
This to that take it
in a splat.
Did I ever tell you about the pond?
Richly.
His voice sounded different to his sister. Does it, are you sure, what is different about it. Was she hearing the minute latitude of change? In five years this may be how his voice ends up, how exciting if she hears it from the beginning. The very beginning. This will be a very difficult thing to keep track of, I hope you understand this before you start investing so much attention. And plus, it might all be a hoax.
What a way.
How is he related to Girijha? He is not like the moon is not round.
On the pond
Me you and mildew
Farting
In the pond
It seemed so clear, so blue
Haunting
I don’t want to be there for you anymore.
On the forth day it started to disappear.
We all wanted to be strong.
-1999
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Flying
October 5, 2003
When I looked up just now I saw that it was still sunny outside, but it must have been breezy because the grown plant outside was swaying. “Swaying the in the wind” have you.
Sometimes it is hard to imagine what I have never experienced, but sometimes that is the only way.
If I stopped feeling bloated and felt empty and hungry I could eat as I wanted to. Actually, I know I can do anything I want to, but what holds me back is knowing what feels better and the knowing that this is a distraction for something else. I want to touch, but don’t know where or what. Like when you take a deep breathe but your nose is slightly clogged up as if you had allergies but you don’t. At least not last time you checked, or forever as you knew it. What would it mean if every place you visited in the next week had a stash of pistachios. It would mean nothing at all, but what could it mean?
Yesterday in the documentary film I saw the granddaughter recited that her grandfather thought his wife was an obstacle to his spiritual growth. Her grandmother said her husband was an obstacle to her human growth.
They had had a love marriage and after 20 years divorced in the 1950’s, India. 60 years later when her ex-husband was on his deathbed going mad and thinking he was in a time 70 years prior still in love with his wife, she refused to come see him. Her anger towards him was in a hole that would never be rooted enough to break away, it swayed in the never ending.
Is one silent when they are flying?
When I looked up just now I saw that it was still sunny outside, but it must have been breezy because the grown plant outside was swaying. “Swaying the in the wind” have you.
Sometimes it is hard to imagine what I have never experienced, but sometimes that is the only way.
If I stopped feeling bloated and felt empty and hungry I could eat as I wanted to. Actually, I know I can do anything I want to, but what holds me back is knowing what feels better and the knowing that this is a distraction for something else. I want to touch, but don’t know where or what. Like when you take a deep breathe but your nose is slightly clogged up as if you had allergies but you don’t. At least not last time you checked, or forever as you knew it. What would it mean if every place you visited in the next week had a stash of pistachios. It would mean nothing at all, but what could it mean?
Yesterday in the documentary film I saw the granddaughter recited that her grandfather thought his wife was an obstacle to his spiritual growth. Her grandmother said her husband was an obstacle to her human growth.
They had had a love marriage and after 20 years divorced in the 1950’s, India. 60 years later when her ex-husband was on his deathbed going mad and thinking he was in a time 70 years prior still in love with his wife, she refused to come see him. Her anger towards him was in a hole that would never be rooted enough to break away, it swayed in the never ending.
Is one silent when they are flying?
Saturday, September 16, 2006
it has been way longer then i wish
It has been way longer then I wish
Close your eyes and watch as the orange light shines in the surface. Next, point your chest toward the sky and open your heart. Really, open it. She is going to stop drinking so she can honor her body and not be numb. She is really going to do it this time.
Last night she got home around midnight but for strange reasons ended up staying awake till 6 am. The hour before sleep was spent preparing a meal, which unlike most, did not turn out that great. There is usually never any bread in the house and when there is, it goes bad. A lot of things go bad. There is nothing redeeming about smoking, but last night, when she stood outside on her balcony there was a parade of leaves on the street. This is the sign, it is the time for fall.
Close your eyes and watch as the orange light shines in the surface. Next, point your chest toward the sky and open your heart. Really, open it. She is going to stop drinking so she can honor her body and not be numb. She is really going to do it this time.
Last night she got home around midnight but for strange reasons ended up staying awake till 6 am. The hour before sleep was spent preparing a meal, which unlike most, did not turn out that great. There is usually never any bread in the house and when there is, it goes bad. A lot of things go bad. There is nothing redeeming about smoking, but last night, when she stood outside on her balcony there was a parade of leaves on the street. This is the sign, it is the time for fall.
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