Faces (john cassavetes, 1968)
"They are scared of your youth and your, uh... spirit, and your build. They think that they are the kings of the earth, and they don't want you taking their place."
Warning: Some of the following is true and some is false - which is which is entirely up to you.
I'm at a party and people are talking to me about screenwriting. Not only that, but they're talking to me about story. Yes, I know. Obviously, I came out with *some* of my feelings about story, but not everything. I am, after all, at a party, and so much of the conversation at parties falls into the 'I'm okay, you're okay' category of ensuring other partygoers that everyone here is safe and you're not about to start snapping at them like a dog. So, screenwriting, and story. One of the people I'm talking to stresses the importance not only of story, but of rules, and then they add that they probably feel this way because of their background in advertising. No, seriously, this really happened. I know. Who would believe I'd end up in such a uniquely predicament situation for my own personal feelings and opinions?
Well, anyone really, because that's all we ever have to go on. If you looked at that party through the eyes of every single partygoer you'd get much closer to the truth of the situation. But you can't do that. You're locked into one way, one set of eyes. You see everything (or hear a recap of everything) from one perspective and then you say 'Yes, this is the truth' but of course this is only one truth, one perspective. We all know this, but it's easy to lose sight of it.
Anyway. The party. Before this conversation there were other conversations, but because no one was sober none of these conversations actually reached a conclusion. If you imagine that a concluded conversation is a perfect object, like a golden ring, then you can make a picture of a garden (obviously I spent most of my time in the garden, I am a smoker after all) filled with incomplete golden rings, not only lying on the floor but also dangling from everyone's clothes. And if you like this kind of metaphor, then we can go further. We can look at the masks that everyone was wearing, and in fact, which everyone is always wearing.
It would be wrong to say that we all wear the same mask all the time. Well, at least I hope so. Masks are ephemeral, and we select and change these at a rate of knots depending on where we are and who we're talking to. If you were to wear the same mask for each interaction with everyone, well then... that would really bring into question the reason for the mask's existence in the first place. No, instead most of us change these masks according to the situation, and at this party in question I became hyper-aware of how subtly my behaviour was shifting depending on who I was talking to. More open, more guarded, funnier, more serious. Ever so slight amendments to a way of being, but there all the same.
Later on I got to wondering whether I am ever unmasked. When I'm with my long-suffering partner? Or with my children? Or close family? Close friends? I like to think that those are the moments when I'm unmasked, or at the very least, wearing a mask which is so thin it's practically transparent.
And then there is this:
I'm in a cabin in Norway, and it's raining. It's been raining all day long, but we've run out of drinking water and blueberries, so I get dressed up to go outside (boots, hat, waterproof coat), and none of my fellow travellers wish to accompany me, so I head out alone. First of all I take two buckets and go down to the well to fetch water. The rain has been falling all day long, and when I get to the well it's overflowed and it's impossible to fill the buckets without soaking my feet. So I soak my feet, fill the buckets, and take them back to the cabin. But the water is far 'twiggier' than normal, and not very appetising for drinking. it's fine for cooking with, but no one wants a glass of water filled with sticks and mud. So I grab a number of empty plastic bottles and head over to the river, where the water runs clearer. The river's further away, too far to carry two heavy buckets, and although it's not too far to carry a number of plastic bottles they would end up being cumbersome, so I take a small backpack to put all the bottles in. I get to the river and fill the bottles one by one. Normally this part of the forest is filled with dragonflies, but not today. And as I'm filling each bottle I wonder where all the dragonflies go when the weather is like this. Upon getting back to the cabin, I leave the backpack and collect a berry picker. The berry picker is made of wood and metal, and looks positively 19th Century. It's also deeply satisfying to use, and remarkably productive. Because I'm keen to not clear out any one particular area of berries I collect some from one area, and then move on to another spot, collect, and move on, collect and move on, rinse, and repeat. And although it's still raining the downfall is much lighter now. So much so that I can fold the brim of my hat up to better find blueberry bushes. I walk back down to the river and intend to cross it to find more berries on the other side, but so much rain has fallen throughout the day that the river (which runs in tendrils that cross each other, like a network of muscles or veins) has swollen and is impassable. I stand there and wonder what I would do if I were desperate and had to get back to town, but find no answer and move in the opposite direction. This brings me to a hill, which I climb. The good news is that the hill is covered in small blueberry bushes, and slowly I start to fill the berry picker up without exhausting one particular area.
And then I go down the other side of the hill.
There's no way I can put into words what I find on the other side of the hill. There are trees that climb up into the sky, and rocks the size of small homes, perfectly square, like crystals, but so large that they are incomprehensible, as though a giant creature had sculpted them and then sprinkled them around liberally. Fauna is hanging from the branches of the trees, and thick, spongy moss covers everything. And through all of this cuts a waterfall. Maybe it's the dense air here, or maybe it's the shock of suddenly finding myself in a place which can only be described with the word 'prehistoric' but all of a sudden I notice that I'm finding it difficult to breathe. Something about this moment feels positively religious. Maybe it's the happenstance, maybe it's the fact that I'm alone, maybe it's something else. Whatever it is I know for a fact that I need to stay here a while, and so I navigate the streams of running water across the ground and make my way closer to the waterfall. I walk round to the small river that the waterfall is creating and notice that there's a way up on the crystal-like rocks, so I wander through trees, and over debris, and make my way up the rocks, up the waterfall. As I'm walking a thought occurs: no one knows where I am, and if I were to slip and fall (which is not unlikely as everything is drenched and slippery) no one would find me, or know what happened. It's a frightening thought, and instead of doing the right thing, of stopping and turning around, of going back to the cabin, I keep on climbing. But that's me. I do things like that. And right now I'm as unmasked as I'll ever be.
Warning: Some of the following is true and some is false - which is which is entirely up to you.
I'm at a party and people are talking to me about screenwriting. Not only that, but they're talking to me about story. Yes, I know. Obviously, I came out with *some* of my feelings about story, but not everything. I am, after all, at a party, and so much of the conversation at parties falls into the 'I'm okay, you're okay' category of ensuring other partygoers that everyone here is safe and you're not about to start snapping at them like a dog. So, screenwriting, and story. One of the people I'm talking to stresses the importance not only of story, but of rules, and then they add that they probably feel this way because of their background in advertising. No, seriously, this really happened. I know. Who would believe I'd end up in such a uniquely predicament situation for my own personal feelings and opinions?
Well, anyone really, because that's all we ever have to go on. If you looked at that party through the eyes of every single partygoer you'd get much closer to the truth of the situation. But you can't do that. You're locked into one way, one set of eyes. You see everything (or hear a recap of everything) from one perspective and then you say 'Yes, this is the truth' but of course this is only one truth, one perspective. We all know this, but it's easy to lose sight of it.
Anyway. The party. Before this conversation there were other conversations, but because no one was sober none of these conversations actually reached a conclusion. If you imagine that a concluded conversation is a perfect object, like a golden ring, then you can make a picture of a garden (obviously I spent most of my time in the garden, I am a smoker after all) filled with incomplete golden rings, not only lying on the floor but also dangling from everyone's clothes. And if you like this kind of metaphor, then we can go further. We can look at the masks that everyone was wearing, and in fact, which everyone is always wearing.
It would be wrong to say that we all wear the same mask all the time. Well, at least I hope so. Masks are ephemeral, and we select and change these at a rate of knots depending on where we are and who we're talking to. If you were to wear the same mask for each interaction with everyone, well then... that would really bring into question the reason for the mask's existence in the first place. No, instead most of us change these masks according to the situation, and at this party in question I became hyper-aware of how subtly my behaviour was shifting depending on who I was talking to. More open, more guarded, funnier, more serious. Ever so slight amendments to a way of being, but there all the same.
Later on I got to wondering whether I am ever unmasked. When I'm with my long-suffering partner? Or with my children? Or close family? Close friends? I like to think that those are the moments when I'm unmasked, or at the very least, wearing a mask which is so thin it's practically transparent.
And then there is this:
I'm in a cabin in Norway, and it's raining. It's been raining all day long, but we've run out of drinking water and blueberries, so I get dressed up to go outside (boots, hat, waterproof coat), and none of my fellow travellers wish to accompany me, so I head out alone. First of all I take two buckets and go down to the well to fetch water. The rain has been falling all day long, and when I get to the well it's overflowed and it's impossible to fill the buckets without soaking my feet. So I soak my feet, fill the buckets, and take them back to the cabin. But the water is far 'twiggier' than normal, and not very appetising for drinking. it's fine for cooking with, but no one wants a glass of water filled with sticks and mud. So I grab a number of empty plastic bottles and head over to the river, where the water runs clearer. The river's further away, too far to carry two heavy buckets, and although it's not too far to carry a number of plastic bottles they would end up being cumbersome, so I take a small backpack to put all the bottles in. I get to the river and fill the bottles one by one. Normally this part of the forest is filled with dragonflies, but not today. And as I'm filling each bottle I wonder where all the dragonflies go when the weather is like this. Upon getting back to the cabin, I leave the backpack and collect a berry picker. The berry picker is made of wood and metal, and looks positively 19th Century. It's also deeply satisfying to use, and remarkably productive. Because I'm keen to not clear out any one particular area of berries I collect some from one area, and then move on to another spot, collect, and move on, collect and move on, rinse, and repeat. And although it's still raining the downfall is much lighter now. So much so that I can fold the brim of my hat up to better find blueberry bushes. I walk back down to the river and intend to cross it to find more berries on the other side, but so much rain has fallen throughout the day that the river (which runs in tendrils that cross each other, like a network of muscles or veins) has swollen and is impassable. I stand there and wonder what I would do if I were desperate and had to get back to town, but find no answer and move in the opposite direction. This brings me to a hill, which I climb. The good news is that the hill is covered in small blueberry bushes, and slowly I start to fill the berry picker up without exhausting one particular area.
And then I go down the other side of the hill.
There's no way I can put into words what I find on the other side of the hill. There are trees that climb up into the sky, and rocks the size of small homes, perfectly square, like crystals, but so large that they are incomprehensible, as though a giant creature had sculpted them and then sprinkled them around liberally. Fauna is hanging from the branches of the trees, and thick, spongy moss covers everything. And through all of this cuts a waterfall. Maybe it's the dense air here, or maybe it's the shock of suddenly finding myself in a place which can only be described with the word 'prehistoric' but all of a sudden I notice that I'm finding it difficult to breathe. Something about this moment feels positively religious. Maybe it's the happenstance, maybe it's the fact that I'm alone, maybe it's something else. Whatever it is I know for a fact that I need to stay here a while, and so I navigate the streams of running water across the ground and make my way closer to the waterfall. I walk round to the small river that the waterfall is creating and notice that there's a way up on the crystal-like rocks, so I wander through trees, and over debris, and make my way up the rocks, up the waterfall. As I'm walking a thought occurs: no one knows where I am, and if I were to slip and fall (which is not unlikely as everything is drenched and slippery) no one would find me, or know what happened. It's a frightening thought, and instead of doing the right thing, of stopping and turning around, of going back to the cabin, I keep on climbing. But that's me. I do things like that. And right now I'm as unmasked as I'll ever be.