This is a picture by George Steinmetz that I discovered in this week’s New Yorker. Such a great city! What I love about this picture is not just the obvious density of the city but also the way in which space is carved into the roofs. It’s silly to call it like that, but it feels almost like a negative-space from the top!
An aesthetic look at how cities develop from a road point of view… but isn’t this grossly oversimplifying the subject of complex cities? I feel that if he wanted to be part of the city-organism discussion (a super old discourse!), he could have made his complexity argument a lot richer. On their own, the pictures are quite beautiful though. Thoughts?
When I first saw Tarkovsky’s Stalker in a cinema at the age of sixteen, it made such a strong impression on me that I went to see it again within a week. In the end, I saw it at least three times. It might have been the same year when my intellectual high school classmates and I refused to give any merit to Titanic, except perhaps for the historically accurate costumes (though none of us could judge the film anyway since no one actually went to see it).
Yesterday I saw Tarkovsky’s Solaris. I immediately wanted to see it again. At least three times. Coincidentally, it was around the same time when Peter saw Titanic for the first time on a plane (heading out of the UK into the hurricane-like wind in the New York area this weekend) and rejoiced that he was spared the final Leonardo-died-moment because BA turned in-flight entertainment off in time for that moment.
For sure, Solaris-time = wonderfully spent three hours.
The film is an intimate rumination on which memories people decide to keep prominently in their minds and how they can materialize three-dimensionally. The main character, psychologist Kris Kelvin arrives at the Solaris space station, which is floating in a sea of hopelessness, and rediscovers some of the strongest feelings humans experience: love, loss, fear, guilt, beauty. At Solaris, people’s minds alter and materialize specific memories and ideas. Kelvin’s appearance is his ex-wife Hari, who had committed suicide ten years earlier. He falls in love with her image. Hari, in turn, gradually begins to become human, so painfully „self-aware“, as Colin Marshall writes in his review, that – in a mirror-like reenacting of her previous existence – she chooses to disappear one more time at the end of the film to allow Kris to return to Earth.
Hari (a memory visualized in 3d) puts Kris’ world into perspective. Our new online creation will be a Solaris, not a Titanic. Those are the two morals of the story that apply to the business we are creating.
Everyone should go see this film.