i had enough of the beauty
I agree, actually, because now, that I am coming to an age where all my childhood and young-soul-illusions are bursting, I am starting to see the loneliness, the violence, and the problems as something making life cold and dull.
I much prefer the illusions.
AS a very young child, when my parents read me books, I would create vivid and lively pictures. I can still remember them today.
When I read books (which i did to a great extent- a real nerd) I created whole worlds of universes of realities, inside my head. And they were so beautiful, mystical, and magical, these worlds.
My vivid imagination made me live in a magical world, all the time, where everything was possible.
I lost myself inside the films, I travelled into them, I lived there, in that beauty.
Before moving to Barcelona, I watched Vicky Christina Barcelona quite a few times (I am embarrassed to say the exact number)
And in the beginning, I was really excited to see some of these magical visions from the pictures from the film. But once I had seen them all, I started feeling dissappointed.
And a few days ago, after having lived in Barcelona for exactly five months, I decided to watch the movie again, which I shouldn't have done. Because I realised that Mr Allen had done exactly that; he had created an illusion for me.
The thing is though, with film and photography, that it is a subjective interpretatuon by the artist, to choose to show that which he wants to show. Beautiful, or ugly.
So after re-watching Vicky Christina Barcelona and being highly dissappointed- in fact, feeling as if I had been inside a shiny bubble that had now bursted all over me and I was soaked in smelly chemicals- I thought about Biutiful.
So again, dissappointment, and bubbles bursting. I had expected misery, pain, poetical suffering.. But everyting looked quite fine, normal, and pretty happy to me.
Ugly at times, but people doing what people do, all over the world. Having a beer, shopping, drinking coffee, buying vegetables.
But I might have just not even begun to scratch the surface herre, I realise. To get to the "real" thing, I might have to spend another five months to be able to see it.
But I just realised something. If I didn't have this "searching" personality, I could have just left it alone. I could have left the mystery alone and just left it at its magically distant position within the four corners of the screen, and within the bubble of my imagination. My problem is that I want it, I wanna get inside that bubble, and live there, huddled in my tree-house, playing with my magical items.
I'm just a little child, actually.
Dissappointed that Santa Claus doesn't exist.