Speaks for itself!
BUILDING AND ADJUSTING OUR SENSES OF WHO WE ARE AND WHO WE MIGHT BECOME...
Speaks for itself!
I found this underwater video: Paris - The Cross Over on Fubiz the other day. In the comments it has received a little criticism for not being that original and for the post production not quite being up to scratch, but either way, I don’t think that you can disagree that the lighting in it is rather beautiful.
Here’s a short story that I wrote a while ago. Finally got around to publishing it. I’m hoping to turn it into a short film moving image piece at some point…
RED – A Story Of Colour and Intrigue
Flash of red. Red flash. Nothing unusual. Except that. Red flash. Flash of red. Then the emotion. Seething, terrible, rolling emotion. The over whelming sense of hatred. Churning of the stomach and then the burst of a million pins that tumble their way haphazardly around my veins. What? Red Flash. Did I imagine that the whole world turned red? Only for a split second. Then gone. Normal again.
A few days pacing and the allure of the moment growing. Life suddenly felt different. Different in a way kept the mundane interesting and the boring subdued and unused. The first moment that the world turned red dominated me. I hated the feeling but longed for that feeling again. That feeling of pure red anger. Of seeing hatred. Being its silent onlooker. The shadow that sees all but says nothing.
I’ve never been an angry person. I’ve never felt that flash of red that some people say they see before lashing out. Lashing out with human rawness when actions become reactions and instinct takes hold.
At first it seemed a gift. The ability to see flashes. Flashes of other people’s anger as emotions tumble spill and fall into reality. The lorry driver and the over zealous parking attendant. The mother and the mischievous naughty girl. The husband and wife sat in silence over dinner. The ability to feel and experience other people’s emotions in such a vivid fiery way. Don’t touch it’s hot. Then the touch just to see. Exactly the same. The intrigue and the deadly attraction, even with detrimental consequences. Roaming the streets just to find that rush of emotion. That tiny moment that I was defining the edge of my own existence on and gaining such a thrill.
I just didn’t think at the time. I didn’t think that I could be a victim of my own intrigue. I thought I was immune from the anger. I could play the harmless game from the sidelines. Feel but not participate. Witness the bloody execution but not get my hands dirty.
Over the space of 4 months the red tint became more frequent. As soon as I stepped outside. There it was. Cut. Slice. Slash. The centre of my pupils more dilated than if a 1000-watt bulb had been switched on violently after years of smoldering darkness. How could the world be so angry at 7.30am? Surely there has been no time for the emotion to manifest, increase and then erupt. The screech of the car brakes. The slam of the front door. The muttering local lunatic at ill with society.
The real turning point happened in the night. Night time was usually an escape from the red. Reassuring space in between fright and flight. Time to lose and escape. Then. Flash of red. Red flash. Everything unusual. Awake. Frightened. Scared. Confused. Disorientated. I stumbled to the bathroom and threw up the remains of last night’s dinner. Dinner in the restaurant as the chef shouted abuse at the timid waitress. The red blasts of light as she absorbed the onslaught. It had never ever staged an appearance in my subconscious before. How could it? I never felt angry. If I never felt angry then how could I see red when on my own? I lay awake with just the sound of my heart echoing through my body. Trembling with an anxious stream of thought.
The effect of the first night time flash quickly grew and gathered pace until reaching a catastrophic level 10 days later. A numbing catastrophic level. The flashes of red had grown in length and strength. First 5 seconds. Then 15. Then 2 minutes. A full hour – the dial turned up to max. Full power. Disturbed sleep. No sleep. Awake. The blocks of normal colour that had sandwiched and held the quick red flashes became slithers themselves, surrounded by a sea of red.
Anger all the time. Red all the time.
© 2012 Jonny Charles Harris
A beautiful animation by Saskia Kretzschmann based on the quotation by Edgar Allan Poe.
“The boundaries which divide life from death are the best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”
Love how the animation goes full circle and ends where it starts.
A friend of mine Sarah Tierney (BAFTA award winner 2011 for The Walking Wounded) has just moved to Australia to work on a project called FORM. It’s hugely ambitious and exciting for the creative industries. It’s always interesting to see what’s going on around the world. You can keep up to date with Sarah’s blog HERE. I’m sure they’ll be lots of interesting posts popping up!