Sunday, 29 January 2012

The Chilean Sculptor, saint or scam?

Back to playing with new ideas for a short five minute screenplay. My main project , a feature film, is having a break. So I thought this except from a true story of an adventure I had in Chile five years ago might be a starting point... it's ending has a great twist.

I thought it might be interesting to have the whole film silent, except for a musical sound track, but at the end, where the twist comes, the surprise will be spoken .

The Chilean Sculptor.

Just before sunset, newly married Santiago born Soli drives me to a small village about a half-hours drive from the log cabin guest house where I’m staying. We’re close to the Pacific Ocean. I’m geographically half way down the long thin spine of Chile, en route to Patagonia. Soli, a vet in search of patients, has recently honeymooned in Patagonia. Her eyes sparkle when she talks about its turquoise lakes, its opal colored rivers and its abundant wildlife.

She’s decided that as I’m an artist, I must meet ‘The Sculptor.’
Owner of the log cabin guest house, Soli’s charging me for this little adventure. Being a clever business woman she’s devised other tempting treats for her guests. Tomorrow night, which is full moon, we’ll be walking along the beach with her dogs, then making a bonfire out of drift wood. Not 100% sure about the skinny dipping. This adventure cost double the visit to the sculptor. I’m fine with this. People are too poor here to bring their sick animals to me she confides.

We’re heading for the sculptors village in Soli’s brand new red 4x4, a wedding present I think. Her designer hand bag sits on the back seat. My small travelers back pack covers my lap. I love my new green slip on shoes. Soli is chic, I feel scruffy from the ankles up. We share a bar of dark chocolate. The vehicle smells of wet dog.

We plough across a wide dirt track road and stop on an autumn clad hillside in front of a large circular adobe house. This is the sculptor’s new home Soli tells me.
The house has 18 windows. There’s a smaller roundhouse on higher ground. That’s his studio she whispers. And right on top of the hill, there’s another strange adobe building. It's oval. My new friend offers no information about this architectural curiosity.

Without any introductions or goodbyes, Soli and the sculptor’s wife abandon me. They drive away in a cloud of thick brown dust.

“Wait here” the sculptor instructs. He scratches his chin with a dark brown wrinkled finger.

I stand outside the round house smelling the lavender, wondering why Soli is so anxious for us to meet.

A few moments later the man returns. He's carrying a CD player and a fat chuck of water melon. He eats it noisily.

Fifty-year-old Antonio has thick short steely gray hair, walks like a matador, likes watermelon and has just become a father for the fourth time.

“I’m a campasino ( a peasant )," he tells me as we walk past his studio.
“Never been inside an art school in my life. Self taught. And you?”

We’re heading for the oval house. Why aren't we stopping at his studio?

Soli has told him I’m an artist. He looks at me , waiting for a response.

“Well I’m a kind of campasina too," I say.

Why do I want to hide the fact I’ve studied art for six years, that I’ve dipped my toe into the International art scene, and withdrawn it.

“Yes, I live in the campo ( countryside) too.” I tell him.
“I live in a tiny village in Spain. There are probably more mules than cars in our village.”

Well, this was almost true when I first came to the village eleven years ago.

At the top of the hill he orders me once again to “Wait here.” His tone is neutral.

The weather beaten ‘peasant/sculptor’ then disappears into the oval adobe barn carrying his shinny CD player.

The sun is about to set and the air is pure and still.
I can smell the sea.
I feel a great sense of excitement. This is my first taste of South America.

Five minutes later he re emerges.

“You can go in now," he tells me. "Close the door behind you.”

Alejandro strolls past me down the dusty hill, smiling with a look I can’t decode.
Have I been judged a waste of time? Is that it? What now?

I stoop and climb though a child sized door closing it carefully, as instructed.

A pitch-dark, warm, wax scented, nothingness envelops me.

Everything feels black- brown, including my body. I’m temporally sightless, there are no windows.
Haunting sacred music fills the air. Gradually my eyes adjust.

Slowly the dense brownness lifts like a veil...

My attention is drawn towards a figure on the left. He’s sitting on a chair, hands outstretched, but he’s not moving.
Beside him on either side are six exquisitely crafted empty seats. At his feet 4 small candles dribble wax onto the sandy floor. They give the only light in this large empty mysterious space. The wax smells strong. Time comes to a standstill. The music disappears.

Much silence makes a powerful noise.

I sit a few seats away from the life-size sculpture of Jesus and gaze at his profile. I cannot bring myself to sit beside him. The twelve empty seats of his companions touch a nerve. Where are they?
At the far end of the room there are three six-foot high sculptures depicting birth, relationship, and death, also carved from native local wood . I’m told this is what they are later.

After a while the sculptor returns and we sit opposite each other in silence.
He seems to be praying, his head rests on his hand.

Suddenly he starts to talk.
When he pauses,I respond, wholeheartedly and spontaneously. His words touch the silence of my soul.

Without any preamble,we seem to be creating a brand new language as we begin to communicate, artist to artist. But how can this possibly be? My Spanish is so basic.
Gradually, our conversation becomes something else.
We appear to leave our bodies and dissolve into a vast ancient heart space. Our words and feelings become fireworks in the shared darkness. It’s like living a Rumi poem:

'Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field ( an adobe sacred space). I’ll meet you there.'

Everything Antonio says sounds like a Hymn to the Divine, a Psalm to Creativity, and a Prayer to Jesus, a Celebration of the Mystery of Life.

When we leave the oval house the sun has disappeared and the moon is bright in a Prussian blue star studded sky.

I feel elated, charged , cleansed, spring-cleaned and new.

Now, the idea is to turn this true little story into a short film. But first, here’s the ending.

Later that night at supper in the log cabin, Soli’s husband Alejandro tells me The Sculptor was best man at their wedding recently. He paints a word picture.

“He’s a very good friend, a Jack of all trades actually. Quite an actor. A kind of ...."
I don't hear his last words.

An actor?

I am still in a state of speechless awe after my unforgettable experience.

“He makes his living by showing bus loads of tourists around his adobe grotto. He gets them all to meditate!”

Alejandro can’t stop laughing, his eyes scan my face for a reaction.

“Oh!” is all I manage to say.

Was this a set up?

All that we are is the result of what we have thought.

Friday, 27 January 2012

Searching for the essence...

Much silence makes a powerful noise.
African proverb

All that we are is the result of what we have thought.

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.

In these quotes, there could lie the essence of a short film. Watch this space !

Mucho silencio puede hacer un ruido fuerte.
proverbio africano

Todo lo que somos es el resultado de lo que hemos pensado.

Sólo hay dos maneras de vivir tu vida. Uno de ellos es como si nada fuera un milagro. La otra es como si todo fuera un milagro.
Albert Einstein

Las tres últimas citas podría ser la esencia de un cortometraje.

Многое молчание делает мощный шум.
Африканская пословица

Все, что мы есть результат того, что мы думали.

Альберт Эйнштейн
Есть только два способа прожить свою жизнь. Один из них, как будто ничего не чудо.Другой, как будто все является чудом.

Последние три цитаты могут быть сущностью короткометражный фильм.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

No ordinary writers block.

'The Universe presents us with endless opportunities to synchronize our path with our truth.

The whole system gets very busy with us ( when we get on track). We summon the lesson- the lesson summons us.

I recognized this was no ordinary writers block. It was actually the writers resistance that emerges when we step on the right path at the wrong time.

I tried to befriend my confusion but it was intensely uncomfortable.

Coax the voice that confuses you to the surface.' It didn't need very much coaxing.

'Abuse victims learn that the art of living is the art of avoiding pain.
Your need to live your life as an ongoing question. This is not a passive process. It's an active exploration of the boundless and eternal mystery of who you are.

Recognize that you created this moment. When a question arises live it until it is clarified.
Live in the heart of inquiry.

From Jeff Brown's Soulshaping.

"Las víctimas de abusos aprenden que el arte de vivir es el arte de evitar el dolor.
Necesitas vivir tu vida como una cuestión permanente. Esto no es un proceso pasivo. Es una exploración activa del misterio infinito y eterno de lo que eres.

Reconoces lo que has creado en este momento. Cuando surge una pregunta vivilo hasta que se aclare.
Vive en el corazón de la investigación.

De Jeff Brown Soulshaping.

"Злоупотребление жертв узнать, что искусство жизни это искусство избегать боли.
Ваша потребность прожить свою жизнь как постоянный вопрос. Это не пассивный процесс. Это активное освоение безграничной и вечной тайной, кто вы есть.

Признайте, что вы создали этот момент. Когда возникает вопрос, жить им, пока не будет прояснен.
Жить в центре расследования.

От Джеффа Брауна Soulshaping.

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

The screenplay.

And now after a break of ten weeks, back to the screenplay.

Y ahora, después de una pausa de diez semanas, de vuelta al guión.

И теперь, после перерыва десяти недель назад в сценарий.

My new goal. To make a short film out of the existing synopsis.

Today it's felt impossible.

Necesito una nueva meta. Voy a hacer una nueva pelicula muy corta, tal vez de 20 minutos, desde el guión existente.
Pero hoy en día parece imposible. Estoy demasiado cansada para pensar.

Моя новая цель. Чтобы сделать короткометражный фильм из существующих резюме.
Сегодня это чувствовал невозможно.

“I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.”
Jimmy Dean

"No puedo cambiar la dirección del viento, pero puedo ajustar mis velas para llegar siempre a mi destino."
Anímate Meg!

"Я не могу изменить направление ветра, но я могу настроить мои паруса всегда доходят до моего назначения". Унывайте Мэг!

Huomenta minun lukijoille Finnland!

Sunday, 15 January 2012

Thoughts become things

I would like to remind myself that thoughts become things.

Today we visited a Spanish woman who lives in the stone house she and her beloved built thirty years ago. It's perched on the side of a mountain, facing west, here in Andalucia, in southern Spain. Thirty years ago she was a dreamer.
They chose not to have electricity. They had no running water. Their nearest neigbours were not within shouting distance. He died. Her skin became weathered and wrinkled. Her clothes became baggy. She said she had so many fears she didn't know what to do with them all.

My new friend who makes men of all ages laugh, and ladies of all shapes and sizes smile, told her she had to repeat this affirmation, daily :

Soy Capaz!

Soy capaz de hacer lo que quiera.

Je suis capable de faire ce que je veux faire.

Я способен делать все, что я хочу сделать.

I am capable of doing whatever I want to do.

Thoughts become things.

Chose to hold onto only the positive ones.
Never diminish yourself. What in God's name is the point ?
Please believe in your best and biggest dreams.
I'm a grandmother now. I can speak to you like this.
It's a gift to make others smile.
Today has been full of smiles. The woman with the wrinkled face and the broken heart giggled when we left her.
'What's that phrase?' my friend tested her again.
'What phrase?' she asked.

'Ah yes, I remember. I am capable of doing whatever I want with my life.'

Los pensamientos se convierten en cosas.
Optó por retener sólo los positivos.
Nunca te menosprecie. En el nombre de Dios, porque quiereis hacer esto ?
Por favor, cree en tus sueños mejores y más grandes.
Soy una abuela ahora. Puedo hablar con ustedes de esta manera.
Es un regalo hacer sonreír a los demás.
Hoy en día ha estado lleno de sonrisas. La senora con el rostro arrugado y el corazón roto se rió cuando le dejó.
¿Cuál es la frase le preguntó?
"¿Qué frase?"
-Ah, sí, yo soy capaz de hacer lo que quiera con mi vida. "

Pensées deviennent des choses.
A choisi de s'accrocher uniquement les aspects positifs.
Ne jamais se blesser. What's the point?
S'il vous plaît croire en vos rêves meilleurs et plus grands.
Je suis une grand-mère maintenant. Je peux vous parler comme cela.
C'est un cadeau à faire sourire les autres.
Aujourd'hui a été pleine de sourires. La dame au visage ridé et rigolé cœur brisé quand on lui a laissé.
Quelle est la phrase de mon ami lui a demandé?
»Quelle phrase? elle demandé.
«Ah oui, je suis capable de faire ce que je veux avec ma vie."

Мысли становятся вещами.
Выбрал держаться только положительные.
Никогда не deminish себя. Что в имени Бога в этом смысл?
Пожалуйста, поверьте в ваших лучших и самых больших мечтаний.
Я бабушка сейчас. Я могу говорить с вами, как это.
Это подарок, чтобы заставить других улыбку.
Сегодня была полна улыбок.Дама с морщинистым лицом и разбитым сердцем захихикала, когда мы оставили ее.
Что фраза мой друг спросил ее?
"Что фраза? спросила она.
«Ах да, я умею делать все, что я хочу со своей жизнью".

Have a lovely day. Thank you for sharing my adventures.
I'm smiling at you.
Feel it ?

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

Into the new year...

“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”

T.S. Eliot.

"Sólo aquellos que se arriesgan a ir demasiado lejos pueden saber hasta dónde se puede ir."

T.S. Eliot.

"Seuls ceux qui prennent le risque d'aller trop loin peut éventuellement savoir jusqu'où on peut aller."

T.S. Eliot.

"Только те, кто рискнет зайти слишком далеко может возможно выяснить, как далеко можно идти."

T.S. Элиот.