San Francisco, and the day of "group activity", saw me losing my shit again. I was unable to keep it cool, after we spent about a half hour, on a rare sunny day in the Bay, trying to figure out what we should do as a group. When the producer, who I have come to realize is unable of thinking about this process on a larger level than simply just a film project, suggested we go to the bridge and ride bikes, I had an epiphany: If someone assumes a role of power, they MUST have the respect of those around them, otherwise the only logical reaction from the group is distrust and frustration.
It was at the time, we all zombie walked our way back to the RV, that I began to daydream of jumping out at the first Red light and running into the wilds of Golden Gate Park. Then, a conversation emerged between the producer and my fellow roadtripper, over the ownership of the tapes he had been shooting on the handheld camera. My fellow roadtripper had been taking a log of his perspective, and when he asked about where the tape was, because he wanted to keep them, the producer said, you are not allowed to do that, you have to turn it in, so we can, sing along now, "share your experience". I asked if he could by the tapes from him, in an extremely sarcastic tone. It was at this moment that I stood up, pulled my mic off, and walked out of the vehicle. I got about ten paces past the front of the RV, when I knew I could not leave in silence. I walked back in, looked Ole' Heavy Hand right in the eye and informed him that, "You are ruining this experience, absolutely mascaraing the potential of what it could be--BREATH THAT IN!" As the gerbil attempted to run faster to compute this chaos thrust upon him, he muttered some words about how he felt sorry that I felt this way, and I did feel bad for how it came out, but it had been welling up inside of me. As I continued to talk, the words found my lips and I articulated my issues with poignant clarity. The above notion of leading with out earning respect came to light, and I announced that I would not be attending the Golden Gate segment. If the Roadtrip nation clan were not trying to weave such a predictable, safe, and contrived narrative, they could accomodate the freedom and excitement of a roadtrip. Dream scenario/Truth: "Hey today, Elliott is off to play disc golf, we gave him a camera to go shoot his experience. We are going to follow Nekeed and Brooklyn to the Bridge and see what they get in to. If the audio is sort of shakey, just remember it was windy out there." Instead we are forced to make decisions with the cameras off, then turn them on again to support the story, that three friends learn about a city together while skipping and laughing about the magic and beauty of new places and tackling life one small group activity at a time.
In short, I blew right the fuck up, and left a wake of silent awkwardness behind me. I went out and played 19 holes of disc golf (captured here in a few shots, but forgotten forever from the story being written for television). After that lovely experience, where I met John the Painter and a few other characters (had a few birdies don't ya know), I went out to the Outer Sunset with miss Jamie Marcus. We had not seen each other for quite sometime, so we exchanged stories, she offered brilliant moral support, and we enjoyed a leisurely happy hour.
THe next day saw a double header of interviews, Christopher Brown a Berkeley based Painter and J.P. Barlow, a goddamn sage of all that is mystical and sacred (or a former cattle rancher/author, turned lyricist for The Dead, and eventual Internet Guru and Biofuel technology pioneer). Both conversations were extremely energizing, and such a counterbalance to all the other emotions I had been feeling. I looked at Christopher Brown's paintings and felt the need to take the next year and study--the whimsical beauty of his paintings are only achieved through hard work and study--the knowledge to create what is in your mind is out there, it is simply a matter of commitment, patience, and conviction. Barlow, dropped so many nuggets of truth that I don't know where to start---but essentially I see ripples of Mr. Barlow in myself, and I am feeling pushed to seek out my own education in the next few years, and to step up to the plate as a creative force of intelligence, wit, and wisdom.
Here are the shots:
No comments:
Post a Comment