It was an unforgiving star that illuminated these lands. the souls of the elders rested in the mountains praying for the end of Time, the first and last Tyrant. While they waited they loosened huge portions of stone, whole cliffs of marble clinging to the mountainside by a thread. In this way did they hasten the fall of the mountain and release the secrets inside each stone.
I head out each morning before seven with both cameras. It is staggeringly beautiful in any direction. Each turn of the truck on a winding mountain road brings view after view, each different. A cloud formation might be in front of me, but by the time I get out to photograph it, it may be gone. Then there is the question of what to film, and why. I am building ideas for a movie, which is a few different stories interlocked. Today I went out to a ghost town on the Nevada border and filmed the ruins there. The mountains it sat in were purple, pink, blue grey, yellow and brown. How different our history would be if we mined for color.
I am going to be writing here things of a random subject and order. There will be straight forward descriptions of places and my activities, there will be fragments of stories and prose, as well as thoughts on a film or films I could make. I am, for instance reading the journal of Christopher Columbus, having it in my mind that one cannot address America as a place without addressing a genocide of its first peoples. When i think of one story within the film to be a dialogue between shadows and reflections, I think of someone like the ghost of Columbus in conversation with the ghost of a Native American elder, shaman, chief or warrior.
With Eternity to all sides of him; North, South, East and West, and the sky above him, it was only the ground beneath his feet that limited him. Or was it rather that the ground itself was the only thing that held him, keeping him from a void immeasurable?
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