Three Colours: Blue is a moving cinematic tale about death, grief, rebirth, and (emotional) freedom, conveyed through gripping, poetic cinematography and a hypnotising, frisson-inducing soundtrack by Zbigniew Preisner.
Netflix’s The OA, created by Brit Marling & Zal Batmanglij, is an intriguing, engrossing fantasy show centred around Prairie (played by Brit), a young vanishing woman who resurfaces 7 years after her bizarre disappearance, to the happiness and bewilderment of her adoptive parents. After her peculiar return, she refers to herself as the OA and focuses on her mission to save other captives. The OA enrols others on a mystical mission, meeting them at night in an empty house in a cult-like gathering.
I Am Mother (2019), a post-apocalyptic sci-fi film directed by Grant Sputore, starts off at a slow pace, revealing the eerie routine and mother-daughter bond between an android and a human inside an enclosed, clinical ‘repopulation facility’ resembling a spaceship. Besides them, from the first shots we find out that the site contains thousands ofContinue reading “Quarantine film recommendation: I Am Mother”
The world was sick – physically, mentally,we were part of the minority left uncontaminated.My calcified shell unravelleddown by the riveramong sentient trees,shimmering shrines,underneath celestial splendour,next to your magnetic presence;Bonded by the common revulsion atdestructive forces, we were here for the artof letting go, unburdening the heart,re-emerging from ourselves,this arcane ritual, this sacred moment,this hallowed place-IContinue reading “Sakura season”
Have you ever felt like someone interacts with an image or representation of you, that they’ve created and are feeding in their mind, rather than the reality of who you are? You can usually sense it while it happens, it’s often tiring, you might get uncomfortable; depending on the discrepancy between your identity and yourContinue reading “Interacting with mental constructs”
Brittany Markert’s daring introspective artwork resurrects the intimate, haptic process of analogue photography to create expressive, conceptual portraits encapsulating the spirit undergoing metamorphoses in photographic form, whilst at the same time freeing it and exorcising inner demons through cathartic expression. Rooted in Jungian psychoanalytic concepts, her visual narrative explores the repression of fears, repulsion and desires, the figure of the double, the polarities of the psyche, whilst everything is shown through a complex female gaze.
The Lighthouse is a symbol, an enigma, & a transcendental mood in which an occult phenomenon seems to occur. It almost appears to be alive, in an obscure way. The Lighthouse is a portal to a world of mythology- we don’t really get to see through it clearly, everything is merely suggested, partly fictive. WeContinue reading “Delving into the psychology and mythology of The Lighthouse (2019) *spoilers*”
I dream of emerald grass,sapphire waves,idle legs shimmering on marble,crystalline laughterI miss this-Do I miss myself-this self?let’s enjoy it while it lastsbefore the tide of darkness floodsour frail worldI want a fresh view:we unfold – the tides unfoldwe walk on waterwe get to the ark-how do we lift the anchor?it’s so heavy, heavy, reflectingthe heaviness ofContinue reading “The ark”
Photography by Francesca Woodman (1958-1981), influential American photographer. Francesca Woodman’s iconic oeuvre includes staged artful self-portraits exploring the relationship between body and space and aspects of identity, featuring her often nude or semi-nude body either in motion, fragmented, collapsed or disguised, like a ghostly, elusive presence in a seemingly abandoned domestic space. The uncanny mise-en-sceneContinue reading “Francesca Woodman- haunting self-portraits”
An iron hand in a velvet glove, soft veils over roots unwavering- your core, honey-mouthed- your discourse, your silence. Within, there is the hibernating alpha-serpent, awaiting resurrections- you bathe in the light of her uttered incantations. You spot the red flags of the dark triad, you never wave white flags, for there’s noContinue reading “A poem: Velvet glove”