Wrapped!
I imagine we all have those places which we are accustomed to seeing every day. You don't really have to think when you use them. For you in particular I would guess they are: the color and smell of your bedroom at night with the lights turned down, the doorknob anxiously awaiting key to your house or apartment, the floor opposite your toilet, your keyboard and of the now forgotten comfort of the seat beneath you. We all have our caves to dwell in, and though I make a concerted effort to do things differently each day outside my home, when within my four walls of my cave at Century 1 my sleight liberal philosophy dissolves, silently admitting that there is comfort in habit.
And you may not even have noticed this, but with these locations you will often have associated THINKING as well. What's on facebook. Where are my fucking keys. What time does that say? Did I sleep in? I'm just trying to wittle you to the perspective I've been in for the past six weeks. I've been shooting my film, and every day when I come up the stairwell before I start to fumble for my stairwell key which is a pain in the ass because, as a film student, my hands are literally almost always filled with equipment (Ivy, per Ning you can attest to this), I am typically thinking any number of things involving production of my crazy surrealist film. And though the incredibly important, now inconsequential fill-in-the-blanks of worry may have changed, the syntax did not. It was always Oh fuck, I've got to get some help for this weekend. Shit, will that trick shot really work? Will I have enough film to get what I need? Will I have enough money? What if I fuck something up?
But today I turned in the last 370 feet of my film's production footage, and once I get my dailies back on Tuesday, it's on to post-production, which for those of you who aren't into filmmaking - most of you! Jon's proud - post-production is basically the orange peels after the marathon. And as I was going up the stairwell, my mind slipped into the structural mode it was used to - what do I need to freak out about today as I fumble for my keys... - but around the 40th time that the answer came back from my neurobiological day-planner with a calm "nothing, Jon." did I realize it: Production on Jeremy, 1200 feet of celluloid honed in sweat,, lost sleep, money and yes, even a little bit of blood, is over!
And you may not even have noticed this, but with these locations you will often have associated THINKING as well. What's on facebook. Where are my fucking keys. What time does that say? Did I sleep in? I'm just trying to wittle you to the perspective I've been in for the past six weeks. I've been shooting my film, and every day when I come up the stairwell before I start to fumble for my stairwell key which is a pain in the ass because, as a film student, my hands are literally almost always filled with equipment (Ivy, per Ning you can attest to this), I am typically thinking any number of things involving production of my crazy surrealist film. And though the incredibly important, now inconsequential fill-in-the-blanks of worry may have changed, the syntax did not. It was always Oh fuck, I've got to get some help for this weekend. Shit, will that trick shot really work? Will I have enough film to get what I need? Will I have enough money? What if I fuck something up?
But today I turned in the last 370 feet of my film's production footage, and once I get my dailies back on Tuesday, it's on to post-production, which for those of you who aren't into filmmaking - most of you! Jon's proud - post-production is basically the orange peels after the marathon. And as I was going up the stairwell, my mind slipped into the structural mode it was used to - what do I need to freak out about today as I fumble for my keys... - but around the 40th time that the answer came back from my neurobiological day-planner with a calm "nothing, Jon." did I realize it: Production on Jeremy, 1200 feet of celluloid honed in sweat,, lost sleep, money and yes, even a little bit of blood, is over!