To be honest, I am beginning to get really nervous. Since returning after midterms, I've followed every potential flicker, but I still feel as if I've yet to produce anything... good. or decent. I know those are subjective words, but it's wearing me down a little, especially with final projects so, so close.
Candles. What began as a mass of one hundred tea lights oozing wax unto my apartment floor (see above video) may have given me a direction in which I can more thoroughly explore. All the little "games" I played that involved the hide-and-seek nature of our own secrets were nice (maybe?), but I realize they were all rather literal, superficial ways of me exploring the desire of wanting to make our intangible, unseen emotions into something tangible, physical, and "real." One thing I discovered, however, in doing this is that a lot of times, words fall short. A sentence or two can't encapsulate how you feel, all the nuance of it. It becomes confined by the structure: by language and conventional expression. Trite. Maybe this is unavoidable. Maybe this is the best we can do... but we'll always be trying to break that barrier, to reach further, to come closer to what we actually are trying to convey...
And as I sat there, brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out Daisy's light at the end of his dock. He had come such a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close he could hardly fail to grasp it. But what he did not know was that it was already behind him, somewhere in the vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter- tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…And one fine morning-
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
But, it's that sentiment. The candles, for me, are that burning, fleeting light... those moments of life in which you're walking the streets and suddenly realize you're breathing and you're alive and it's such a gift... who cares if it's raining or if you breathe deep into a cloud of cigarette smoke or what... just to experience things, to feel - it's such a profound, simple moment that you try everything to hold onto it there in time... but you can't. You're helpless. As soon as it's come, it's gone. All you ever have left is the memory, and every time you replay it in your head, it gets less and less refined... like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy.
I feel like our secrets, formulated in language, are the best we can do. They are the one-liners that spring from our interactions with the fleeting, ephemeral nature of being alive. They are our hands, reaching... and we know it. We know it's silly or hopeless or whatever, so we keep them hidden under our skin, only letting them stealthily glide over our thoughts or appear in our subconscious when we sleep.
I feel as if combining the imagery of the flickering candles with secrets could produce really nice results. I'm looking into the logistics of a (video?) piece where I release lit tea lights down the Arno, each candle paired with a secret, as a way of releasing them, but also of acknowledging their futility. As a way of joining the inevitable constant slip of seconds and moments, of admitting defeat... We can't hold unto these things; we can't verbalize or compact these things into language. We can't even define them objectively for ourselves.
Also, on that topic...
IF YOU READ NOTHING IN THIS POST, READ THIS:
I'm collecting secrets, if you'd like to donate. I'd really appreciate it. Anything is fine, although I'd prefer if they were anonymous and uncensored. You can type them if you really would like anonymity. Your secrets may be used, but they will probably be appropriated in my voice or handwriting.
There's a little white box on my desk in 41, as well as a little airmail envelope of torn down paper. However, anything is fine. I left paper to make it available, but I'd love it if you just added secrets on torn notebook paper, newspaper, found paper, etc.
I'd really love it if everyone would contribute just one "secret" (doesn't have to be big, just something "secret," even silly little things you just feel uncomfortable sharing with someone else)! If I can set up the box in another location or anything else that would make you more comfortable adding to it, please let me know.
THANKS THANKS THANKS!
Erin
