i just spent a fine and sunny sunday in the darkness of a cinema in a depressing little town called oberhausen.
they say it´s one of the best film festivals for experimental, daring and different short films.
but what i saw on that day were films trying to be other films, bad actors of their own ideals, carrying their false self-images in front of themselves, wanting to represent, instead of being something, closing themselves up in narrow aesthetical systems of reference, wanting to be art, -art to be understood so and so.
aaaah. i felt worse and worse after each film and especially after each snobby filmmaker stepped on stage to "say something".
it was so sickening, and so embarrassing and so elitary and so self indulgent and so arrogant. and their were so few, almost none, investing a life or a body or a soul in any of these films, no real risks being taken, no lightness, no jumping, no trying, no sketches, -just heavy, pseudo-meaningful symbols and metaphores and references, no humor or irony, just the decoration of the self with these endlessly boring films that were obviously unaware of the fact that they were taking the time to live away from their audience and giving back nothing to live for in return.
when i went outside it was already dark and i ate some mediocre french fries at the train station because i just missed my train back home and had to wait for another hour.
i felt really bad and depressed and couldn´t stop asking myself, why we are constantly so obessed about the imago of ourselves and so little with really trying something hardly, experimenting and doing things just for the sake of them. we seem to be blocked by the idea of ourselves, by our image that we constantly try to pimp, as if it were for sale.
when i was still little my mom used to tell me not to look into mirrors too long. and now for so much time of what could be a life, an experience, a trial, we solely stare into our mirrors in our endless lonliless and self-fixation, flying in circles like bugs aroud light bulbs, mortifying stunning and manifold moments of things happening for no reasons, like a wind or the cold, into reflections of ourselves, just to, in turn, reflect on these reflections and adire or hate them.
of course you have to find yourself important enough to be able to do art at all, and that´s fine, i suppose, but a little more giving yourself away to things, to life, to others, to the unknowable, to the secrets, to laughter and to nothing would certainly be very nice.