Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Essay for my Therapist

I’m really sorry for the long delay, I should’ve posted something sooner, but I was lacking some inspiration. Actually, I still do, but I realized I needed to describe myself for something small and stupid as my Orkut profile.

That got me thinking why the hell I can’t describe myself (well, maybe except when my self-esteem is unnaturally high or when I’m drunk, which is basically the same shit). So, I’m doing this for an exercise, never recommended by my therapist, but what the heck does she know? It’s time I try to describe my own profile as my own person and stop using poems and pictures and someone else’s opinion to do it for me.

Ok, I’ll stop giving excuses and explanations and actually get to the real thing.

I could start saying what I’m not and narrow it down to the few possibilities left and make it my own personality, but this time I think it’s better guess what I am than what I’m not. So here’s the first thing I know about myself: I am practical. As a practical person I hate it when I do something wrong or when someone assumes that I lack capacity of doing something, whatever it is.

Being practical makes me pose as someone who’s constantly accepting challenges, mostly brainy ones in which I can find a simple answer in a book somewhere. Lately I been taking some challenges in the emotional field and it proved to be a defying one. First of all I had to accept the fact that I’m not the ugly duck as I liked (safely thought) to be. So yeah, as a proud Barbie-hidden-between-books kind of girl I took a makeover and overcame one more challenge.

I’ve been thinking why I’ve taken so long to do that. The answer just came to me: I don’t accept failures! It would have busted my ego if even after a makeover I found out I were still ugly, or worse, average. I don’t accept being average so if I was going to come out of my shell I had to make sure I had the looks that could melt hearts. I’m not sure that one works, but hey, I got accepted in the modeling business so that must count for something.

So yeah, I pretty much conducted my life so far afraid of failures, trying to control everything around me and always standing on the safe ground to keep me from falling hard on my butt. Unless, of course, the failure is part of the process of winning. How? Let me give you an example. I find a cute guy sitting in a bar and I have this big bruise in my leg. He asks and I tell him I ridiculously fell down the stairs (a failure factor) so I can just pout my lips girly and get a kiss out of compassion.

I know people see me as clever, maybe I am gifted here and there, but unless you count my every-second strategy to win whatever argument I’m having or symbolic female power standing out in a crowd, I don’t think I’m clever in anything except making people think highly of me. Maybe I’m good with big smart words and with my sidewalk anthropologies (also know as ‘people watching’).

I do admit I am modest when I conquer something really big. I do show off over small things, but when it’s a big thing, I’m not sure when sincerity ends and modesty starts.

I’m easy to talk to and so, consequently, I’m easy to make friends, but I am afraid of failure so I don’t approach people, they usually come to me first. I never EVER make the first move. People trust me easily, but it takes a lot of time for me to trust people in return. When I start trusting someone I become a very loyal friend, but I always keep an eye open. So, if you become my friend I’ll never betray you… unless you do something to upset me.

This leads to my final quality – and I call this a quality because I ENJOY it – I am revengeful and very selfish. Oh how much I enjoy planning long and torturous revenges on my traitors. And my selfishness is based on the fact that since I don’t like failure and I prefer to stand in a safe solid ground I don’t share feelings, emotions and even material things that are unstable. Why should I let my best friend borrow my CDs when I have no idea if he’s going to take a good care of it? In my eyesight my CDs are perfectly safe, inside their boxes. Why should I tell someone my secrets when he’s someone else entirely and I have no control over what he’s going to do with that piece of information?

That sort of makes me kind of a loner by choice most of the times. But who doesn’t like to stay home listing to their favorite music, bathing in bubbles and smothering their skin with some floral fragrance? Sometimes, choosing to be a loner just makes my day.

So, my simple and stupid conclusion is that I am a practical person who is afraid of failures. The rest is just a consequence. For now I’m trying to go easy on the failure part. I’m trying to teach myself to sit in an armchair, cross my arms and say ‘ well, shit happens.’

Monday, November 05, 2007

Leisure and Work

November just started and I’ve already done some end-of-year reflection. Actually it was some health-indulged reflection. Last year, while I was working on my short animated film project (which was my graduation film) I thought as soon as the film was finished I would seek some job in the film industry as an animator. Unfortunately my college decided to make things difficult and it took me another year to finish the film.

Meanwhile I couldn’t work because the film was demanding my full time, but since my college classes were already over I was feeling a sloth for staying home and not making any money out of my education. It was when I got an opportunity in a TV commercials production. One week job and I was already crying myself to sleep. I was working fifteen hours a day and one day I worked eighteen hours straight with people angry at each other, screaming around me and at me. I got so nervous in the set that suddenly I felt sick and ended up in an infirmary. That was the first sign that I wasn’t cut out to that kind of life, but I didn’t notice at the time.

I quit and the next day I gave my résumé to a language school. I started teaching English and Italian just a few hours a week and so I had time to work on my movie and I could make some good money as well. My goal became an animation course in Italy. I had to get enough money to pay for the course. Another idea helped me strengthen up my plan; I started studying my family documents and I found out I had the rights to get an European citizenship as I explained in an older post.

It was in August that I realized that Jack was right in the movie The Shining. All work and no fun made me a very dull girl. Dull and sick. I think I bit off more than I could chew, but I had decided I would work that out. I started accepting more and more classes and when I realized I was working twelve or thirteen hours a day again. At least I was smart enough to not get any classes on Friday so I have a free day to go work on the movie, to write something or to just sleep in. I think that this is what saved me from giving up sooner than I expected.

It has been months since I’ve gone out with my friends; months since I went to the movies and months since I could call myself healthy. I think the stress is causing me this sickness, after all I feel suffocated in that school. I hate to teach, I hate to have the coordinators watching my every single class through cameras and not allowing me to teach the students my own way.

I’ve been feeling tired, I’ve been having sore throat after sore throat, I’ve been having breathing problems (I cannot sleep without medicine! I wake up several times during the night trying to breath through my mouth) and recently, I’ve been having blood pressure problems. The warm weather does not help a girl who has a natural low blood pressure (that school is so bloody hot and claustrophobic) and so a week ago I simply passed out in the middle of the class I was teaching. Another day I felt my throat closing up and started hyperventilating and I was shaking so hard I could barely stand up straight.

In July I started working as a model whenever I had a free time and they encouraged me to get my teeth fixed. I had to take all my third molars off… and I’ve done the surgeries on Fridays… I didn’t know it would hurt so badly. The first two weren’t exactly a piece of cake, but everything went well and I went home dizzy and bloody. In three days the pain was practically gone and I could chew again. It took me a month to work the courage to take the other two. It was two ago and I already had my blood pressure problems. Guess what? I almost died. The morphine was too much and I almost ended up in an ER. The pain was unbearable, but I would rather not talk about it.

And so I decided to take some time to relax whenever I could get it. The problem is that I don’t have time! I was able to squeeze an opera in my schedule last Sunday. I was overwhelmed by it. I’ve always wanted to watch an opera and Aida was just the perfect one. The maestro was fantastic and I still dream of Amnerís voice! The best part was that I understood everything even in that old italian! I was so proud of myself. Friday was a holiday and I was able to make a quick trip to the countryside with my parents and some friends. I felt a bit more relaxed by the pool talking to my friends, but heaven never lasts.

I can’t work in things that don’t give me pleasure. I just can’t. I don’t want to be stressed and sick the rest of my life. I want to draw! I want to be an artist and next year I decided I will drop teaching and start another college. It will give me time to work as a freelance artist.

Today I took my time to look for my old drawings. Rainy Sundays are good to go through old boxes.





These were obviously done during some class in high school. I didn't draw that well then, but I think they are funny.





The last one was my gerbil, Juninho.





These were my Disney tryouts.




And these I made for fun two years ago.

I miss having the time to draw. Well, maybe next time I'll post something new I've done. Who knows? There's a huge holiday coming and that means a bit of free time.

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Opening the Old Box

For those of you who don't know, I've been trying for months to get my European Citizenship through Portugal. My dad'side of the family migrated to Brazil in 1920 and accourding to the Portugal's law I can get my citizenship if I can prove my great-grandfather was born there.

I gathered all the documents I could find and everything the consulship asked me and I sent it to them, waiting for the answer. If they found the old man the citizenship would be on my hands and if they couldn't I'd try it through another country.

This week I've got an email from Portugal's Consulship informing me that they couldn't find my great-grandfather's birth certificate. That sent me to another trip through the dusty old documents to find something that can help them to find the man.

I had no idea my grandma had so many old papers in those boxes. Those documents helped me to recreate my family'story.

My great-great-grandfather and my great-great-grandmother were both born in 1890 and got married in 1917 the same year my great-grandfather was born. In 1919, because of the poverty that fell over Portugal after war, their ranch wasn't enough to feed them all plus a new baby. So, they decided to abandon their land and all they owned and came to Brazil.

On the ship, the baby got sick and died and so my great-grandfather was the only child that arrived in Brazil in 1920, his little sister's body was thrown in the ocean.

Anyway, in Brazil they worked just fine, but unfortunately for me they didn't register at the consulship. They just got their Foreign ID and their permission to stay here permanetly. Nothing else.

Looking through the documents I found two rarities that came from Portugal: The first is a declarations that my great-great-grandmother wasn't coming to Brazil to hide from Potugal's government, that she never commited any crime. And the second document is a certificate that my great-great-grandfather was given a passport and permission from Portugal to leave the country.




The following picture is the family and some kids from their relatives. The baby is the one that died in the ship and the boy in the bike is my great-grandfather. The adults are his parents.



When they arrived here both got their Foreign ID. Obviously the document is in portuguese. This is my great-great-grandmother's.




This is my great-great-grandfather during The First World War.



These are both my great-grandfather and my great-grandmother (was was Brazilian) in the first years of marriage. He died in 1989 and she died in 1999. She was awesome, she had a secret recipe that nobody can cook.






I've found tons of old pictures and eventually I'll post them. I think it's fascinating to reconstruct their story. Meanwhile, I'll see if the consulship will use these documents.

Monday, September 10, 2007

The Interlude

I was sitting in my room when the phone rang. It was a friend asking me to go out to a fancy party somewhere. I didn't really wanted to go, but my reasonable side remembered that if I don't go out once in a while I can succumb to depression again and so I agreed to go.

I sat on my dressing desk figuring out what to wear. I love to dress up for a party. I like trying new things on and see if they look good or not, especially if I'm hearing some easy-listening song in the background - maybe an opera. Often I find myself drowning in the high notes of the music and forget to get ready.

I work on the perfect makeup like a piece of art. Have I mentioned I like to feel pretty? I never forget the perfume. Lacoste, Chanel or Versace, it depends on where I'm going and how much attention I want to get.

While I wait for the ride to come I usually face a sudden melancholia. I don't feel like going out, but the ride is already on the way. I know I have to go so I won't be sick again, but I really don't want to get out of my safe cubicle and spend the whole night out there, somewhere.

I feel so peaceful at home and as much as it suffocates me sometimes it is my safe ground and I don't want to leave even for a few hours. The interlude between getting ready and waiting for the ride is always a torture. I don't know where to stand, if I should turn on the TV or if I should put on the high heels already.

Maybe I extended myself in the digression to explain my current situation right now. I'm in an interlude - an intermezzo, as the most cheered names of the operas would call it - and I'm lost between the nostalgia of what happened in the first act of my life and dying of anticipation of what may come next.

I've prepared myself for this moment for years. I studied, I got in a good college, I learned English and Italian. I did everything obsessively right so I would get a good job and gain my independence while drowning in the dazzling wave of versatile that working with arts would provide me.

I just made a big mistake: I didn't think my passion for stability would be greater than the uncertainly of leading an artistic life. Because of the insecurity filmmaking provides I lost passion for it somewhere between end of college and my first job.

Two weeks of slave work, no payment and being harassed by the co-workers were enough to make me give up - after staying awake more than 43 hours filming a stupid TV commercial and having a nervous breakdown. The small flame of passion inside of me extinguished and I knew I couldn't do it. I needed some time to think.

I've got my time between June and August. I've got a job in a school and I'm teaching English and Italian to a bunch of kids who are more worried about dating than learning another language. The irony of it all is that the school's method is a big fraud. Even if they wanted to learn they wouldn't because they just memorize some sentences that may help them not starve if they ever leave the country. I agreed with the method because I don't have to work too hard and I'm getting a great amount of money for the ridiculous work I'm doing.

But now I've reached my conclusion. I had the time that I needed to think and I realized I don't want instability. I only picture myself happy when I think about a comfortable country house with a beautiful garden, dogs and peace and quiet that only the English fields would provide nowadays. I imagine myself painting an impressionist view in that scenario. For that I need financial stability, I can't keep teaching and I can't rely on filmmaking to allow me to pursue that dream one day.

Now I feel suffocated with the responsibility of having to teach until November like I promised the school. I decided to attend University again and I'm already studying for the entrance exams. My new chosen course is Architecture. It deals with arts and it's highly paid. I should have no problem getting a job in the area with the Italian language on my resume.

Meanwhile something marvelous happened in the filmmaking career. I was kindly invited to work in the next Disney movie. I was taken by surprise, but I didn't change my plans because of it. It only encouraged me even more to drop teaching and only work with animation while I resume another University course.

I don't know if I've chosen the right path right now. All I know is that I'm stuck in this moment when I'm all dressed up and have no choice but to wait for the ride to come pick me up. I'm stuck in a moment when turning on the TV is too late and putting the sandals on is too soon.

I feel ready, but I don't want to go out just yet.

The Act I is over and even though I'm curious I'm afraid of what may come with the Act II.




Painting by Garmash.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Mel

For those of you who don't know, my puppy Mel died in a terrible accident a while ago and somehow to overcome the grieve I decided to draw her. I've got her the way she will remain on my mind, but the sketch style isn't the way I'm used to.

I don't draw this way, with angry lines and inconsequential traces, but that's how she came to be on paper.

Maybe when I draw out of feelings I can't recognize my own clean and strong drawing style - the style I had to master to become an animator. I think I should forget the technique more often and pour my heart on a white sheet. I felt much lighter when I did this.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Farewell to a Genius




About 18 hours ago died one of the most important people of this century and I was thinking how exactly I should write this post with a decent farewell message that would express how big Ingmar Bergman was to our modern world. Unfortunatelly there are not enough words to describe this 'foremost figure of the entire cinematic art'as said the official Swedish site.

Bergman was by far my favorite movie director. He was born in Sweden in 1918 and lived a very hard childhood with his abusive father. His tragic young years inspired him to become the greatest storyteller in our time. He was always questioning happiness, the meaning of life and frustrated sexual choices. His movies are some kind of concept, almost a genre: Science Fiction, Adventure, Comedy, Drama and Bergman. His movies were often a melancolic view of the childhood and the human innocence and to illustrate his ideas there were surreal scenes like a medievel knight playing chess with Death.

He directed more than 40 films for theater, even more for TV and about 100 plays. He was kindly honored with a file in Unesco (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) with his work recognized as world patrimony. He became famous when he directed 'The Seventh Seal'. Most movie critics still consider this his best movie ever.

The Seventh Seal (1957)- "The Seventh Seal was always my favourite film, and I remember seeing it with a small audience at the old New Yorker Theatre. Who would have thought that the subject matter could yield such a pleasurable experience? If I described the story and tried to persuade a friend to watch it with me, how far would I get? 'Well,' I'd say, 'it takes place in a plague-ridden medieval Sweden and explores the limits of faith and reason based on Danish — and some German — philosophical concepts.' Now this is hardly anyone's idea of a good time, and yet it's all dealt off with such stupendous imagination, suspense, and flair that one sits riveted like a child at a harrowing fairy tale. Suddenly the black figure of Death appears on the seashore to claim his victim, and the Knight of Reason challenges him to a chess game, trying to stall for time and discover some meaning to life. The tale engages and stalks forward with sinister inevitability. Again, the images are breathtaking! The flagellants, the burning of the witch (worthy of Carl Dreyer), and the finale, as Death dances off with all the doomed people to the nether lands in one of the most memorable shots in all movies. Bergman is prolific, and the films that followed these early works were rich and varied, as his obsession moved from God's silence to the tortured relations between anguished souls trying to make sense of their feelings." (Woody Allen in "Through a Life Darkly.) Bergman was nominated for the Cannes Film Festival with this movie and made his world famous.

His next film Wild Strawberries is a beautifully cold story about an aging teacher who travels to Lund University to receive an award. On the road he's plagued with intrusive hallucinations and memories of his empty life completely dedicated to his career and without human and moral values and devoid of real meaning. This is a cold portrait of an old man who lived his life stepping only on steady and realistic grounds.

The Virgin Spring is one os his most poetic works. A young girl girls travels to church to deliver some candles and on the way she's rapped and killed by three thieves, one of them being a small kid. The thieves ask for shelter on the girl's family farm where hers parents are worried sick about her. The thieves don't know where they are and try to sell the girl's clothes to her relatives who kill them in vengeance. Her parents find the girl dead in the forest and when they remove her cold body from its resting place a spring flows to wash away the family sins.

Persona - A young nurse, Alma, is put in charge of Elisabeth Vogler: an actress who is seemingly healthy in all respects, but will not talk. As they spend time together, Alma speaks to Elisabeth constantly, never receiving any answer. Alma eventually confesses her secrets to a seemingly sympathetic Elisabeth and finds that her own personality is being submerged into Elisabeth's persona.

Cries and Whispers is my favorite Bergman movie. A family drama takes place in a mansion in the late 1800's. Karin and Maria watch over their sister Agnes' sickbed together with the servant Anna. Through flashbacks the lives of both sisters are described, which are full of lies, deceit, callousness, self despise, guilt and forbidden love. Agnes' dramatic death cramp arouses only aversion in them. They both retreat in their own way from her when she grasps for their hands. I believe the most beautiful scene is when Anna hallucinate with the dead Agnes asking for a warm lap to rest. While the sisters are repulsed with the idea of getting close to the dead the servant opens her clothes and offers the warmth of her living body to Agnes resembling Michelangelo's sculpture Pietà.





And to close the circle of my favorite Bergman's movies is Fanny and Alexander; The title characters are children in the exuberant and colorful Ekdahl household in a Swedish town early in the twentieth century. Their parents, Oscar and Emilie, are the director and the leading lady of the local theatre company. Oscar's mother and brother are its chief patrons. After Oscar's early death, his widow marries the bishop and moves with her children to his austere and forbidding chancery. The children are immediately miserable. The film dramatizes and resolves those conflicts. A sub-plot features Isak, a local Jewish merchant who is the grandmother's lover and whose odd household becomes the children's refuge.

Bergman’s cinematic works seem to spring from a storehouse of personal insights and experiences. Some Bergman scholars say they can even detect a kind of autobiographical “life curve” in the very chronology of the films: the vulnerable youths facing an uncomprehending adult world in his early films; the problems of sexuality and marriage in his more mature films of the early 1950s; the religious struggle and artistic problems that characterized his films from the late 1950s and most of the 1960s; and his psychoanalytically oriented films of the 1960s and 1970s, some assuming the form of actual self-analyses where the characters seem more like facets of a single psyche or narrator.

Bergman is a person for whom art and life are one. Nonetheless, there is reason to be cautious about interpreting his works on the basis of narrowly biographical facts. Not only is there a danger of getting stuck in a burdensome cult of personality, but what is worse, Bergman’s works – the films themselves – paradoxically risk ending up in the background while a “diagnosis” of their author’s (supposed) emotional life somehow becomes the main focus.

His melancholy was his main focus. He was a brave artist who attacked directly and ironically instituitions like church, moral and family. Unfortunately there aren't many artistis nowadays with the same guts to continue his legacy.

We lost a great artist today, a great movie director who was worldwide applauded. He left us with a great work and many ways to start to question our own lives and free our spirits from hollywoodesque blockbusters. To see a good action movie is fun, but to look inside human soul is necessary.





"Film as dream, film as music. No art passes our conscience in the way film does, and goes directly to our feelings, deep down into the dark rooms of our souls."
Ingmar Bergman

"We walk in circles, so limited by our own anxieties that we can no longer distinguish between true and false, between the gangster's whim and the purest ideal."
Ingmar Bergman

"I believe Bergman, De Sica, and Fellini are the only three filmmakers in the world who are not just artistic opportunists. By this I mean they don't just sit and wait for a good story to come along and then make it. They have a point of view which is expressed over and over and over again in their films, and they themselves write or have original material written for them."
Stanley Kubrick

"Alexander: If there is a god, then he's a shit, and I'd like to kick him in the butt.
Aron: Your theory is very interesting and appears to be justified."
Fanny and Alexander

Monday, July 23, 2007

Becoming Professional

Okay, I still think this is extremely narcisist and this is the main reason why I still can't look at the pictures I'll post below for more than five seconds. I thought I was healing my paranoias and self-image distortion, but I still can't exactly face it. It's easy to go to a studio and take some pictures, but it's hard to look at the pictures and see what other people see.

I have now some professional modeling pictures, which I'm very uncomfortable to show, but since I've been getting positive critics and compliments and on top of that I was kindly asked to face my own image by my therapist; I've decided to post some of them here.

I was already asked to attend some tests for TV commercials and Photography Sections because of these pictures. Maybe I'm heading somewhere with all this public extravaganza?





Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Seven Wonders of the Ancient World x New Seven Wonders

I've heard of ridiculous games and votes, but I think there isn't a vote that went as far as The New Seven Wonders. I thought only I felt that way about that worldwide fraud, but thankfully I've read at El Mundo that someone else agrees with me.
The patriotism in the third world countries went too far in the votes, people voted in their own wonders and reunited against the wonders that were in the countries they disliked (as the EUA, France and Germany).
It's quite unfair if you really think about it. Brazil has about 118 million people with internet (the population is of 186.770.562) the number of Brazilians who use the internet is almost twice Germany population (about 58 million people), India 60 million people use the internet while in France the population is of 61 million people.
With the anti-Americanism going around the Globe, all countries that hate American voted against the Liberty Statue. America may have a huge population with internet access, but against Latin America, India and China they had no chance of putting their statue in the list.
And now, to think about how people's patriotism and hate towards other countries may affect the future of the fine works of art that weren't voted. The vote was organized by an ONG so they can send money to preserve the new seven wonders. I'm a Brazilian and I don't think we need money to preserve a stupid statue of Christ horribly sculpted in a rock. But I agree that Macchu Picchu needs it to be preserved. The Castle of Neuschwansten may not need money to stay with us in the next centuries, but its architecture is a model of fine art and elegance that influenced many generations of architects and promoted countless studies about its rich walls. If we count how much our modern world owe to this castle people would have voted in it for its importance.
How can Acropolis not have gotten in the list? Greece may need some help to preserve it. And Angkor in Cambodia? Who will help keep the stunning ornamented symbol of the Khmer empire when it’s in a country that barely feeds its population?
And let’s not forget The Kremlin in San Petersburg, the home of several generations of Czars that changed the world’s history.
What has the stupid Christ Redeemer done anyway?
Unfortunately those who voted may not even know what Seven Wonders of the World means. I bet they can’t even name two of them.
I just hope in some years true historians and artists will vote in the true New Seven Wonders. They will be fair because they know and they’ve studied the importance of each candidate for the title and not act like impulsive third world population who voted merely to not let those countries superior to them win.

And to teach people the truly Seven Wonders of the Ancient World I’ll list them down with a quick text gotten from the official website.

Great Pyramid of Giza
Built as the tomb of Fourth dynasty Egyptian pharaoh Khufu.




Hanging Gardens of Babylon
Diodorus described multi-levelled gardens reaching 22 metres (75 feet) high, complete with machinery for circulating water. Large trees grew on the roof.



Temple of Artemis at Ephesus
Dedicated to the Greek goddess Artemis, it took 120 years to build. Herostratus burned it down in an attempt to achieve lasting fame.




Statue of Zeus at Olympia
Occupied the whole width of the aisle of the temple that was built to house it, and was 40 feet (12 meters) tall.




Mausoleum of Maussollos at Halicarnassus
Stood approximately 45 meters (135 feet) tall with each of the four sides adorned with sculptural reliefs. Origin of the word mausoleum.




Colossus of Rhodes
A giant statue of the Greek god Helios roughly 3/4ths as large as today's Statue of Liberty in New York.




Lighthouse of Alexandria
Between 115 and 135 meters (383 - 440 ft) tall it was among the tallest man-made structures on Earth for many centuries.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

A Tormented Artist Soul

I’ve heard from my therapist that I have an artist soul. First I have to say I don’t believe it in a religious way, but I think she meant the state of my mind and the circumstances and decisions that lead my actions in certain directions.

I have an impressionist way to look around me, but I have a realistic way to analyze and criticize it. Basically I have two opposite art movements in constant battle inside me. I can’t decide which one I like more and I can’t blend them both in one.

Lately, I’ve caught myself thinking how much I’d like to break free from this miserable world around me and go somewhere where I can appreciate true beauty, completely ignoring the ugliness of Brazil’s violence and poverty like a good hypocrite and be happy to simply forget. And then my realistic side blames me for wanting to be a hypocrite, but acknowledges that since I can’t save the world, I can save myself from constant deceptions and that’s what the hypocrisy is all about.

I’ve often wondered how nice it would be to paint a flowery field in Toscana while living in a comfortable house and not having to worry about money, for art would be my only profit. It’s not something absurd to come true if I look close because I can paint, I can draw, I have a BA degree and I speak Italian well enough to live there without communication getting in my way.

The only thing on my way is my own ambition and how much it actually costs to go live in another country. I’ve decided to work hard and get enough money to get a MFA degree in Europe and in my account that would be about one or two years of hard work.

But in Brazil an artist can’t find work. Not one that pays correctly every month. So I had to abandon the art and start teaching Italian and English in a private language school. The artistic inspiration behind it is zero and with this job occupying most of my time I don’t have much time to draw, paint and write stories.

That’s where the torment starts. I urge to create all the time. Maybe not all the time, but I think of stories and situations that could become nice comic books, nice paintings and nice tales almost constantly and since I can’t sit down and actually make it appear in the real world (that is, outside my head), I become frustrated and eventually depressed; down the famous creative block.

That’s the moment I’m in right now. In two hours I have to leave and teach; I know that two hours is a lot of time to create something, but I can’t find discipline to dedicate just two hours in a passion-driven work. I need much more then that, I think. And so, I don’t start anything. I just stare at the clock, waiting for it to hurry so I can come home, sleep and hope the next day will be nicer.

When the inspiration hits me in a full blow, usually after midnight, I’m too tired to get out of the bed and sit by my drawing table. I used to do it always a few months ago, but now… I don’t know. I want to, but I’m feeling emotionally tired and frustrated.

My frustration makes me become lazy, I spend my free time reading other people’s novels and when I go out to have fun I realize I’m tired of the same faces, the same subjects and the same personality. I’m tired of that person who think everything he does is easier then what you do because he’s not as lazy as you are, I’m tired of that friend who invites me to dinner and says there’s no restaurant in town that cooks better than his grandmother (who once in history had a restaurant in South Africa for about two months) and that the dessert passed the cooking point when I think it tastes perfect the way it is.

I think I need to be surprised at all the times. When I already know what someone will complain about I get tired of this person and that’s how six or seven years of friendship goes down the drain. Once again I find myself lonely, waiting for some inspiration to come so I can write.

Nowadays when inspiration comes all I can do is to write a small post for an internet journal – blog – thinking someone around the world would care to read my thoughts and find a bit of entertainment in my tormented artistic soul.


Friday, May 25, 2007

Model? Me?!

Ok, I apologize for being away for so long, but I've had some difficult weeks and if it wasn't for my friend Louco to remind me that I haven't been writting here for a while I would have forgotten this blog completely.

I warn you guys that this will look like a narcisist post, but I think I should write about it anyway, first because it really happened and second because my dear friend Laura deserves a lot of credit for those wonderful pictures.

Anyway, I was sitting here in my computer a month ago when a friend logged in and suddenly told me to go meet him in a modeling agency. Yeah, you read that right. My first reaction was to make a joke, but I realized then he was serious about it. Well, it wouldn't hurt to meet the agent and talk a little about the possibilities.

In a sunny morning I talked to the agent and twenty minutes later he was already assigning me for getting some shots and some model ethiquete practice (whatever for I still don't know. That's kinda stupid and pointless. Everybody knows how to smile for a camera!)

I didn't want to spend money on a photo book, seriously. I wasn't serious about the deal. So I asked a friend of mine if she would so kindly take some pictures of me so I could see what would happen.

She did and I must say I'm impressed with the results. I've sent the pictures to the agent and he's already scheduling me for some hair and makeup shooting sections. Isn't that weird? That's not exactly the kind of work I had in mind, but it pays well so... well! A freelance work sometimes won't hurt.

Take a look at some pictures. Lau! You so totally rock, girl!












Friday, April 27, 2007

Unexpected Pet






Just as the title says I've got a new pet. Since my squirel died two years ago I decided that I no longer wanted to have pets for two reasons: first, I'm leaving Brazil soon and I can't take the pet with me; second, I suffer terribly when they die.

Then last Friday I was home working when my dad called me and asked me to go to some address and pick something up for him.... something very expensive so I had to take my credit card with me.

When I arrived I realized it was a kennel. The woman who worked there already knew what it was about and put on my lap the cutest, tiniest furball I've ever seen. It's a baby micro-yorkie. She's just fifty days old and had just gotten separated from her mommy and brothers.

She's just 9 inches!

Her name is Mel (means 'honey' in portuguese) and she already picked me as her favorite human in the house. Yeah!

I've already taken some pictures of her.














Tuesday, February 13, 2007

THE POISON ROSE

My friend Louco wrote this poetry and sent it to me. I liked it so much I decided to post it here. He said it's all mine so don't you dare copy it and post somewhere else! I'll hunt you down if you do!



THE POISON ROSE

What's your name?
That, you shall not reveal.
'Cause everything that you look at
seems to be looking back at you
and you don't like it.

So, I'm calling you 'The Poison Rose'
So fair, lethal and innocent,
Since you are not conscious of how much your poison hurts.
To you the whole world is monochrome
And the real meaning of the illusion
Is yet to be told.

Only the wind
Is supposed to brush your petals
And all the ones around you seem to fade,
Not completely because you wished so.
And then you feel frustrated,
Because the field now is too much empty.
It is too late to call'em back
And you wouldn't do so, anyway.
Finally, you might see that there's no sense in being such a rose,
So smart, special and distinct
When there is no one around to testimony it,
Or when the only ones that may resist to your scent
Are the other roses from your bush.
Their poison feels exactly like yours, and you don't like it.
You'll never notice how similar your scents are.

Then I may call you 'The Poison Rose',
Still naturally untainted by the real stain,
Either by chance, luck or even time,
And unknowing that the thing you want the most
Is precisely what you should never had.
Your poison keeps you safe,
And keeps you alone as well.
Who dares to get closer to such a deadly rose?

For the first time I notice, you never
Really meant to be so.
You simply don't know yet of the other scents
That are unfamiliar to your world, and so you're trying
Madly break through the walls to let them in,
Disregarding the ivies and weeds that shall follow.
It's just the way of nature that all beings long
For what they never had,
Even if it's sad,
Cause happiness means nothing without sorrow,
Beauty makes no sense with no repugnance
And rose gardens and their scents are useless
when you've never seen the stinky marshes.

And that's why I might call you 'The Poison Rose',
Even if I do so with regret.
As in a white piece of linen or a sheet of paper,
There's no complete cleaning for the spots, once they come.
Run wild, rose, cause that's your nature.
You shall become what you long for, eventually.
Whether being picked up one day, or growing wild
Whatever happens to you is yours to decide, to enjoy
Or to atone for, if that's your will.
Just remember that roses that people stare at through the glass
Might miss the warmth of human touch, as time passes.




(Painting by Garmish. Pierside Gallery)