La crisis económica me obliga a buscar planes donde no tenga que invitar a mis bolsillos; el de éste fin de semana fue cortesía de la página del National Film Board of Canada que le alimenta a uno la imaginación y el alma con cientos de corticos animados absolutamente hermosos de ayer y hoy. Uno en especial llamó mi atención, podría decir que me enamoró, y por eso me atrevo a presentarlo en ésta mi galería. Desde que lo vi llevo uniendo los puntos que forman ese círculo de atracción/obsesión/confusión/euforia/momento-melancólico, tan propio de la vida sentimental de aquellos que nos dotaron con corazón de niña; porque en efecto, el corto fue un espejo de femineidad, y como cualquier espejo frente a una chica, nunca responde, sino que juzga y cuestiona lo que uno trae encima.
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La estética vintage y su melancolía, tan frecuente en éstos días donde la vida va tan rápido como si la miráramos desde la ventana de un tren, como si la época en la que nos toco vivir nos confundiera tanto que nos vestimos de años pasados para reflejar nuestro apego al mismo, es la moda que hace de las nostalgias la época más cercana al alma.
La estética vintage y su melancolía, tan frecuente en éstos días donde la vida va tan rápido como si la miráramos desde la ventana de un tren, como si la época en la que nos toco vivir nos confundiera tanto que nos vestimos de años pasados para reflejar nuestro apego al mismo, es la moda que hace de las nostalgias la época más cercana al alma.
Madame Tutli-Putli no solo me fascinó desde el primer momento con su romántico aire de Chanel y sus ojos enormes y redondos propios de esas personas que la vida los vive sorprendiendo; sino también porque en esa frágil, perdida y asustadiza personalidad vi expuestas mis más intimas preocupaciones. Como ella yo también huyo, con mi mundo y mis cosas porque no sabemos qué seríamos sin ellas, o qué sería de nosotros si otro las encuentra y les da mejor uso. Tomamos un tren porque cualquier sitio es mejor que el presente. Titubeamos al escribir porque las cosas se empiezan con mayúscula, y en nuestra cursiva personalidad, las mayúsculas siempre nos toman tiempo. Hablamos poco, pero pensamos tanto que nuestra cara muda grita nuestros cotidianos diálogos internos, los mismos que a veces llegan a ser tan oscuros y sin sentido que la única salida es seguir soñando hasta convertirnos en polillas que en algún punto extienden sus alas y salen a la luz. Me pregunto qué habrán pensado las dos personalidades masculinas que autoras de éstos 17 minutos de introspección, porque uno aquí se pasó un domingo entero cuestionándose los miedos y alimentando los días de chica vintage y ellos probablemente duraron cuatro años innovando en técnicas de animación que uno apenas se entera porque google se lo contó.
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The financial crisis has forced me to look for plans where I do not have to raid my pockets, this weekend’s courtesy of the National Film Board of Canada website which feeds ones soul and imagination with hundreds of beautifully done short-films. One in particular caught my eye, I could actually say I fell in love, so I wanted to publish it in this personal gallery. Since I watched it I have been putting together the dots that draw this circle of attraction / obsession / confusion / euphoria / melancholy, so peculiar in the love life of those of us who were endowed with a girlish heart; as in fact the film was more a mirror of femininity, and like any mirror in front of a girl, it never answers, but judges and questions what one is showing.
The vintage look coupled with melancholy, so prevalent these days where life goes so fast as if from a train window, as if the time when we were supposed to live confused us so much we end up dressing ourselves up in retro to reflect our adherence to the past, is the fashion that makes our nostalgia the closest period to the soul.
Madame Tutli-Putli not only fascinated me from the first moment with her romantic Chanel air or her big, expressive eyes - typical of those whose life keeps amusing them - but also because in that lost, fragile and scared personality there lies exposed a bunch of my most intimate concerns. Like her, I also ran away, with my world and my belongings - because we know “what would we be without them?”, or “what would we do if another one finds them and gives them a better use?”- we both took a train because anywhere is better than here. We both hesitate before writing as things are meant to start with a capital letter, and in our italic personality, that always takes time. We do not speak much, but daydream to the point where our faces cry out our everyday inner dialogues, which sometimes become so obscure and meaningless that the clearest solution is to keep dreaming until we find a moth to melt with, open our wings and go out to the light. I wonder about the motivation of the personalities that author these 17 minutes of introspection, because you find yourself spending a Sunday questioning and fuelling the fears of a vintage girl and they probably mostly cared about the four years of innovation in animation techniques that one hardly learns because Google told you.
The vintage look coupled with melancholy, so prevalent these days where life goes so fast as if from a train window, as if the time when we were supposed to live confused us so much we end up dressing ourselves up in retro to reflect our adherence to the past, is the fashion that makes our nostalgia the closest period to the soul.
Madame Tutli-Putli not only fascinated me from the first moment with her romantic Chanel air or her big, expressive eyes - typical of those whose life keeps amusing them - but also because in that lost, fragile and scared personality there lies exposed a bunch of my most intimate concerns. Like her, I also ran away, with my world and my belongings - because we know “what would we be without them?”, or “what would we do if another one finds them and gives them a better use?”- we both took a train because anywhere is better than here. We both hesitate before writing as things are meant to start with a capital letter, and in our italic personality, that always takes time. We do not speak much, but daydream to the point where our faces cry out our everyday inner dialogues, which sometimes become so obscure and meaningless that the clearest solution is to keep dreaming until we find a moth to melt with, open our wings and go out to the light. I wonder about the motivation of the personalities that author these 17 minutes of introspection, because you find yourself spending a Sunday questioning and fuelling the fears of a vintage girl and they probably mostly cared about the four years of innovation in animation techniques that one hardly learns because Google told you.
