Kino Otok – Isola Cinema Festival
Isola Will Slovenian Cinematography Survive? To understand the film industry of a country, it requires defining certain concepts of nation and statehood, and placing them in a context which is historical, political, and geographical. It also requires knowledge of history and cinema history in much wider sense. For the last ten years, film critics from Slovenia have announced a genuine crises their small domestic filmmaking industry. For years, there have been rumors about the bad quality of Slovenian film, about the fading of Slovenian cinematography. Nevertheless, this small former...
Read MorePerceptions of New York
Like it or not, New York is in our ether. Many songs, plays, books, and films perpetuate the allure of New York. I recently visited Manhattan to explore its mystique and not spend too much on accommodation. Before travelling I decided it would be wise to know which of the three airports I was going to arrive at: John F. Kennedy, La Guardia, or Newark Liberty International. I landed at Newark and took a bus to the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It also helps to know the street grid system; I stayed at 59 West 46 Street, which is off Times Square. “An Englishman in New York,” by Sting, is...
Read MoreMy Brother, Cyril
(1951-1981) In the early part of an evening of our lives, my brother and I felt like we were trapped in a net made of glue. New Orleans humidity was the same as the temperature: ninety. After we drank some cheap wine, I noticed he had drifted off to sleep with ashes hanging from fifty percent of his cigarette. The breeze coming from the window was cool; he sneezed. I went to cover him with a blanket, and of course, put the cigarette out, but the ashes fell to the floor and dissipated at the wind’s command. I threw the blanket over him, put what was left of his ashed cigarette in the...
Read MoreDown Home: Earl’s Barbershop
I went strolling down memory lane recently, sopping up memories like a warm biscuit in pot liquor. This part of the lane is in the town where I grew up, a small southern town near Dallas, not unlike Mayberry, North Carolina. I suspect there were a few housewives — though I didn’t know any — who washed their fine china and cleaned the parlor wearing pearls and starched aprons. It was peer pressure from June Cleaver at its prettiest. Most of the locals were Southern Baptist, who, at the time of his unleashing, thought Elvis was the antichrist. There were realists like...
Read MoreOut of Kentucky
My grandmother raised five kids herself. My mother is the little girl on the left, and she is the only one left living from this photo. My grandmother is the one seated in the chair. The little girl on the right is my aunt, who passed away a few years ago. The little boy is my uncle, who was killed by a train many years ago. My mother says the little bows in their hair were made from bread ties. The little outfits were hand sewn by my grandmother. To me, this is a most beautiful photo. It captures a proud mother who was also poor. It captures innocence. It captures simplicity. It...
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