October 16, 2006:
I [can] watch a movie again. This ability is not objective but subjective.
I couldn't watch movies for a long time, and I didn't like to watch movies with others, completely impatient. Unless it is a specific environment, such as a theater, it basically cannot distract me.
The mind is free. I want to run fast, I want to get away quickly, not just sitting and watching. I hate myself for not being able to think of something before it gets dark.
But I have been sitting all the time, and the more I watched, the more this impatience was aggravated.
Review Shawshank. It's almost twelve o'clock. No sleepiness. I flipped through the computer and turned to "Frida" which was a long time ago.
Finished watching at two o'clock late at night. It's a very, very good film. I left it on the computer for about half a year, and I didn't touch it at all. Watching a movie is like reading a book. Don't force it. One day, when I suddenly moved my mind, the time spent completely with it is considered serious.
I couldn't write it at the beginning, but I wanted to express one-tenth. I have been unable to write recently. Even lost the desire to write something. But I know this is a good thing. I hope that the more I write, the less I write, the simpler I write, and slowly discard the things that should disappear. Many things have the same surface, but there are fundamental differences.
I started watching again at 2:18. It made me cry several times in the past two hours. This is a shock that hits the heart, and every part of the film is shining with painful and poetic amazing light.
Frida. Before watching the film, I didn't look for any relevant information, didn't read any comments, and I didn't even understand the cast list. They were all South American names, I guess. To be honest, I didn't know anything about her life except for her paintings. Although I know that she split her spine and pelvis due to a car accident when she was a girl, fractured, and a steel pipe fell off and pierced her body directly, cutting her uterus, which caused her to endure severe pain for the rest of her life. I know that she survived, had a miscarriage, had homosexual rumors, and had been entangled in love with her husband, the painter diego, all her life. I have seen almost every painting of her, even though it is printed. But this doesn't count at all. These ordinary materials are all basic tasks to be done when understanding a painter and appreciating her works. Reading this kind of introduction text printed on a flat book and understanding a person's three-dimensional life are completely irrelevant.
Things like art history or art appreciation are actually a good gossip party. You need to understand everything, from the source to its evolution, from the broad sense to the narrow sense, from the occupation of a painter’s mother to the hobbies of its second wife...Every little gossip about the artist himself can help you understand it. work. The so-called change or innovation of the artist's thinking requires the occurrence and manifestation of events, so critics strive to find events in the history of art and personal history to judge and position the works in their eyes.
Sometimes these strangely become things that have nothing to do with personal preferences.
Come back and talk about this film. Many special ways of expression are used, Frida's works are intertwined with the picture, and I try hard to get closer to the core. The colors are enthusiastic and bright, and the music reaches the heart of the people, which is extremely exciting. The heroine is very good, her expression is not disappointing in the details, and she has always exuded a unique charm. I think part of the reason is that she played Frida herself. This film cuts from the perspective of women, and the Frida presented is only a part of Frida. As a woman, Frida is only a simple narrative about her political identity and Mexican cultural identity, and it is not overwhelming. This makes it not affect the expressiveness of this film if you don't know Frida at all before watching it.
Frida, this Mexican female painter, I really don’t really like her paintings. I have been passionate about women like O’Keeffe. The colors are soft and rich, the lines are elegant and charming, and the meditation themes in the later period are full. The concise, introverted and calm atmosphere, like a gentle but powerfully beating heart full of color.
And Frida doesn't, not at all. She saw herself, she endured all the pains given by love and destiny with endless strength. Yes, almost all female artists are good at understanding the world from the inside to understand the meaning of her existence, while men whose physical and psychological structures are completely different from women are offensive and external, they understand conqueringly And interpret the world they exist in. Frida's special life makes her feel more profound and desperate. Her paintings are full of suffering, and the pain is released after long-term depression.
It is impossible to describe such an infectious power. When you see it as an outsider, you are shocked. She uses a calm tone to describe the pain of each of us. She uses the simplest flat paint to paint a lot of weird and absurd fantasy. To explain and hide her endless pain and wounds. If it is painful and can't bear to call it sad, then O'Keeffe is a sad painter. Frida's paintings are full of tears and blood. Sadness here is not enough to explain her mental helplessness and desolation.
In the film, she is both a loyal wife and a chaste lover. Or the most provocative lesbian couple. And I clearly feel that everything she does is just because diego never belongs to her. It's not for any woman.
Can you understand this kind of despair. Only by destroying oneself can the pain be relieved.
Only by debauching yourself, including your body and talent, can you temporarily get a little relief from those injuries. Only by pulling down a little bit, and then pulling a little bit, will you get a little bit of anaesthesia from your guilt.
The debauchery of talent arouses the greatest inspiration and talent, and they are used as a placebo. I often wonder whether things like painful memories are a very important driving force in creation, poisonous and so sweet, beckoning to the barren mind frequently.
She is too brave and too loyal to her wounds. So I am afraid to look at her paintings. I am not afraid to see the painful truth.
It just proved once again that no one can be saved.
Love, marriage, talent, passion, revolution. ideal. Tears. neither.
Only death. So many thorns are bright, blood, and skeletons. Little monkey, beautiful blue sky, giant cactus. Incinerate.
Human beings are always so sincere only in the face of death.
This more or less makes me a little tired.
I admire her and
her portrait are as hard as steel. Freedom like butterfly wings. As moving as a smile. Cruel. . Like the suffering of life.
——Diego
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