/ stills from persona, ingmar bergman 1966

/ drew stanley, manhattan ny september 2011

'writing about the origin of cries and whispers, bergman describes a persistent but wholly isolated image that kept coming back to him for more than a year without his knowing why: 'over and over: the room draped all in red with women clad in white. that's the way it is: images obstinately resurface without my knowing what they want with me; then they disappear only to come back, looking exactly the same.' in several interviews he has said that the creativity in his directing of film or theatre relies mainly upon his momentary intuitions rather than any fixed or premeditated reasoning.'

/ from the book 'ingmar bergman, cinematic philosopher' by irving singer 2007

yes yes yes yes yes yes yes i'm in love with this man.

/ went to moma today & impulsively attended one of the film screenings - duel of the sun. was a western movie & was quite beautiful visually. the ending of this film was rather intense/extreme, here it is above

/ last night i was feeling absolutely awful & sad. i decided to draw, perhaps in an attempt to distract myself/rekindle a drawing habit. i have a lot of reference books out from the library, so i opened to a page in a book about the virgin mary and drew it. here's my charcoal sketch of dierick bouts' 1490s painting 'mater dolorosa' which means in translation: 'the virgin mary sorrowing for the death of christ'

hang in kid, it's almost over.

/ jordan tiberio, september 2011 brooklyn ny

/ rough scan, september 2011 brooklyn ny

'Well, we're grasping for two things at once. Partly for communion with others - that's the deepest instinct in us. And partly, we're seeking security. By constant communion with others we hope we shall be able to accept the horrible fact of our total solitude.'

/ ingmar bergman, filmmaker genius hero et al

/ kuan luo, brooklyn ny 11 september 2011

interviewer: Why can’t you be alone without Yoko?

john lennon: But I can be alone without Yoko, but I just have no wish to be. There’s no reason on earth why I should be alone without Yoko. There’s nothing more important than our relationship, nothing. And we dig being together all the time. Both of us could survive apart but what for? I’m not going to sacrifice love, real love for any whore or any friend or any business, because in the end you’re alone at night and neither of us want to be. and you can’t fill a bed with groupies. It doesn’t work. I don’t want to be a swinger. I’ve been through it all and nothing works better than to have someone you love hold you.

/ i haven't been through it all, but i have always known/felt this last statement to be true

/ a portrait of me by jordan tiberio, 18 september brooklyn ny

and through the sleepless nights and the loveless days i think i found the answer, now, here in the pages of the dhammapada and the dripping joyless ecstasy of uncertainty - it is to have no ties no connections to anything - not to other humans or food or drink or any other vices or anything anything at all - -- to be utterly and completely free. just be free, be clear, to not want anything, to be able to get up and go. to be silent and listen. to have no outward opinion, to not get involved. to say nothing in place of being cruel. to love everything and have the ability to love everything for the sheer reason that you are detached - completely and utterly free of all ties to anyone, anything. the character ivan in dostoevskys 'the brothers karamazov' said - "I must make one confession. I could never understand how one can love one's neighbours. It's just one's neighbours, to my mind, that one can't love, though one might love those at a distance." truer words have never been spoken! i believe this is why we love people so much at a distance. for when we are away from them and we can input our own hopes/dreams for their personalities into the space that exists between us and them - we can create fantasy, delusion, traits and qualities that don't even exist or have the briefest hint of real existence. i love you, i say; i love you, but i don't really know you. i know you for what i know of myself's hope & desire of what i see that you could be, but you are not. i can't see myself. i can't really see myself so i don't know how i would expect myself to see you for what you are. i don't live in this world. i can't. i suffocate and lose air and choke and will die if kept here too long. i am like a fish without gills trying to live in the ocean. it is not possible for me to exist here and so i must create my own world. my own happy delusion, my own fantasy. when i am alone i can convince myself that it is real. i don't expect you to accept this or appreciate it or understand. yet it is who i am. i am happiest when i am alone and miserable and productive. my life is my work, and yet in the recent days my life has been to live. living, much too real. i have become too much like girl and less like machine in recent time. perhaps its not possible to maintain the state of a machine but i have to try because being a girl seems altogether much too unbearable. i have to try to live alone and without emotion of my own coming out through the body, i must channel this emotion through my work. and yet.. part of me still wants to love you, needs to, probably always will. silly girl. with all you know you still give in to it or play with the idea. you are drowning and drowning in this ocean, dear, and it's only a matter of time

/ new + updated iconoclast images

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone. / excerpt from part III: the fire sermon, of 'the waste land' by ts eliot

/ new portraits, martin & mitchell, brooklyn ny august 2011