Revision of Self-Portrait

     This year had been one hell of a painful ride, both physically and emotionally, but I have never opened up, and exposed the pain of my interior space. I had a fear that it would change the way people perceive me, but this interior pain is what makes me who I am. When I announced my project, I got some crickets and not as much feedback as I had wanted. I was a little discouraged, but I am reminding myself that sometimes people do not know how to respond when something is uncomfortable. I concluded filming with the help of my talented and glorious and loving friend, Anya Ekaterina, who was my trusty director of photography. I have written and recorded my audio, but I have made some edits to my initial idea. I do not know whether or not I would like to make it a letter film since I am working on one in Andre's 6x1 class-- to be determined in editing. I want my title to be "Love and Light, Lily," but I am hesitant since it is no longer a letter film. My first sentence in my voice over is "Wind has never been photographed, but has depression?" I was thinking of titling it "Wind Has Never Been Photographed" as a means of hinting towards the unseen natural forces and emotions, but I am still hesitant. I am beginning my editing process by creating a soundscape where my voice over will be the dominating sound with accompanying sounds of a heart beat, ticking time bomb, paper shredder, thunder, knife, dentist drills, nails on chalkboards, and other high frequency sounds. I will begin the process just as I had for assignment 1D. I will allow the sound to dictate the image.

Every night before I go to bed, I write about one sentence or two about my feelings or observations or simply nothingness. I have done this for the past five years of my life. My voice-over will be a collage of these one-liners to truly represent the way I have been feeling.  Below you will find the dialogue for my voice-over: 

Wind has never been photographed, but has depression? You can see it’s effects - You can see it swaying reeds on a beach or stinging tears from your eyes - But can you catch it in your lense? What do you look like, depression?-- Show me how you self-destruct.

I believe in happy childhoods. I believe in toddlers blowing wishes over birthday cakes.

How many forms of love are you? How many catastrophes are you? How many verses are you?

You are allowed to feel these words.  

I love with italics and big bold letters; I am a supercharged romantic voltage.

I will always be the one loving too hard. I told myself to never write about love.

My love is electrostatic; I am too anxious to see you so I drag my feet across the carpet.

Why can’t I have the heart of an industrial paper shredder?

I hear the sound of my heart like it is beating from somewhere outside of my body.**

How many times can the same thing break my heart?  

Cigarette smoke and broken words-- the immovable pact life and death have made with me.

I revisit everything for an emotion, feelings are everything for me.

I used to know me. Now I only know my overtly intimate relationship with pain.

And maybe I only hurt because I want to.

I have always thought the weight of my emotions to be much too heavy for the lightness of words.

I have no words to describe my feelings, but infinite thoughts to torment my insecurities.

I heard every word you didn’t say.

No one misses me more than I do.

Thoughts like thunder to the chest.

I am not allowed to miss anyone I willingly left.

All I want to do is to go home, but I have no idea where it is or what it is.

I would rather distract this pain by dissolving into a thousand hidden meanings: Plot twists and tragic ends are my calling cards.

I get frustrated at my inability to find in other people the same thoroughness I find in myself.

I am searching for myself in them. I am searching for myself.

How many times have I wanted them to understand something without me telling them?

All the ways my heart says please notice me.

I know what it feels like to be looked at like you’re not really there.

I thrive when I am alone and right now I am vigorous.

Sometimes all I want is to disappear into nothingness. Sometimes I feel like I nothing.

Speaking to death as a friend, not a lover. I am safe, but with a ticking time bomb feeling.

A good mood has become not wanting to hold a knife to my neck.

I feel superstitious about mentioning the uncomfortable emotions which are recommended by the comfortable as necessary for personal growth.

Performing under pressure is my favorite meditative practice.

On the cusp between functionality and exhaustion.

The problem with me is my tendency to give so many pieces of myself to everyone I know.

If your pain wants to talk, then my pain wants to listen

Where there is beauty, there is also the ghost of pain found within it.

I am 100% aware I will need to be deleting some of these lines in editing because I have a tendency to overwrite, but its better to have too much rather than too little, right? I have no idea what my final audio will dictate my image to look like, but I am more than happy with my footage. I am anxious and excited and uncomfortable (in the good sense) to workshop it to the class this week. I get a little anxious about the thought of just showing it to my family because they do not know the extent of my pain, but I am am hopeful for the future and I am hopeful for the outcome of this film.