Organizado pela Câmara Brasileira do Livro, o 2º Congresso do livro digital concentrou a atenção de uma numerosa plateia envolvida com o universo da edição.

Palavras-chave, palavras em inglês foram exaustivamente repetidas na apresentação de pouqíssimos cases, idealismos, prospecções e muita análise de marketing.

Instantaniedade, desmaterialização, fair use, long tail, digital right manegements, social book, experiência, curadoria, self expression, multiformato, multicanal, conteúdo, produto, redes sociais etc.

A sensação que fica, depois de uma pausa para reflexão, é que o óbvio foi dito de várias maneiras mas que valeu a pena ouvi-lo durante os últimos dois dias.

Por mais proclamada que seja a era do tempo real, sem a pausa como podemos refletir? Podemos replicar a informação como twitteiros e retwitteiros. Podemos espalhá-la e nos tornarmos uma rede possível para pequenas e grandes revoluções, mas sabemos o que estamos falando?

Penso isso por exemplo quando me lembro da palestra acelerada da Martha Gabriel. Sua fala de certezas sobre um mundo em transformação me lembrou a pregação de uma pastora evangélica num canal aberto de TV. Chegar antes, mapear um território virtual ou desmaterializado como uma desbravadora e voltar aos outros supostos ignorantes dizendo: – é assim, não deixa de revelar mais a falta que o conteúdo e a experiência. Claro que nada é totalmente ruim ou totalmente bom. Dentro dessa tagaralice do marketing salientar a importância da busca no mundo de hoje é de extrema honestidade quanto a nossa ignorância.

Bob Stein lembrou um termo muito legal: serendipity. Ele juntamente com a Dominique Raccah, inspiram um olhar mais mente aberta diante da vertiginosa transformação do livro.

Outro discurso que me surpreendeu, apesar da publicidade que lhe cabia, foi do Frederico Indiani da Saraiva. O Brasil se fez presente através de uma rede que está aberta a todas transformações, que é predadora (como todas as corporações), mas que enxerga o tamanho, a potência ou a carência intelectual da nossa cultura. Ali pude refletir sobre um modelo polivalente, antropofágico e brasileiro para o negócio do conteúdo.

Pois sim, do que se falou muito foi de conteúdo como produto. O suporte é e será variado. E muita gente entrou no negócio. Ipads, nooks, nokias, programadores. Novas linguagens, já nossas conhecidas, são os novos hiroglifos em html.

Para a Dantes, que já sobrevoa experiências editoriais reais e imaginárias, não há nada a temer. Fica a sensação de que ouvir e pensar sobre o óbvio pode acalmar a alma em ebulição.

com algumas expectativas

As manhãs de terças não são mais as mesmas. Saio do supermercado  e pego um taxi. Entro no cinema para ver Melancholia de Lars Von Trier. São 10h30 da manhã, duas horas antes do fim do mundo. Justine, que sabe o quanto somos sozinhos, é quem constrói a cabaninha mágica que não nos protegerá de sonharmos, enxergarmos ou chorarmos até o último segundo da vida.

ORNITORRINCO
[#009] Julho, 17/2011
 
 
 
CLIQUE AQUI PARA CURTIR
 
 
 
Menu #009
 
0_EDITORIAL
1_ACIDENTAL
2_SORTE DOS CAVALOS QUE DEITAM PRA COMER NA SOMBRA
3_PAPEL DE PAREDE
4_ESCALAFOBÉTICO, ESTRAMBÓTICO E HISTRIÔNICO
5_QUERO FICAR NA GERAÇÃO 1.0 (Colaboração)
6_O QUE FALAR QUER DIZER
7_NOME SÓ
8_MÁQUINA DEVAGAR

 
 
 
 
EDITORIAL                        
 
 
Não muito raro às vezes me sinto boiar em conversas na mesa do bar. Não faço a mínima ideia do que estão falando. A Banda Mais Bonita da Cidade, o que é? Quem disse o quê? Quem ganhou o quê? Quem viajou ou está voltando de onde? Nunca sei. Sei que é pelo meu descuido com as redes sociais. Não consegui [nem digo mais que consigo, já não consigo mesmo] fazer parte desse universo de cliques, cutucadas, curtição, eu te amo daqui, você é um amor dali. Entretanto eu uso bastante a internet, principalmente para trabalho e estudos. Deve ser isso. Conheço uns lugares nessa internet tão mais interessantes e profundos e distantes e mágicos e psicodélicos e humanos que fica impossível lembrar que existe um negócio chamado facebook. Às vezes apareço por lá só pra colocar uma coisa importada dessas florestas mágicas.
Por isso e por tudo eu pedi para que os ornitorrinCOLUNISTAS escrevessem algo que partisse de suas relações com o que se chama de Geração 2.0. Que falassem sobre as redes sociais. É bom? É mau? Pra que servem 1.000 amigos?
Avante!
 
|Gabriel Pardal

o vídeo

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives

A Letter to Uncle Boonmee

A slowly moving camera captures the interiors of various houses in a village. They are all deserted except one house with a group of young soldiers. They are digging the up the ground. It is unclear whether they are exhuming or burying something. The voices of three young men are heard. They repeat, rehearse, memorise a letter to a man named Boonmee. They tell him about a small community called Nabua where the inhabitants have abandoned their homes. The wind blows fiercely through the doors, and the windows, bringing with it a swarm of bugs. As evening approaches, the sky turns dark. The bugs scatter and the men are silent.

A Letter to Uncle Boonmee is part of the multi-platform Primitive project which focuses on a concept of remembrance and extinction set in the northeast of Thailand. Boonmee is the main character of the feature film of the project.

Artist's statement
This short film is a personal letter describing my Nabua to Uncle Boonmee.

The film comprises of shots of house interiors in the evening. The houses are all deserted except for one, where there is a group of young soldiers, played by some teens of Nabua. Two of them impersonate me by narrating the film:

'Uncle... I have been here for a while. I would like to see a movie about your life. So I proposed a project about reincarnation. In my script there is a longan (fruit tree) farm surrounded by mountains. But here there are endless plains and rice fields. Last week I met a man who I thought was your son. But perhaps he was your nephew because he said his father was a policeman who owned hundreds of cows. Judging from the book I have, I don’t think you owned a lot of cows, and you were a teacher, weren’t you? The man was old and couldn’t remember his father’s name very well. It might be Boonmee or Boonma. It was a long time ago, he said. Here in Nabua there are several houses that I think are suitable for this short film for which I got funding from England. I don’t know what your house looked like. I cannot use the one in my script because it is so different from the ones here. Maybe some parts of these houses resemble yours.

What was your view like? Was it like this?

Soldiers once occupied this place. They killed and tortured the villagers until everyone fled into the jungle.'

There is a soldier having dinner alone on the second floor. In a room nearby, there is a mysterious figure sleeping in a pink mosquito nest. The silence is interrupted by the sound of digging heard from the window. From one of the houses, there is a glimpse of a spaceship parked in the backyard. Something small is darting across the frame.

In an empty room, the soldier is lying on the floor looking out of the window, preoccupied by his thoughts. In a forest, there is a black, ape-like creature walking among the trees. In one corner of the forest we see a model of a shabby house, a spirit house that no one cares for any longer. In front of a tree a cow stands, doing nothing. After a while, it walks away.

A note on the animation of the film
Mosquitoes, flies and other insects are the enemy of the filmmaker. They ruin our work when they fly past the camera, creating a swift blurry object in the shot, making it ‘not clean’, when the audience are supposed to concentrate on the in-focus object in the frame. I found them in several shots of our Nabua footage, especially those that we shot in the morning and at dusk.

On the other hand, I think they are very beautiful, like ghosts darting across the frame. They create a moment of wonder that makes the audience become conscious of the filmic focal plane, and of filmmaking. I would like to invite them to be part of this short film. These bugs are free to invade some of our ‘clean’ frames. Perhaps these mysterious bugs are flying across most of the villages in Thailand and happen to stop by in this village. Or they simply emerge from the ground where the soldiers are digging. Perhaps Nabua, with its tragic history, cannot host a pristine, bug-free picture of itself.

Phantoms of Nabua

A fluorescent tube illuminates an empty playground in the evening. Nearby a flash of light is projected on a makeshift screen. This outdoor movie is a portrait of a village repeatedly struck by lightning. As night falls, the silhouette figures of young men emerge, they are playing with a football raging with fire. They take turns kicking the ball which leaves illuminated trails in the grass. The lightning on the screen flickers amid the fire and the smoke rising from the ground. The game intensifies with each kick that sends the fireball soaring into the air. Finally the teens burn the screen and crowd around it to witness the blazing canvas, behind which is revealed the ghostly white beam of a projector.

Phantoms of Nabua is part of the multi-platform Primitive project which focuses on a concept of remembrance and extinction and is set in the northeast of Thailand.

Artist's statement
Last year as a tribute to a place I often visit I wrote an article called Wing Rim Beung (Jogging Around the Swamp). It’s an impression of a swamp in my home town in the northeast. In one paragraph there’s a description of a light near the swamp:

'There is something more beautiful at this swamp however; a wooden pole with a soft white neon lamp attached to it, located at one corner next to a large tree. No matter how many years I pass by, I always have to stop and look whenever I go running. The lamp is always blinking on and off, as if its ballast is in a state of permanent decline. The lamp light is momentarily reflected in the large tree nearby, briefly revealing its green leaves in the darkness. I call it ‘the flash of lightning on the banks of the swamp’.' (Published in GAGARIN: The Artists in their Own Words, volume 9 #1, March 2008.)

Perhaps for an economic reason, most of the houses in Asia are illuminated by fluorescent lights. Even though these lights make the skin look pale, even dead, for me they relate to home, to being home.

The film’s setting is a rear projection of Nabua (from the Primitive installation) and a recreation of a fluorescent light pole back in my hometown. I used this setting as a playground for the teens who emerged from the dark with a football raging with fire. They took turns kicking the ball that left illuminated trails on the grass. Finally they burned the screen which revealed behind it a ghostly white beam of a projector.

Like A Letter To Uncle Boonmee, Phantoms of Nabua is a portrait of home. The film portrays a communication of lights, the lights that exude, on the one hand, the comfort of home and, on the other, of destruction.

Because of the absence of gravity, fuels burning in space behave very differently than they do on Earth. In this image, a 3-millimeter diameter droplet of heptane fuel burns in microgravity, producing soot. When a bright, uniform backlight is placed behind the droplet and flame and recorded by a video camera, the soot appears as a dark cloud. Image processing techniques can then quantify the soot concentration at each point in the image. On the International Space Station, the Flame Extinguishing Experiment examines the combustion of such liquid fuel droplets.

This colorized gray-scale image is a composite of the individual video frames of the backlit fuel droplet. The bright yellow structure in the middle is the path of the droplet, which becomes smaller as it burns. Initial soot structures (in green) tend to form near the liquid fuel. These come together into larger and larger particles which ultimately spiral out of the flame zone in long, twisting streamers.

Image Credit: NASA

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