A touch of Corrie-ography

Merry Christmas from the Big Blue Lake!

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 01:19:00 +0000

I'm back in Tahoe for the winter animating away. Enjoy this holiday card, share it with your friends and look for more to come in the new year!

The New Zealand Project

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 00:16:00 +0000

My boyfriend and I have headed to New Zealand for the Southern winter. Here's a link to our travel blog.

Semana Santa or How many Spaniards does it take to move a KIA?

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 16:41:00 +0000

The week preceding Easter is high times in Spain. Known as the Semana Santa or Holy Week, every pueblo has its own series of daily processions with fluctuation levels of strange traditions that could only be inherited over centuries of cultural layering. Several of us at FV sought out a cross section of events for our cultural edification. The big day was Viernes Santo – Good Friday. 4 of us ladies rented a roomy KIA and took off up the coast for adventures.

The first stop was Vera, a small, industrial town about 20 minutes from Mojacar. We parked on a side street and began wandering through the streets in search of the church. After asking directions, we crossed a plaza, turned a corner and were confronted by a crowd of people dressed to the nines in black suits. Feeling very touristy in our beachy colors and sandals, we squeezed
in the back of the crowd and got a view of the church entrance. Coming out the door was a life-sized figure of Maria Dolorosa, her silver face and ashen expression the very definition of misery. Under her gold brocaded velvet gown we could see several pairs of suited legs – men bearing her heavy weight through the crowd. She made her way through the narrow streets, stopping every now and then for a rest and then backed into another church around the corner. Then the not-so-somber crowd dispersed to the bars for a café or cervesa before the next icon was scheduled to appear.

We didn’t want to wait around, so hopped back into our KIA and winded our way up the rugged coast. Being the only person who had driven in Spain before, I was the designated driver. It was a beautiful spring day, green and floral. We paused in a turn off to poke around some ruins and enjoy the view. Piling back in, I backed down a narrow road to turn around. Suddenly, the rear of the car dropped and lurched and we heard sandy scraping on the bottom. Upon further inspection, it appeared I had backed into a rather large ditch, full of prickly bushes. One rear wheel was completely floating in mid air, while the other was spinning in sandy gravel digging the middle underside of the car firmly into the dirt. Both front tires were still on the road, but pretty much useless without power from the rear. We were officially stuck.
A few hundred meters down the road were some cars and picnickers fishing from the beach. Shelley and Jane went off to recruit some help and came back with two reluctant 20-something Spaniards. We enlisted their muscles as I gunned the engine, but the result was only to spray one of them with dirt from the spinning front tire. We discussed calling a tow truck as a white VW van drove up from the beach. The rail thin, hippie-ish man in his 60’s stepped out with his barking dogs and scratched his head at the conundrum.

At this point, Jane had taken things into her own capable hands and was standing by the main road waving down any SUV type vehicle she saw. First a Land Rover with an elderly couple pulled off, then another vehicle passed us, turned around and pulled off. Here we had hit the jackpot. Out stepped a formidable woman and 3 burly men in their 30s. We now numbered 12 able bodies and decided to give it one more go. Not even turning the car on, we but it in neutral and everyone together pushed. It moved! Once again, uno, dos, tres! And the wheels began to roll. Once under its own inertia, we easily pushed it out of the ditch and back onto the road! Everyone cheered and we expressed our profound thanks in broken Spanish and broad smiles.

Viernes Santo: Part 2
On our way again, we enjoyed the scenic route to Cartagena, map-making center of the world. At 2 pm everyone was out walking around in holiday style, a promenade to see and be seen. We enjoyed paella y postre at a cafeteria on the main square with our amiable waiter, Oscar, serving our every whim with a smile. After lunch we admired boats in the marina and tasted sweets and meats at the artisan market but by 4pm the entire town had emptied out. It was time to move on.

Our last stop was Murcia, a small interior city which reputed to have some of the best processions within the area. We parked by the river as the first drops of rain began to fall and ducked our way to the main cathedral for refuge from the deluge. The rain lightened after about 30 minutes and we asked a few people about processions, getting various answers and indications of the direction we are supposed to go. We had a schedule and a map, but over the course of the evening, both items turned out to be somewhat useless. However, making our way in the general direction of someone’s indication we came around a corner and were confronted with bar crowded by men in black dresses with white lace trimmings and the traditional Spanish footwear. Women in black lace, children in velvet robes mingled with the jovial crowd. These clearly were the people to ask. Turns out we were behind one of the churches and the procession was scheduled to start at either 6:30, 7:00 or 7:15 depending who you asked. So, we went to the front and staked out some plastic chairs along the route for a good view as strangely dressed people continued to stream by, some talking on cell phones, others smoking a cigarette, all holding various walking sticks, lanterns, posts. Many had billows of fabric hanging over their cinched belt like a pillowy layer of fat. Later we discovered these rolls of fabric were stuffed with candies, toys even hard boiled eggs and sweet breads which they handed out to children and the occasional lucky adult in the crowds (we tried our luck at getting some but were mostly ignored).

It had been drizzling off and on for the last 30 minutes and now, at 7:15 it started raining harder. Our neighbor on the sidelines explained to me that if the rain didn’t stop by 7:30 they would probably call the procession off. A few minutes later there was a sky-breaking peal of thunder, the ambient daylight faded as though someone had leaned on the celestial light switch and it began to pour! Everyone raced for the shelter of shop doorway, overhangs and strangers with paraguas. The downpour lightened to steady rain in 5 minutes and soon the municipal men were stacking the chairs and the crowds dashing off to the local bars. We followed, disappointed that the costumes and props we had seen were left to our imaginations. Evening fell as we sipped hot drinks in a café and we thought about heading home.

But around 8:30, as we were getting ready to leave, we noticed a great crown over by the church and music bouncing off the buildings. Hurrying over, we saw a float coming out of the cathedral doors! Not sure if this was the same procession finally starting or a new one at the scheduled time, we really didn’t care. At least we could see something!

I cannot describe the strangeness of the procession. It went on for an hour. Hooded men in black handed out sweets from the bowels of their robes to small children who were well on their way to a strong sugar buzz. Huge floats carried by 30 or more men kept coming out of the church and proceeding along the streets. The floats consisted of a rectangular wooden base, gilded and decorated with roses, candles, lights and who knows what else. On top of everything was a statue of Jesus or Mary, or a crucifixion scene. They were obviously incredibly heavy. The men would walk about 30 feet and the leader would knock his walking stick against the icon with a loud CRACK and they would stop, resting their loads on wooden crutches. Then, at another crack, they would start again. Watching them turn a corner was amazing.

To see more pictures of the procession, visit this link.

April Shower

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 10:28:00 +0000

I left the biblioteca and was amazed to discover that in the hour since I had sat in the warm sun on the plaza, dark clouds had gathered all around Almería. I started down the hill, wondering if I would make the 2km back before the clouds caught up with me.

A few drops splattered on the pavement and thunder rumbled. I was about halfway – not far enough and I ducked into a little gift store. After collecting a few items, and looking over the entire stock twice as the thunder grew louder and the rain began to pour I final purchased the 3,30 worth of trinkets I had gathered and stood in the entrance way. The shop owner pointed out that they had a nice stock of paraguas for only 3 Euro which I dutifully examined with great attention for another 5 minutes hoping the downpour would lessen. A cheap paragua was probably not going to keep me entirely dry for the remaining 2k to the Fundacion. So I dashed across the street to a bar and ordered a café con leche and am lingering with the few other stranded occupants, watching high def music videos punctuated by thunder still stubbornly overhead. Still the rain pours down. Really pours! Thank goodness for laptops!

Fundación Valparaíso

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 10:18:00 +0000

This, my first international residency, is a strange mixture of familiar and foreign. I am in Andalucia, the southern-most section of Spain, on the Medditerranean coast in a small town called Mojácar. The town had draped itself over a steep hilltop like a puddle of melting whipped cream. Behind it rise grand, mysterious mountains that have been clinging to the fog for the last few days, only allowing sonambulent glimpses of their peaks and mounds. Orange groves around the hills are doubled over with fruit and flowers, the scent of blossoms of all sorts intoxicate the air. Wildflowers abound – bursting from the ground in spurts and sprays of yellow, purple and pink, with smaller scatterings of blue and white. The sea is a long walk away, and at present with the early April chill, I prefer to look at it from the top of a hill rather than walk along its shores, but that may change with the seasonal transition.

There are 3 ladies who come everyday to cook lunch and dinner for us and clean up after our messy breakfast forays to the kitchen. We are treated to authentic Spanish cuisine in giant earthen casseroles– tortilla, calamaris en su tinta (which only four brave souls dared to try), bread that comes steaming out of the oven right at dinnertime as we sip the red table wine and nibble tapas.

The first evening was spent with the usual questions – family, children, work, and what other residencies have we all been to. The writers do get around and there was some overlap and some tips thrown into the conversation. Now, as the first of 4 weeks slides by, we come to the hard business of actually getting to know one another. The heavy drapery of our artistic reclusiveness pushed aside by our curiosity and the awareness that this is the extent of our social world for the next 4 weeks. Bits of the past life dropped casually into conversation and left clattering loudly on the table like a lost marble that no one jumps to claim. I am the youngest here by a good 15 years, which makes my upcoming 30th birthday suddenly seem rather trifling. Everyone, (with the exception of, Hagit, the Israeli playwright) is on their second marriage, or recently divorced. Life takes on a new perspective, depending on the company.

I was in Andalucia last fall for 6 weeks and while I was ostensibly here to be highly productive on several projects that were sorely neglected at home, I found myself pulled out of focus by a need to thoroughly explore the landscape and culture surrounding me. Reflecting back on that time has led me to the realization that my artistic productivity is based on external and internal exploration. Because landscape is so much a part of my work, I must internalize it before I can infuse it with the internal meanings and concepts bouncing around in my head. One friend, a master of metaphor, described my need to set out anchors in a place, familiar landmarks from previous explorations which make that particular external place a safe place in which to explore internally. Now, here once again in Andalucia, I am no longer dazzled by the white towns on the hillsides, no longer entangled within the narrow web of old men and women winding through the streets to the plaza mayor. I am no longer surprised by the crumbling, roofless houses tucked away in the hills or the little dogs yapping at the edge of the drives as I walk past. I know I should order a vino tinto or a café con leche. There are still things to discover to be sure, but the anchors hold firm and my mind is free to begin its own exploration.

You can see more photos of the first week on Facebook

A Nice Day for a Ride

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 15:26:00 +0000

When I took my first motorcycle ride up the Pacific Coast Hwy and through the Santa Monica Mountains, snuggly situated behind my friend Dave, he explained to me the reason riding is so addicting. When you take a drive in a car, you move along the road enclosed in your protective box, safe from experiencing the speed and environment of your journey. On a bike, the elements become immediate – the warmth of the sun tempered by the air moving over my skin; the smells of the bush, the farmland, the exhaust of the truck loaded with bananas groaning its way up the hill in front; the bugs bouncing off my sunglasses and the cat calls of the local men as two Americanas on a moto whiz by. All these are immediate, visceral and turn a Thursday afternoon drive into an adventure.

With a blue-sky and pleasantly warm day, Erica and I escaped the city limits on her zippy little moto and headed up into the mountains. Our first stop was a short trail through the jungle, which wound behind a rickety house with a pleasant woman doing her laundry, past a few wild fruit trees that tempted us with their laden branches. The oranges were sour and the lemons were sweet! We followed a river to a series of cascades below the Monasterio Cisterciense Santa Maria del Evangelio. At the base of the falls we chatted with a woman from Honduras who was with a small group of service workers touring the monastery. The padre leading the group greeted us and chatted with Erica about her work with Vida para los Niños and eventually they found someone they both knew and were immediate friends He soon was affectionately dubbed “Parrot” by my sister, after a lengthy explanation that his name was Laro not loro (like the green bird that repeats everything you say). Erica promised to attend church at the monastery soon so she could try his pan con chocolate. The monks are famous for their baking and before we left we managed to purchase un pan baguette and un pan de campo. As it was well into the afternoon and our stomachs were rumbly, the pan baguette didn’t even last the walk back to our bike. Good bread is hard to find in the DR. Erica will be back.

We continued on our journey, enjoying the beautiful day and the winding road by the river. Eventually we began climbing and climbing and climbing and just before the crest of the winding curves the bike rebelled and puttered out. Two kids watched our repeated attempts to start it. Reluctantly, saving us much embarrassment, it did rev up and we made it to the top, a long downhill and rows of green mountains ahead of us receding in the distance. We continued through several small communities and finally reached our destination, a small town nicely situated on the banks of a river. Then we turned around and rode home. Really, the destination was the journey and the ride back, in the cooling air with the sun on our backs was just as pleasant.

The Best Job In the World

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 00:31:00 +0000

The Ultimate Blogging Job!

The music is called "Puddles" and was composed and performed by my friend Matt Wood.

Estepa Steps

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 21:43:00 +0000

On this week's agenda was a field trip with Don and José Maria from the video production crew. Our goal was to gather shots of the towns in the area for the new intro, which I had been one of my tasks here. So we packed up the cameras and after a few false starts due to inclement weather, we finally were on our way Thursday afternoon.

Our first stop was Aguadulce, just a few kms down the highway. We drove through the streets of this tiny town looking for the centro urbano - the cernter of town where there was likely to be some sort of landmark to photograph. Eventually, we found a tiny plaza mayor with an ayunamiénto (town hall) and a pretty fountain. That's it. We asked some locals - no nothing else in town. And they didn't even know why it was called Aguadulce! At least they could have made something up!

Next stop - Estepa. If I was moving to this area, I would live in Estepa. It is huddled part way up two rocky hills that promise some great sunset views. And below, spread out to the north is a buena vista de campania. There is a crubling torre on a hill with a lovely park, and a nice bustle of people climbing steep, narrow streets. But really, the reason I want to live there is that every year, from October to January, the town is permeated with the sweet, smell of browning sugar and cinnamon. Polvorones y Mantecados are the traditional dulces of Estepa and they are so famous they are shipped all over the world. Several factories are scattered throughout the town and there is a sweets shop on every corner. Don't ask what they put in these crumbly treats. (Really, you don't want to know!) But I tried one in the museo and well... just had to buy a whole bag!

After a lengthy lunch in the upper floor of El Morocho, watching businessmen wheel and deal as we waited and waited for our food, we quickly headed to Herrera. Again, on plaza, and one fountain. Not much else.

El Rubio was a bit more promising, but there was a funeral at the church so we couldn't really stop and take pictures. I tried to find out who this Blonde Guy was that had such a quaint little town named after him, but to no avail. I guess there are lots of blondes roaming around getting things named afer them.

The final stop was La Antiquela, José Maria's hometown. The light was fading fast, so we snapped some pictures and headed back to Osuna just in time to catch the dusk on the cathedral.

It was a long day! But well worth it. The intro is done and with only a few more weeks left, I have many things on my list of hope-to-finish!

M á s fotos de España

y

Osuna

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 19:41:00 +0000

The temperamental nature of autumn is truly evidenced in Andalusia. We have had rain showers followed by near summer days of warm southern sun and then rain showers again for the past few weeks. I am still finding my rhythm within the Spanish schedule and artist’s temperament. For one more week before the clocks turn back, the town is enjoying the evening paseo before the sun sets at 7:45. The fact that it is still dark at 8am makes lingering in bed quite appealing after my late nights, but the time change might help me to shift back to a slightly more average schedule.

For the first time in months I have a kitchen to play in again and I am indeed playing. My first weekend, I attempted the famed tortilla espana, not to be confused with the tortilla mexicana – which seem to have no influence here whatsoever. A tortilla, in Spain is more like an Italian frittata or an open omelet. Anything can go in one, but usually potatoes and onions are the classic version. I tried my hand, managing to flip the thing (there is a secret!) without sending the contents all over the stove. Aaron, the son of my hosts, who grew up in Spain and was back home for a weekend from Sevilla, gave my resulting tortilla a B- It tasted great but looked a little on the thin side. Next time I will have to fill the whole pan (they have special tortilla pans here!) to the top and see what happens.Osuna is in the heart of farm country. The olive harvest is beginning. Trucks of green olives for canning are carted from the groves each day. Soon the black ones will be hauled to the presses just down the road to make the delicious local brand of oils Santa Theresa 1881 that I find in the stores all over here. I think the reason my tortilla tasted so good to me what because I could taste the subtle flavors of oil holding all the tastes together.

Osuna is not on the tourist highways of Spain. It is industrial farm country, the gritty back-country that feeds much of Europe. Walking around town there were times when I would turn a corner and feel I was in Mexico. Buildings crumble behind fences made from old bedsprings and chicken wire. Stray dogs dig through piles of trash as they roam the streets. The occasional look on the face of an elder person I pass on an evening walk hints that this is not the happy pastoral peasant life that is so often painted in our minds when we think of the Old World. But neither is it a worn and weary existence. The town hums to its own rhythm. At 2pm the streets liven up from a quiet morning and children stop for dulce on their way home from school. By 3pm, silence has settled over the town as people eat, rest, and pause in the middle of the day to recollect themselves. Around 430pm things begin to stir again, reaching a crescendo of soccer matches, street games, paseos and housewives dashing out for pan caliente before everything shuts down after sunset. On a Friday night, the main drag, Calle Alfonso XII, plays host to the local youth popping wheelies on motorcycles and enjoying the 85cent tapas at El Ejido and other bars around town.

Next week we start talking about the TV program, which I am here to improve, or at least add an outside perspective and creative breath of fresh air. Luckily Don will be translating for me, so there is another opportunity for improvement. Nothing like hearing the words you wanted to say in Spanish immediately after saying them in English! I have mostly been learning through osmosis, with a little bit of daily study with the dictionary. Already, I have noticed an improvement. I can actually put together whole phrases when I walk into a shop, rather than just blurting out the occasional word. Hopefully by the time I leave I will be speaking in sentences!

osuna espana

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 11:57:00 +0000

After a very busy summer, I have the great fortune to be transported to a place of rest and inspiration. Some friends have kindly let me stay in their empty house in the small town of Osuna, one of the white towns of Andalucía, in the south of Spain. My purpose for being here is to shake the dust of daily life off my soul and excavate the new animated short that is underneath. As I step out of my social and professional worlds into this town of cobbeled streets, siestas and aceitunas, I find the autumn overcast and language barrier provide the right environment for creative work.

Yesterday evening, my first in Osuna, I took a stroll up to the plaza mayor to check out the scene. At 7:30pm the town square is bustling with children, old men on park benches, old ladies strolling. The sounds of sport spilling from the local bars and the bass from the university student's cars are drowned out by a saturation of swallows in the trees. They perch there, like an overabundance of ripe fruit chattering and squabbling away. Truely the social hour before la cena. As dusk falls, people begin to head to their casas for the evening and I wander down quiet streets to my own place of rest.

Yonder, Yonder, Yonder

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 23:48:00 +0000

There seems to have been a lot going on for me this summer. I have been moving in multiple directions, if that is possible for a 3 dimensional being. Opportunities have come pounding at my door leaving me in 'analysis paralysis', to borrow a friend's well-coined term, wondering where this grand vision will lead me and if I have the strength of mind and heart to follow it.

The other morning, I came across a poem that pin-pointed exactly how I felt - poetry does that so well! Indeed, I had been asking myself Hopkin's own question: how, with all these blessings, can I feel "so haggard at the heart, so care-coiled, care-killed, so fagged, so fashed, so cogged, so cumbered" by my grander vision. What beauty do I hold in my hands that must be freely forfeit to a fonder care?

The entire poem, for the poetically minded, is here.

Sugar Pine Point State Park

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 04:24:00 +0000

It has been a long time since the last post, but not an unproductive time! Amongst other things, I recently spent a day at Sugar Pine Point introducing the masses to the wonders of plein air animation. It was part of the Living History Day at the park, an annual event that introduces visitors to the unique history of the lakeside mansions and Tahoe basin. As a local artist, I was invited to share my talents with the visitors. Click on the pine cone to see the results of our 6 hours of collaboration.

Poetics

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Thu, 29 May 2008 01:54:00 +0000

A month of bloggimating actually served its purpose of getting me started on the new film. I'm storyboarding at the moment, so no new animation to post for a while. In between times, however, I am moving down a new tangent, a poetical one. So many of the images in my head are birthed from poetry and now I am occasionally scribbling them down as they come. Here is one worth sharing.

Evening

The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

and leave you, not at home in either one,
not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
not calling to eternity with the passion
of what becomes a star each night, and rises;

and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
your life, with its immensity and fear,
so that, now bounded, now immeasurable,
it is alternatively stone in you and star.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 18:32:00 +0000

Someone recently pointed out to me that I seem to be obsessed with birds. They seem to find their way into most of my animations at some point. There are lots of birds around Tahoe and they are all crazy-in-love at the moment! I was finishing up some yardwork yesterday and heard this lovely voice from the tip top of the pine tree in our yard. It was a large starling and looked ready to impress the first lady that flew by. At first his warbling just sounded like beautiful tones all mixed up, but as I started listening more carefully, I began to pick things out. Starlings imitate other birds, and I heard him talking to the blackbirds, then the seagulls followed by ducks, a goose and a hawk cry (both of which sounded like they were off in the distance). I was impressed… but then he REALLY busted out the repertoire! He yipped like the coyotes across the meadow (you can often hear them at night around here and sometimes even see them during the day) and croaked like the frogs in the marsh, and I swear I heard a little girl’s delighted scream (the kind we make when we go down a really steep hill on a sled). It was astounding – a Tahoe Keys Concert from a one-bird band.

I get paid to do this?

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 22:01:00 +0000

I've actually gotten a bit of work recently, so the fun experiments have slowed down a bit, but the creative animation continues. This is for a local group of filmmakers, artists, musicians and creative people who have there little "Pet Projekts". Click on the picture to see the latest.

Pencil tests

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 00:39:00 +0000

When I start a new film, it often begins with a strong image in my mind. I may not even have a story or a full picture of characters developed, but I can see in my mind's eye a particular scene that will end up in the film. These end up being the cornerstones of the plot and I build around them. The particular challenge is that usually these images are so strong and well-developed they become intimidating! I am never sure if I will be able to do them justice with pencil and paper. This particular scene has been bouncing around for a while. Amazingly, I think I managed to get pretty close! It's been a while since I've done straight-up classical character animation, so I'm pretty excited I'm not as rusty as I thought.

Opera in the barn

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 00:55:00 +0000

Today I went down to the Washoe valley and the historic Davis Ranch. There is a big, dilapidated barn resting underneath an even bigger dilapidated cottonwood tree. One or the other or both will likely not last another season and the Tahoe Art League was invited to photograph and sketch on the site for the benefit of posterity. I did take some pictures of the exterior of the barn, but inspiration struck as I wandered inside. The light seeping through the decaying siding became my palette. My obsession with slow shutter speeds continues. I stopped down to 1 second exposures and started moving the camera around to see what would happened. I was pretty eager to get home and see the results. Some of the still images are fascinating, mysteriously musical.

As for the animation, my technique needs a little refinement, I think, but throw a few Amici vocals under the abstract images and we have a MacLaren-esque bit of animation.

The bird returns

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 17:40:00 +0000

I wanted to see what this would look like with a bit of color. I started with tempera and then switched to watercolor. Can you tell where I switched?

I would like...

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 05:20:00 +0000

Once you set your mind on a task, suddenly the world conspires to distract you from it. Two weeks seems to be more manageable for posting, but perhaps the results are worth the wait...

Lament

Everything is far

and long gone by.
I think that the star
glittering above me
has been dead for a million years.
I think there were tears
in the car I heard pass
and something terrible was said.
A clock has stopped striking in the house
across the road...
When did it start?...
I would like to step out of my heart
and go walking beneath the enormous sky.
I would like to pray.
And surely of all the stars that perished
long ago,
one still exists.
I think I know
which one it is --
which one, at the end of its beam in the sky,
stand like a white city...

~Rainer Maria Rilke

Bloggimation

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 00:43:00 +0000

This is the first of a series of weekly bloggimation. My intention for these little weekly animations is to overcome the inertia that is commonly associated with Blank Canvas Syndrome - that ineffable fear of making the first mark on a new project. Yes, I am percolating ideas for my next film. Sorry, still keeping things hidden behind the curtain, but I will disclose that it is a narrative short and I will need to brush up on my drawing and painting skills. Hence the above 10 seconds.

I am occasionally blessed with bald eagle sightings on the beach near my house. I haven't seen the eagle for a few months now, blame crazy snowstorms, my lack of outdoor activity while being sick, or just not crossing paths.

There's about 100 drawings in this sequence and I'm in the process of adding some paint, but, well, that's gonna take a while! Look for it next week (hopefully).

Swinging Back Home

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Thu, 06 Dec 2007 18:47:00 +0000

8 weeks have finally counted themselves down and at last I am on my way back to the Western winter. Just in time too, as my final day at MacDowell was filled with a flurry of snow. Enough to haul out the x-c skis and 'sledges' (as our resident Brit called them) for a final fling in the white stuff. For me, the snow storm was the exclamation mark of my full season inside my private art world. I leave with new direction and focus for the work ahead. For no artist can stay isolated from the world forever or art will lose its purpose. It must be pushed out and set lose in the daily life to truly begin to live.

As my dear friend Robert explains:

I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Indeed, one would do worse. Farewell MacDowell, until we meet again!

Snow!

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Wed, 21 Nov 2007 01:32:00 +0000

Early this morning I watched the first few whispers of snow fall outside my window. Soon they had multiplied into a soft, misty flow of small flakes that balanced on bare branches and curled up in cups of shriveling brown leaves.

These days the first snow never seems to last. In fact, rain is forecast for the next few days and the muted, monochromatic world will become sticky with mud over Thanksgiving. But for now, perfection holds its breath.

Shared Isolation

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Wed, 14 Nov 2007 17:51:00 +0000

Colony life is enigmatic. I came across a section of Wallace Stevens' poem, Auroras of Autumn, which hints at the effects of colliding creativity in a contained environment. As artists, our mode of thinking resonates together and the more time we spend, the more eccentric we become, tuning ourselves to each other’s energy. Smoke and explosions tread on the heels of quiet contemplation. What will happen to us, when we leave this place? We seemed to exist quite happily before here, so surely we shall be able to do so upon return, but perhaps restructured into slightly different people.

And of each other thought – in the idiom
Of the work, in the idiom of an innocent earth,
Not of the enigma of the guilty dream.

We were as Danes in Denmark all day long
And knew each other well, hale-hearted landsmen,
For whom the outlandish was another day

Of the week, queerer than Sunday. We thought alike
An that made brothers of us in a home
In which we fed on being brothers, fed

And fattened as on decorous honeycomb.
This drama that we live – We lay sticky with sleep.
This sense of the activity of fate-

The rendezvous, when she came alone,
By her coming became a freedom of the two,
An isolation which only the two could share.

Shall we be found hanging in the trees next spring?
Of what disaster in this the imminence:
Bare limbs, bare trees and a wind as sharp as salt?

The stars are putting on their glittering belts.
They throw around their shoulders cloaks that flash
Like a great shadow’s last embellishment.

It may come tomorrow in the simplest word,
Almost as part of innocence, almost,
Almost as the tenderest and the truest part.

Auroras of Autumn, IX

It’s all downhill from here

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 01:55:00 +0000

“Since time was created, had a beginning and will have an end, it is a creature with whom we can have understandings and misunderstandings.” – Madeline, L’Engle

Time is not an old man with a long beard and sleepy eyes. It is a creature: volatile, temperamental, full of energy, bursting into sprints and then curling up next to the fire and ignoring all attempts to prod it forward. The coming and going of various people in the past few weeks has motivated the time-creature to stretch itself up from the cozy fire and venture outside of a sniff of the late fall air. And now, with only 3 weeks left before I return to real life, Time has suddenly decided to bound forward, dragging me behind. I have so many creative adventures I want to try, people I would like to get to know better that I fear negotiations must begin.

In the meantime, I'm still working.

p.s. See the results of this endeavor.

Ghosts in the Night

noreply@blogger.com (Corrie Francis) — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 02:19:00 +0000

Halloween and the Colony Hall was full of ghostly movement. I was struck with inspiration in the midst of the festivities and did some ghostly photography. The bar was quite active as well as you can see in this little timelapse.