After Goya ,modern painting begins.-Andre Malraux

Francisco De Goya , painter of the great consterning spanish troubles,the haughty queen and his beloved Cayetana ,and brought with him this inexplicable theatrical atmosphere to life;harrowed,troubled,jarring .
This movie although incomparable in my view in lighting and techniques of dramatic storytelling washed away the tactile facts of Goya in the rendition of his mystery and eccentricity.His theatrical using of the sets and constant subtle shifts in atmosphere and lighting dreams ones way through this spectacle. The flavour of Goya,his dark deliberations ,line this gallery one walks down , sensuous and rich ,pulsating with the heart of his paintings.
Here's what i think of the first scene . Tremendous skill and thought with the set design , lighting and props.
Goya - the movie.

A sickly green grey of loose, strewn, disturbed earth.darkness streaming away in twisting , meandering tributaries, silting the earth to laterite. a slow red of the spanish arena smeared in the dirt. rufous red.a guttural oppressed red.A gnawed out ,glistening,bull-head blood.

A sunlight pale yellow-pink washed mercilessly through the stagnant glans and graceful curve of its horn. a foliage reflected green stirred with yellow spilt rays .Sinuous rills of a tangled rope ,a silent adulterous adventurer,tasting the intoxicating, coagulating shadows and the dutiful open sun in the same delusional breath. Deaf shadows of the sun tame the ephemeral light.

A hacked sense lays lamely in a shivering pan like bulls feet , a passive critic of its surroundings.It rises relentlessly, strenuous, delirious red; clenching lest it burst into scarlet.
Lays its tired head on the headless bull and recedes to its heavy ,dragged ,permeating stench.

It hangs there, old and weary from death, insides emptied and ghoulishly faced Goya emerging from its smooth organs a weary traveller in his undistinguishable double-faced reality.He wakes in startlingly real white sheets ,panacea to his ugly contours.The red of the bull red earth splashed on his wall.An effortless spiral of life in frost carved by his own hands.

He turns, his breath laboured, breathing with him is a blue enveloping aura; overpowering the red walls ,glowing them in a ghostly black Cayetana walking slowly out of his heaving room.He follows ,forelight surrendering to backlight, and his screened image walking behind the translucent wall to a ironically white corridor leading to his yearning past.Hallway to his longing .
He stops at a side door.A room with chequered black and white tiles being scrubbed by a devout servant , with two dead geese dripping into a yellow bucket alongside two red apples and grapes in a bowl .Slowly he walks on.

Thrust out in the open bustling road , his frightened eyes rise with a measured defiance with the neighing horse of hallowed convention.Cayetana. Ah!Sweet Cayetana gracefully walks away with his weak pleading questions . A yearning for one, deep and delirious once again finally uttered on his undessiderated deathbed.

poet

Poet

Rivers die...
streams of its remnants
caressing the last of the gurgling sand.
Sad bubbles relinquish themselves to hungry air.

Naked poet at the water's edge,
whispers no more..
But his footprints on the glassy surface,
lie unwashed by the sand.

His are the fossils of the dying waters.
His are their apparitioned tombs.

Stranded ,a relic.
Gathers dust.

(the poet as a relic in modern times , pondering over corroded vestiges of the original world ..)

Did a quiz on www.quizfarm.com http://quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=23320 this is what they say i am... Well they arent necessarily right ..but i agree with the short intro..

You scored as Postmodernist.
Postmodernism is the belief in complete open interpretation. You see the universe as a collection of information with varying ways of putting it together. There is no absolute truth for you; even the most hardened facts are open to interpretation. Meaning relies on context and even the language you use to describe things should be subject to analysis.
Postmodernist 100%
Modernist 75%
Existentialist 63%
Cultural Creative 56%
Materialist 56%
Romanticist 38%
Idealist 25%
Fundamentalist 13%

reach for the sky.... 

shattered sky 

sun stain'd glass 

gate crashed Joe satriani -lived upto "GUITAR GOD"

Joe

Where Guru Dutt shot his films...prabhat studio...FTII poona

Inside the lair... the ramps and ropes above are where the lights were placed so they could be moved according to the huge sets built below.... Relic of an ageless era in filmmaking

graFTII! 

Before going down the stairway to hell she asks, "ARE THEY READY FOR ME?

Keep walking ....Johhnie walker! 

Sepia curves under the blaspheming sun.... bangalore to poona 

The Highway Exodus.. 

D'solve

I used to wait in the throngs,
one foot in the sleeping rain.

watch the muddy ripples
of the faces drifting by.

wait for nothing to arrive
something to depart.
vice versa.

Nothing ever did.

Except my reflection.
Faded off that mirror......
below my forgotten foot.

A snap by my brother in a cathedral in england...

I walked into a church today, or should i say cathedral, that what it said outside...as I peered at it through burning eyes... for the first time in my life. I didnt go there to seek advice or to cast blame or confess or to be grateful. I just went there because i saw it and I had never been there before.
It was vast,lavish , with rows of varnished chairs cradling silent bibles leading up to a white conclave, adorned with intricate wood, cement and brass.
It had a red carpet laid out for someone ..I guess inviting God in.well, I actually half expected God to get off the back wall, walk up to me and tell me what to do for the rest of my life. That would have made things a little more interesting , dont u think? well, curse my luck, must not be my day because nothing of the sort happened.
I was all alone there scanning the entire place ,thinking a million thoughts.
It was like a vault , sepulchrous and expansive, fawning and indulgent, its stained glass like the dead in Westminster Abbey, unable to shine their porous light.
Then someone walked in and shut all the doors and windows ,dead bolted the doors , whom did he expect to break in, the Devil? The Devil would have never recieved a red carpet welcome in his lifetime if he did.
I felt trapped . So i walked out.
I want to go there again sometime.
To see Faith.Find out what it is.For I sure as hell dont know

Ciao!

t'was a dirty smoky haze , i saw a light go off in...didnt seem relevant at the time .but as i walked to the door, i dropped my smiling key... couldnt find it and left it there ...smiling in the shining speckled tiles ,kicked and battered as it found its way to nowhere.
Waiting for Godot i heard someone say, waiting for that fused lone bulb ,to gray to golden yellow, glint off the dirty yellow beer and its crystal cuts into my glassy eye and only then, die.
I met Prachi today.She's off to NID, the Nebulous Incarnation of Demi-Godliness... so sayeth ye olde patriarchs.Ciao, friend!

GLug..glug..glug..glug I went after stepping home a vanquished hero who's suffered the trials of the Great Indian Train Journey.Not like it was worse than the Great Indian Sweat Fest that was astonishingly well organised by the Gre... well I wont push it...Indian railway.Yes since one really cant afford to spend more than a grand,up and down on the innumerable trips one makes to pune and back one just lies content with second class. And there it begins ..the recent edition of the government initiatives- the Dehydration Drive!This one , one really cant ignore , what with the trail of slimy sweat that rises with you like a clinging piece of tape, off the cheap berth when u wake up and drag your face off it, like plaster off the wall.
Well, now I go glug..glug... till I feel its forever and ive neutralized the evil forces that drove half my body content away( I tell myself to chill coz i have 27% water left ,totally 77% if u didnt know, and if i go any further , they'll have to pump it out with the Great Indian Disposable Needle) and then finally im satisfied. All I need now is three days of sleep and in 5 minutes I have discreetly acquired a new title-'Great Indian ,dead as a dog,log and three fat snails in a nuclear fall out'.
Note: The comma before dead is autobiographical...