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I believe in artichokes

Italy did ruin me. After that first trip I came back disgusted by bodega coffee, which now smelled of old socks. Before, it was just fine. I rolled my eyes at red sauce joints, detouring old standbys like a stranger. If eating can be seen as a religious or spiritual experience I had been to the mountain. In time I would return on pilgrimages, always holding the simple pleasures in my thoughts.  An artichoke, methodically fried in good olive oil, with some salt. Black truffles, good butter and fresh pasta twisting around the back of a fork. A very cold and tiny glass of porto bianco sipped in a Genoa bar, with my friend Federico. A man cleaning sardines on a block of wood in the street. A woman selling green figs that she wraps into a newspaper cone. I have thousands of these memories, these artifacts. But I live in Moscow, where there has been an embargo for years now, and there is no population that expects perfect mounds of fresh cheese. They ship powdered palm oil here, that gets …

Rocco (please take a moment to vote for us before midnight Oct 22)

A few weeks ago I saw an invitation from Daniel Lanois, asking for filmmakers to create imagery for a handful of his newest songs. The films would be projected during live performances all over the world.

I chose the song Rocco, because it felt like breathing to me, and the concept came quickly. Windows, E' s face...

Today I was told that our film is one of the four selected by the judges, and they are looking for the votes and opinions of everyday people like you to help them understand what film is the best one.

Please visit http://fleshandmachine.com and by all means vote for our film (if you do think it is the best one.)


Comments

Rubye Jack said…
Your's is easily the best.
But, your post just now came into my reader in Oregon USA and it is now too late to vote.

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