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rewriting casablanca

i am home after sitting up late tonight at the production office in casablanca editing one of the films. the obvious didn’t, hadn’t hit me until i returned home. that’s when i sat back and i smiled.

i lecture, i write, i think about this city and the way hollywood has so thoroughly reinvented it that it has even changed to itself. Casablanca the film has a place in the subconscious of America’s pop-cultural belly that differs from the real place with all its beautiful people which i have proof of in all the small gestures of love i have in images. i have hollywood’s trace marks too that walk through town in the references to bogart’s cafe.

although this is the topic of my writings and a topic of my films, i, had not thought of the strangeness of myself at all.

an american woman making a film and editing it’s body here. a collection of moments, stories and images of bread, lipstick bottles, little girls, old jewish women and folktales that are a far cry from anything hollywood would sanction for casablanca to possess.

it’s a strange surprise to look up from your hands and see yourself. losing yourself in the characters, the stories, the people you love and the ways they look and accept you—it takes a second to blink and see youare… making a film (four of them) in casablanca about nothing that hollywood would touch…silences, images of hands holding each other, wrapping around rope, heads touching the earth in prayer, children singing, women cooking, love in all those little moments of tolerance and delicate care. it is almost complete but with regard to history, it will never be. but i feel joy. it makes me happy to feel all the ideas rolling off my finger tips as i press cut.

i read the other day that The eye is the lamp of the body. -Matthew 6:22

i am looking to my friends who i laugh with now and who i have cried in the space of pictures for all of our bodies living on this binary.

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