1 People think, at the theatre, an audience is tricked into believing it's looking at life. The film image is so large, it goes straight into your head. There's no room to be aware of or interested in people around you. Girls and cool devices draw audience, but unraveling the life of a real human brings the outsiders. I wrote before production began, "I want to include all of myself, a heartbroken person who hasn't worked for years, who's simply not dead." Many fans feel robbed and ask, "What kind of show's about one person's unresolved soul?" 2 There's sympathy for suffering, also artificiality. Having limbs blown off is some person's reality, not mine. I didn't want to use sympathy for others as a way through my problems. There's a gap between an audience and particulars, but you can be satisfied by particulars, on several levels: social commentary, sleazy fantasy. Where my film runs into another's real life conditions seem problematic, but they don't link with me. The linking is the flow of images, thwarting a fan's transference. If you have empathy to place yourself in my real situation of face-to-face intensity, then there would be no mirror, not as here. 3 My story is about the human race in conflict with itself and nature. An empathic princess negotiates peace between nations and huge creatures in the wild. I grapple with the theme, again and again. Impatience and frustration build among fans. "She achieves a personal voice almost autistic in lack of affect, making ambiguous her well-known power to communicate emotion, yet accusing a system that mistakes what she says." Sex, tech are portrayed with lightness, a lack of divisions that causes anxieties elsewhere. When I find a gap, I don't fix it, don't intrude like a violent, stray dog, separating flow and context, to conform what I say to what you see. Time before the show was fabulous, blank. When I return, as to an object in space, my experience is sweeter, not because of memory. The screen is a mirror where a butterfly tries so hard not to lose the sequence of the last moments. I thought my work should reflect society, like mirrors in a cafe, double-space. There's limited time, but we feel through film media we've more. 4 When society deterritorialized our world with money, we managed our depressions via many deterritorializations. Feeling became vague, with impersonal, spectacular equivalents in film. My animator draws beautifully, but can't read or write. He has fears, which might become reality, but Godzilla is reality. When I saw the real princess, I found her face inauspicious, ill-favored, but since I'd heard she was lovely, I said, "Maybe, she's not photogenic today." Compared to my boredom, I wondered if her life were not like looking into a stream at a stone, while water rushed over me. I told her to look at me, so her looking is what everything rushes around. I don't care about story so much as, what do you think of her? Do you like her? She's not representative, because of gaps in the emotion, only yummy parts, and dialogue that repeats. She pencils a black line down the back of her leg. A gesture turns transparent and proliferates into thousands of us doing the same. Acknowledging the potential of a fan club, she jokingly describes it as "suspect". She means performance comes out through the noise. 5 At the bar, you see a man catch hold of a girl by the hair and kick her. You could understand both points of view, but in reality, no. You intervene, feeling shame for hoping someone else will. It becomes an atmosphere, a situation, by which I mean, groups. In school we're taught the world is round, and with our own eyes we confirmed a small part of what we could imagine. Because you're sitting in a dark place, and I'm illuminated, and a lot of eyes are directed at me, I can be seen more clearly than if I mingled with you, as when we were in high school. We were young girls wanting to describe love and to look at it from outer space.
One summer night, walking from our house after dinner, stars make the sky almost white.
My awe is like blindness; wonder exchanges for sight.
Star-by-star comprises a multiplicity like thought, but quiet, too dense for any dark planet between.
While single stars are a feature of the horizon at dusk, caught at the edge of the net of gems.
Transparence hanging on its outer connectedness casts occurrence as accretion, filling in, of extravagant, euphoric blooming.
Then, being as spirit and in matter is known, here to there.
I go home and tell my children to come out and look.
The souls of my two children fly up like little birds into branches of the Milky Way,
chatting with each other, naming constellations, comparing crystals and fire.
They exclaim at similarities between what they see in the sky and on our land.
So, by wonder, they strengthen correspondence between sky and home.
Earth is made from this alchemy of all children, human and animal, combined
with our deep gratitude.
I see his dark shape, moving and shifting against night’s screen of stars.
My little girl reaches for his lighted silhouette.
Human beings are thought upward and flown through by bright birds.
We believe stars are spirits of very high frequency.
We feel proud our animals come from stars so dense in meaning close to sacrament.
We describe time passing in stories about animals; star movement is named for seasonal migrations of deer, wolf, hummingbird, dolphin, and as animals stars walk among us.
Our snake Olivia, for example, tells me there’s no conflict between humans and rain, because resource is all around us.
A coyote loved night, and he loved to gaze at the stars.
“I noticed one star in Cassiopeia; I talked to her, and each night she grew brighter and closer, and she came to life here, as a corn snake, my friend.”
“She looks like a dancer on tiptoe, stepping around pink star-blossoms surging up after rain.”
Constellations are experienced emotionally as this play of self through plant and animal symbols and values.
A dream atmosphere flows; everything represented is sacred; being moves in accord, not of time.
Returning from the Milky Way, she realized crystals had fallen from her bag and looked up.
My story links a journey to sky with the creation of stars, in which place accommodates becoming.
Chama River flows north-south to the horizon, then straight up through the Milky Way, like water moving beneath a riverbed that’s dry.
Abiquiu Mountain, El Rito Creek, coyote, snake, rainbow and rain, spider and hummingbird identify equivalent spiritual placements above, so wherever we go, there is company, nurture, from every star in our regard.
I start up to ask my birds to return home, and find our land continuous with a starry sky mapped as entities who set into motion occurrence, here.
Place awaits an imprint from this potential, even though starlight arriving now already happened; what happens is a depth of field, before and after drought, fire, storm disruption.
I move at high speed, but I’m still standing beside my house in the dark.
To go there, I find the place on our mesa that correlates to their tree in the sky and leap up.
Space stirs as star trilliums emerge through darkness like humus.
I ask one blossom to please in the future renew these bonds between sky and my children, so they will always hold light in the minerals of their eyes.
Sun on its nightly underground journey weaves a black thread between white days on the cosmic loom, cord or resonance between new experience and meaning.
The origin of stars expresses the underlying warp of this fabric; summer solstice draws a diagonal across my floor, precession, weaving ground of informing spirit, so therefore, life is fundamental to stars.
The reverse is well known.
That’s why I don’t use a telescope, star charts or glasses when I go out; I think of a place; I wait, then fly to my children.
When the star-gate is raised, there’s a narrow door between sky and ground.
But when I arrive, I find the sky solid; I can’t break through to visit my starbirds and stand there wondering, before dawn.
Then sky vault lifts; maybe I can slip through to find the Milky Way and see its blossoms.
Then our sun appears in the crack and pushes through to the day.
It’s so bright, so hot, I step back and cover my eyes; I hear my mother calling.