RT 17:47 Music - MICK HARVEY
NEWS
Spain’s most important cinematic event, the Donostia-San Sebastián International Film Festival, has invited The Marina Experiment to screen as part of their thematic retrospective of contemporary non-fiction cinema, where it will be in the company of films by Werner Herzog, Frederick Wiseman and Lars von Trier. This festival is considered to be among the four most important film festivals in the world alongside Cannes, Berlin and Venice.
The Marina Experiment will have it's USA television premiere on The Documentary Channel on Thursday, October 7th, 2010. Details to come.
The Memorial is a twelve-month curatorial gallery project by Melbourne based artists Elvis Richardson and Claire Lambe featuring a display-case collection of inherited objects from over 100 people. Text and images from The Marina Experiment have been reproduced in an accompanying zine that is for sale at the gallery - Death Be Kind - Upstairs @ The Alderman, 134 Lygon Street, East Brunswick, Melbourne, Australia. SEE ZINE HERE
The South American premiere will be at the 2º Festival Internacional de Cine de Cali - 29 de Octubre al 7 de Noviembre in Cali, COLUMBIA – the seat of the Cali Cartel, the richest most powerful crime syndicate in history, as well as a prime destination for people seeking cheap cosmetic surgery.
In November, she is scheduled to speak at Bryn Mawr, one of the Seven Sister colleges, a women's liberal arts college in Pennsylvania that was founded by Quakers. Her screening is for a course called "Identification in the Cinema" about the ways that the self is defined in and through images.
Upcoming screenings include a reprise at The Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival where the The Marina Experiment screened in February 2010 and will be shown again in February 2011 as part of the 10th anniversary of the LAB competition in both Clermont-Ferrand and Valence, France.
In Spring 2011, The Marina Experiment will be shown as part of a highlighted programme organized annually by a movie theater called Cinéma Apollo in Châteauroux, France, using film archives to explore the concept of memory through the film medium.
ONGOING NARRATIVE
SOME OF THIS IS UNRELATED TO THE MARINA EXPERIMENT AND SOME OF IT IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO THE MARINA EXPERIMENT |
OBITUARY HAIKU #2
Posted on September 17, 2009 - Filed Under The Marina Experiment
a kiss on the lips I lock the door to my room is he really dead?
SAIL ON SAIL ON SAILOR
Posted on June 14, 2009 - Filed Under The Marina Experiment
I have made a piece of art out of child abuse. Sorting and resorting and editing the facts that are the source of my fury and my grief. I imagined I was desensitized, but every time I go back, I find new shards.
I am not a victim or a survivor. I don’t identify with these labels. I am an opponent. The enemy. The more people see my film the more I win. I have turned something hurtful into retribution. My father would be mortified. He would bare my backside and put me over his knees and spank me roughly and mercilessly and then lock me in my room. The spanking must have felt sexual, because now, just a hand mistakenly grazed past my posterior, perhaps on a crowded train, feels violating. Read more
MY BRAIN IS A RIOT
Posted on June 13, 2009 - Filed Under The Marina Experiment
I strain to get to a word. It is imprisoned by my skull no window through my eyes.
My mother had collapsed onto her bad hip and her hand was firmly clutching nothing. A gang of teenagers had broken into the house and raped her while she was holding a dollar bill and then the fireplace started to melt, she said.
Spinal tap, brain biopsy, dementia of unknown origin. The doctors said it would happen to me too. That grim prediction.
And now I strain to get to a word.
SEEKING ASYLUM
Posted on June 12, 2009 - Filed Under The Marina Experiment
I don’t know what that’s like.
to feel safe.
to be embraced with no genital intentions
just to feel cared for
to feel safe.
I don’t know what that’s like.
CHRISTMAS MEMORIES
Posted on June 11, 2009 - Filed Under The Marina Experiment
I remember asking for a doll named Tiny Tiny Tears. I liked her because she cried “real tears,” the ad said. Santa told me that if I was very very good, and obeyed my father and my mother, I would get Tiny Tiny Tears next week. I never got Tiny Tiny Tears. Read more
THE THOUGHT THAT DOESN’T COUNT
Posted on June 11, 2009 - Filed Under This Burns Me Up
THE EMPTY PROMISE
If it is not within your power or honest desire to guarantee that a particular thing will happen, please don’t bestow me with your “good intentions.” I am gullible and hopeful and so easily disappointed.
YOU SHOULD
Posted on June 10, 2009 - Filed Under This Burns Me Up
I hate it when I hear it. If I want your advice I’ll ask for it. Don’t tell me what to do.
You should take another pill. You should eat less carbs. You should ask for more money. You should tell her how you feel. You should keep it to yourself. You should buy yourself a treat. You should return it. You should get rid of him. You should stay where you are. You should take a chance. You should ignore it.
YOU should.
BONANZA!
Posted on June 9, 2009 - Filed Under Bright Ideas
I have to be drunk to eat something that looks like a clitoris.
It was served nestled atop a shiny spiky black sea urchin shell, a fleshy Orange Julius hue, slimy and gelatinous. The spiced plum wine made eating it feel natural. I am not sure if it was delicious, although I expressed such to my generous hostess, who I think might be a hundred-aire.
Every so often she takes me on a culinary odyssey where she appears to speak Japanese and know the staff and get treated all special. The drinks are never empty and she orders a lot of stuff that’s not on the menu. I’m pretty sure we get really loud cause my laugh blares and claps and the people sitting next to us usually look irritated.
“Would love to dine out as I feel I am making progress toward curing you of sobriety,” the invitation read.
NEW YORK EXPERIENCE
Posted on June 8, 2009 - Filed Under The Job Hunter
I moved to Hollywood in 1992 and I couldn’t get anyone to hire me. The problem, they said, was that I only had New York experience.
Eventually I landed a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, where I met a Rumanian stripper. She wore pasties that she referred to as “pastries” and they looked like eyeballs, so she’d shake her tits in my face and say “Do you like my eyes?” Of course she called herself an actress and said she was just trying to get her foot in the door.
I guess she thought her pussy was her foot.
PASSING A STONE
Posted on June 7, 2009 - Filed Under Human Foibles
Breaking up. The pain was insufferable. But when I slowed down enough to scrape him off the bottom of my shoe it was like I’d taken a hundred pound dump. I felt fantastic! So much lighter! No more cramp in my gut!
In retrospect, what seemed so grueling was simply inconvenient. I was overwhelmed with choices. Should I stay in the apartment? Should I try to rent the living room as office space to cover half the rent? Should I move to another apartment in Manhattan? Should I move to another country? Should I get an Australian to marry me? Should I re-invent myself? Should I redo my resume? Should I sign up for online dating again? Should I adopt a cat? Should I foster a cat? Should I try to make new friends? Should I socialize more? Should I finish my film? Should I keep working on my website? Should I write a book? Should I get a Tibetan Terrier?
Once I realized that when I’m alone I am very productive, I got excited. But it was hard to get to that point. First I had to get angry. He is a cheap lying cheating selfish childish coward! And he smells bad! He’s had bad breath since the day I met him. And I kept trying to make that go away. Why did I choose to believe him? I ignored every red flag. I made excuses for him. His lies were so flimsy. I was so flimsy. I love the word flimsy. Did I think he was the best I could get? Did I think he was the only thing I could get? Why do I think so little of myself? I must remember not to do this again. I forget. I get weak. I get lonely. I compromise. I hate myself. I lose myself. I forget who I am.
One year later I am writing in this blog and my film is going to festivals. I am working on a book and two screenplays. I have been very productive. I think maybe I’m ready to open my heart again. I think maybe.
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© 2009 Wendy Joy Morrissey
© 2009 Marcia Hyman