Frame - Line

Canvas (When colors go kanakas)

2010-04-27T00:31:00.033+12:00

We were dancing a waltz in Abel Tasman, the sand sticking to our toes...

Winter 'til spring

In the past few days I've plunged back into book world. I really had forgotten the magic of living in two parallel worlds at the same time. The feeling of getting so involved that the braincells won't let go of the words. Anyways. It's also been a long time since I last wrote or posted anything here at all. Today I stoppedy by at Stasi's and picked up a special filmroll I've really been waiting to have developed. It was some good friends' present for my birthday. And ohw, the surprise.

Colour has a smile

I thought Matisse's ghost had accidentally vomited on the filmroll before handing it over to Andy Warhol's dead body. The colors have gone crazy. It's madnessrama, and I like it. The lines get smooth and finally melt together. A rainbow pot. Sort of art imbecìle, just quiet and lurky, with the kind of smile that a fox would have after hiding the last feathers of a chicken. Yeah.

Silly time

Time has been passing in a weird and swirly way those last few weeks. It's been hitting the doorbell nerver wanting to come in. It's been ringing and hanging up the phone on me several times without saying a word, just holding its breath. I used to observe it, now it just hides between the notes and the printed dates on my diary. Time doesn't wanna talk anymore, feelings just rush through the braincells. Weird and swirly.

Kill the pillow

I've woken up a few times with my head pounding at 1 p.m. Five or more dreams at the time, and those are just the ones I can remember. I wonder if this has something to do with the thinking. Perhaps when you have a break after a stressful time Thinking takes a vacation on Sleepy Island, making friends with the pillow and the blanket. And with all of the surprising freudian things in our brain. Do we have something to hide? Something really deep that we wouldn't even dare telling to ourselves? Sure. And all of these things just flow out through the dream, dripping on the pillow. Pillow knows your darkest secrets. Kill the pillow.

Hey stranger, sitting on a train.

I've lost count of the hours spent with an horizon dissolving behind us and appearing in the front. It's been a long time since I've become a warm bubble floating on my own, dissolving whenever I wanted to. It's a good feeling. Remembering the smells, the sounds and the colors that belong to the past. I remember every smell. The one in my grandparent's summerhouse, the one of the first perfume I bought, the smell of lego and the one of wood right before autumn came. The Cure were playing pictures of you. It had been a while since the smell of rain. I've collected images, pulses for the moments in which the heart would slow down for a moment and let this hyperactive everything float around through nerves and veins. The eyes are horizon-hungry again. But time has stopped pressing against the backside of the brain. I've got a stranger, and a train.

Spirer etter torden

2010-04-03T13:03:00.003+13:00

This is our first exam production. No need for a long introduction, it simply is the result of the great deal of work of a few people over a load of months. Built on drops of sweat and drops of patience, pieces of nails and pieces of heart, here it comes. Thanks to the wonderful people who've been around it. Enjoy.

Retro 100

2010-02-24T06:17:00.017+13:00

Snowy heart, minds apart.
Edit the fragment,
unglue the segment.

Augmentation of the stations through the nation.
The black smoke invades your sweet eyes so sore,
its venomous smell's mass-killing dinosaurs.

We are all velociraptors.
Not adapters.

It's snowing cats and dogs, again.
Mice are endangered.

Sometimes things look like they're speaking to you.

"I'd rather cut your fingers off
than have you crawling on my lawn.
Just try to..."

Fragments unglued,
floating on their own.

In case of evacuation, use the balloon.
Land on the moon.

Pick up the pieces
by letting them fly by.

Nature-shaped monsters stick to our brains.
They wake up inside our dreams,
crawl out from mouth and ears
and pretend to be our fears.

It's just the Freud enterprise.

Be wise.

Recognize the truth.
You've seen its profile,
it's been a while
crocodile.

Light does amazing things.

It really needs you to be steady,
shapes your world if you're ready.

What if there was a copyright
on every ray of light?
Argh.

No rights claimed on the soft mind bubbles.
Oh, the pleasure of softness.

Rr-rr, rrrr.

Bugs dream too

2010-02-16T22:29:00.001+13:00

Glue lipstick

2010-02-16T10:14:00.003+13:00

The heart was lying there on the floor. He could feel it from where he was sitting, even if it wasn't inside his chest. It was getting hard to breathe, but he could feel it like if it had been right underneath his skin. It was sort of shrinking, like when you get very, very immensely nostalgic. Things were running through it, he could see the butterfly waking up and leaving it behind like a used-up flower. He could feel all the words fly by like summer breeze. He stood up and walked towards it. His feet were getting lighter, the kind of cat walk you do in dreams. He slowly took the heart in his hand. It was warm and sticky, like he always had been himself. The kind of heart that doesn't slip away from your fingers easily. He squeezed it a bit, and saw the colors drip off. Small lakes started spreading on the floor around his feet. The window was open, and the fresh air was dancing around his eyelashes. He breathed in and looked down on the floor for a second. When he looked up again it was gone. He'd thrown it away. The heart was flying as fast as a spaceship towards Orion. And the ground let him go.

Hey, black cat! Where's your hat?

2010-02-04T13:01:00.014+13:00

Cat! Where's your head at?

So, long time no nothing, had that chat before. How have you been lately? Jagger and I were discussing artistic issues the other night, and we couldn't get further than to how incredibly egoistic art is. Art in general i guess, but as film matters more to me in these exact few minutes within a lifetime, film especially, yes.

Black and Blue˙

No, wait. I did it again. It's all about myself. And although you might not believe it that wasn't the blogs purpose in the first place. I actually just wanted to shape ideas and maps that could lead to a book, a script or something. Very self-absorbed. Very stone-minded.

What?

Now that cause is lost, so why are we still here?

Golden Red˙

I guess the photography part of it started growing on me pretty fast, precisely with the first time i started wirlin' around with the olympus. Another part is, yes, yes, yes, egocentrism. You travel, you see amazing places, you hang with fantastic people, why wouldn't you want the whole world to know it? Look here, look at us! Look! Look!

Icy White˙

Is it really that bad? Yes, but. It's really freeing to. It's just mental vomit running straight from your inside into your fingers without further deep analysis. Sort of the exercise your hippie and way strange teacher would have you do in order to relax, let it go. It didn't work than, when you knew somebody could end up reading the shit. Right now, it's...Oh, it's just the same. But in a good way. Firstly, because you chose it. And the second you stop paying attention to my mind, whooom, those words are gone. Secondly, this is 2010. Right, this is neither a reason for anything or an excuse. But it's pretty damn exciting. How are you? This first month of the year has been amazing.

Twothousandandten is the year in which fourteen people and I and surely a few other millions on this planet will have to choose what to do with their lives. That's so scary and exciting that one could probably start a blog on the matter. Point is, we're all trembling and whispering and writing and wishing and half of our minds are gone! They're over there already, spread all over september, august, november. I'm wondering what to do with my leftover. Not that I have too much choice, at least if I can keep on being reasonable. But where is the other, future half?

Ooohh. One good thing with the blog is that you never need to give an answer. You can be as all-knowing and philosophical as you want and you can always end a post with a question mark. Annoying, huh? But I'm curious.

How are you?˙

The noise of black and white

2009-11-02T06:53:00.009+13:00

A walk with Napoleon

2009-09-26T03:05:00.008+12:00

I haven't been posting anything since August, and that's simply because I haven't had any time. At all. Not that I have any now either, but it just feels good to steal some hours from what I should be studying to put them on the blog. So much exciting has happened the past weeks - and will happen the next months. I'm trying to make a 35 mm adapter collaborate with me while I mentally go though the thousand pages i should be reading. But it's all good and it's all for the best.

Jesper and I worked on the almost-final version of the short screenplay for an absurdly long time. But again, it's all so good. We've started the planning and the plotting, and working with mates such as Anita, Bendik, Andreas and last but not least the producer himself is way exciting indeed. But enough life-time resumees. Those are the last pictures from an end-of-summerish tour on the Italian and French alpes on which Napoleon digged his way to conquer Italy.

Portraits of what we said

2009-08-31T09:55:00.012+12:00

Explorers of the universe unknown,
Everytime we leave, we do alone
and only when we're near it feels like home

We've been speaking with mouths and tongues
for way too long
she said, It's time to let the eyes shine,
and jumped naked down from the song

We used to tear time apart,
sometimes

Someone did it for twenty years,
others have been doing it for ninety-five.
Time doesn't bother me really,
as long as you say you'll come along.

We also used to make colors explode, and run away
laughing like wild animals.
We used to play with the shadows,
never understanding why the light would cut
the tips of our fingers.
Every time.

Than we ended up discussing about something philosophical .
Is there anything in this world that is more than three dimensional?
What if we were in a sphere
and didn't know it?
We would all be flying on the invisible surface
of the biggest fishbowl ever to be seen
openin our eyes, happy to be trapped
inbetween.

And we read all the letters on the walls,
and from the deepest valley in the warm blue sea
she screamt not to bother,
forever isn't a matter of calligraphy,
it's what we explore in the layers of the obvious
and make religion, only for us to be seen.

And yes, we're happy to bother you. Indeed.
It may feel disturbing, the presence of absence of appearance

At least when we live without translation,
no need for explanation or transplantation,
not even for a nation.
When our law
is a paper figure bound to a straw.

We never end up in the same place,
sometimes astonished, but hey the face
still tells a story with no line
a plot with a hundred mines
hidden in the pages
that you can't turn.
They're mine. Anytime.

This is just a portrait of what we said.

Explorers of the universe unknown,
Everytime we leave, we do alone
and only when we're near it feels like home

Turn, turn, turn

2009-08-31T05:01:00.011+12:00

You get on a buss, you are told it won't stop. Not because the drivers are mad or the stops too sad. It's just how you want it, you don't even need to say it. You sit down, and it starts.

The mad thing is, people get on and off anyways. Even if the speed touches a hundred, even if the nearest layers of the landscape outside become a blurry dance of swirling grass straws and strawberry swings.

Maybe you didn't even "choose it". Maybe it's just all you wanted. And you aren't surrounded by ghosts. The ones who are speaking to you and laughing with you and punching you on the tongue with a smile every time you say something stupid, are the ones you've always loved, and always have been there, and are concrete like the ground you walk on during the day, and light like the clouds you sleep on at night.

And your binary system melts down to one at last, and starts rolling as fast as the wheels of your bus. Months pass like lightnings and tornados, and you think you don't even have the time to turn around, and think.

But you do. You turn around the earth, you turn yourself around, the inside and the outside, you turn past and future and thoughts upside down, and you start loving plans again, because you can only touch them with your brain and you don't need the fingers for it. And you can change them because they're like plastiline, but they look better, and still they feel as solid as your feelings, as solid as today. You turn so much that thoughts and feelings finally start making sense. Everything that was brightens up, everything that will be shines because it's unpredictable, and beautiful. And I, I don't even know what I'm writing about. And it just feels so good. This might be the only untouchable thing that is more real than what you can touch.

Glitter

2009-08-13T10:07:00.003+12:00

Glitter from Maria Dyrvik on Vimeo.

Some things are just simple, as what you see might not always be everything there is to feel. This is the calligraphy of the sun.

My friend Polly

2009-08-10T11:25:00.005+12:00

Pictures are big! Click to enlarge. Cheesers!

Never (so) blurry

2009-08-08T11:50:00.011+12:00

We reincarnate everyday. Why would there be any need for a god, an afterlife, or another chance after this one? Why would I need it, when I get to see other worlds and this very one subverted during the short summer nights with my face sunk down in the pillow, and than choose my own body and my own life again and again every morning? Not that I'm really aware of it, or that life's a defined series of chapters, ending or beginning. Not that it is so, but it feels like it. In a more fluid way, perhaps. It doesn't matter how angry or sad I get, or how horrible the newspaperreels look like thursday morning. When I open my eyes, I can feel on the palm of my hand everything I have and have been given. I feel all the people I love crawling on my bones, all the stories in my mind lifting up my feet. Chapters never end for real, I go back to them, mix them up with the present and future. I change the lenses of my camera-brain, take off and put on contacts, make it blurry, make it okay again. Close my eyes when I need it, than open them to see. I'm not saying I'm gonna sit down and eat up happines without trying to give anything back. I do care. And hey, maybe I'm just lucky, maybe it's just something I see. Maybe you made me see it. You are a few but feel like a million, you are one and all. Maybe it's just the warm wind blowing absurdities out off my fingers tonight, maybe it's my own bible, one that needs no approval or veneration at all.

Enough spiritual-vomiting here. Back in june two smiling people left Auckland on a plane, and words become annoying after a while, and pictures are just better sometimes. If everything had to be followed by a caption it would become boring, and I would scream. No instructions or warnings today.

Those were the last Olympus-pictures for this chapter. And chapters never end for real.

[Sjieittalk inspired by "I Stand Correct" by Vampire Weekend indeed.]

Minds that never stop

2009-07-25T01:17:00.003+12:00

Here are some things some people should be pretty proud of (guess they are, too).

Just Colour from Jesper Kirkeby Brevik on Vimeo.

The Order from Bendik Stubstad Henriksen on Vimeo.

Of a day in June.

2009-07-20T09:11:00.008+12:00

The bus drove away (with us in it).

It's difficult to write about good things as if they were over. Good things never really end, they linger. And even though I'm writing using past verbs, I can still close my eyes and breathe in the sound of birds on the Blue Mountains.

But that's not where it started. It started way further east. In Hamilton, New Zealand. "We're gonna be late for the bus!" Surprising enough. (buy tickets on nakedbus.com and save money). Luckily we have a good friend willing to do us a favor and drive us to the bus stop. Smile, and wave bye. See you in two weeks. Bendik drives back to 40 Mansel, we sit on the bench with two backpacks and one guitar. The end of the Pauanui trip is just the start of another adventure. We don't have a plan, or a map, or a Lonely Planet for Australia (yet). What we have is a plane ticket to Brisbane, and a two-nights resevation in a hostel. And the big desire to see two old friends play in the Vector Arena tonight, but not a ticket for that either.

So the bus comes, and we observe the south disappear, and the skyscrapers of Auckland draw themselves up in the air outside the windows of the bus. We find a hostel while sitting in the bus, and book a room there. I wouldn't recommend the place to anyone though. And we get out. The air is slightly warmer than in Hamilton. We wander, grab a burger and finally find ourselves in front of the Vector Arena. We look at each other, hoping for it - without that much of a faith though. "Are there any tickets left for tonight?..." "Yes. Six."

The power of The Only Living Boy in New York

We sit down. The hall isn't that crowded when we enter to find our places with a glass of wine in the hand. After half an hour though, the arena is full. It's strange how nights light these just stick to your brain, and you know, you know it. You are never gonna forget it. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel enter the stage. And I remember all the details, all the small things. I remember the two women in their forties on our left, and the hippie girl on our right. I remember the mad people in the row in front of us, and I remember how many times I turned around to look at you. I remember how many tears I shed, but not to which songs I did it. It may sound ridiculous, but I actually found myself sitting there crying like a little girl. Of the beauty. It's the most beautiful concert I've ever been to. I could explain why, and what happened. I could write for hours of when Paul Simon's mic clicked and the audience started singing instead. Or of when I looked at you, and smiles exploded. But words are just words, and words can't compare. Not today.

Hooka.

We exit the arena with our minds in another galaxy. Hold hands to walk on a bridge over trouble water, from unknown planet to unkown planet. Not to let go of the feeling, of the quiet storm inside our minds. To reach the hostel and ask for "...a hooka bar?". The guy and the girl at the reception frown, and give us a quite weird look. "...a hooka bar?". "Yes, a hooka bar, you know, where you can smoke waterpipes..." "...a hooka bar?" "yes, a hooka bar". They look at each other again, raise their shoulders and mutter "oh, there's plenty around here, there's one just around the corner...". I think 'strange, I've only seen porn shops 'round here, but ookay'. So we walk around the corner, and find a stripper bar. Oh yeah, the area is full of stripper bars. And we get it. "Hooker". We do have to get back to the hostel and explain that no, we weren't looking for hookers. Just for waterpipes. "Oohh, you mean shishas" (I now wonder what they thought seeing a girl and a guy asking for hookers. Yeah). Anyways, yes, there are shisha bars. Not too far. One hour later we find the place. Not too far your uncle. But it's good to sit down with a shisha and some arabic food. And think that wooow. One hour ago we were in front of Simon and Garfunkel. Holy sjeit. Yes. This is one of the things that will stick to me 'til I'm nothing but bones.

Waiters rule

2009-07-12T18:51:00.006+12:00

Not that there are any rules, at all. But when somebody screams "You!" from the other side of the restaurant waving their arm thinking you're their dog, I actually wish there were some. Some quite specific ones actually.
Firstly, I am not your dog. I'm a person, more than happy to happily serve you, as long as you do not blame on me for your day gone wrong. I'm not saying you have to smile at me, but please don't look at me like I was the one who cheated on you. She's sitting right next to you.
Secondly, there are some words you learned when you were a little kid. "Please" and "Can I...". I know you thought it was, but "I want!" is not one of them.
Thirdly, I know this is not your home, it isn't mine either. That does not mean you are supposed to make a total mess of it, 'cause someone is gonna have to clean after you, and even though you might think "that's your job!", it's not. My job is to happily and politely serve you, otherwise my job would be called "mess-up cleaner from space", not "waitress".
And a last thing. Don't place a coin in my hand as a tip, please don't do it. If you want to leave something on the table to show appreciacion for the service I actually am grateful. But do not put it in my hand pointing at how generous you are, you're just being...I won't finish the sentence. Just...be a bit classy if you want to do it at all- for God's sake!'Cause for as much as I appreciate the thought, I'm not after your charity. I do have a job. You might not have noticed 'cause you were too busy waving your arm, forgetting politness and making a mess of your table, but I was actually the one serving you today.

Four and a half

2009-07-01T16:26:00.005+12:00

A man and a kid came by today to have a look at Bendik's bed, since he's selling it.

As soon as they walk in, the kid looks at Bendik.
"Do you know how old I am?"
"No...how old are you?"
"...four and a half"

Bendik leads the man to his room to show him the bed, the kid stays behind hesitating for a moment. He looks up at me.
"Do you have kids?"
"Uh?...No, i don't"
"How come you don't have kids?"
"Well..I'm too young....I think."
"Too young?"
"Yeah, too young..."
"How old are you?"
"I'm twenty-two"
"How come you're twenty-two?"
"That's because I was born twenty-two years ago...Yes."
"Oh...I am almost eight."
"Really?"
"How old will you be when I'm eight?"
"Mmh...that's in three years...Guess I'll be twenty-five"
"That's when you'll die."
"Oh...?"
"And you know what happens when you're a hundred?"
"No, what happens?"
"You'll get a letter.
"And what's in the letter?"
"It's a letter from...the king."
"But how can I get a letter from the king when I'm a hundred if I die when I'm twenty-five?"
"Well...than you won't get a letter from the king."

Kind of back, sort of leaving

2009-06-30T13:33:00.011+12:00

Three weeks of complete silence are a long time for a blogaholic. That is why I'm gonna make up for it during the next days. Most of the people have left the house now, and seeing all the toothbrushes disappear from the bathroom injects mixed feelings onto my brain. There's a bit of sadness, a bit of a big smile for everything that has been. Hansi left for Australia yesterday, Jesper and Rudi started their travelling around the North Island today. As for Bendik and me, the ones sitting here now, we'll be gone by Sunday evening. We'll travel back and forth in time, and eventually get home at some point.

This journey has been strange. Mostly because it hasn't been one single journey at all. It has been a skyscraper of adventures, a bunch of journeys bound together and made road. Most journeys change you I guess, you change even when you just stand still. But these five months of going away, settling down, going around and finally going away from what was away before, have changed me in a way I never would have expected. Not meaning I'm not me anymore, that would just be silly. Just meaning the big suitcase in my head weights more than before. In fact, I think it's become much heavier than the 17kgs pack I sent home via the New Zealand Post Service today.

(Bendik chillin' on the board)

But enough chatting about things you can't touch, bite, breath in or rub. Last thing I posted was the final animation production. A few days after we were all sitting in front of our laptops looking like mad scientist (not laughing though), analizing what we had done (that is probably what being a student implies). This does not mean we didn't take a break now and than. After all, Raglan is one and a half hour away. And most of the time that place does look like I picture Heaven in my very own mind. Things you can see, altså.

(Jesper getting up)

We handed in our analysis and stuff as well, and suddenly we were done. Waikato University is not only a bunch of good memories though, it ...are. Things we've done, made, learned, shorts, good bas stuff, doesn't matter. One evening we were sitting at our table, having a sort of last "normal" dinner together(without knowing it), and suddenly our Hamiltonish background magically disappeared. In favor of...

...Pauanui. Before leaving for Aussie and not getting to see Steve for a long time, this was the perfect way to say "see you almost-soon". Mr. Kane showed us hot water beaches, gold mines, caves and hidden beaches, and the time just slipped under our soles and dragged us to an end that looked quite similar to the beginning. A bunch of friends enjoying what life offers of good food, drinks, and most of all one of New Zealand's most beautiful landscapes.

Walking, driving, surfing, partying. This sounds nothing like the stress we had at uni right before. Now that some weeks have passed, nothing seems to have been a stress at all actually, everything melts down to one piece. All the times, all that we've seen and said, all that we've laughed about. And gin/Skin-dipping seems to have become a Pauanui tradition... Yeah.

It's friday afternoon. We spent the morning lighting our way through old gold mines with Kane's home made torches, and that was a capital t - bit of a trip. Now, we're all sitting in Steve's car. The lanscapes fly by, and I have the bittersweet taste of something ending between my teeth. It's as bad as it's good, the end comes with a beginning (cliché), and the beginning is called Naked Bus, departing Hamilton 13.something to reach Auckland... Err, sometimes in the afernoon. There are two good friends playing there on the 13th, in a place called Vector Arena. And than there is a flight to a quite big island west for New Zealand, but that's another story. Or just another chapter. If you're up for coming back for more.

Smashed Beauty

2009-06-05T17:34:00.006+12:00

In four days the University of Waikato will be a bunch of good memories. That is quite freaky. After sitting several dozen of hours in front of Final Cut, Premiere and Sountrack Pro the only thing I want though is more. More writing, focuspulling and light(n)ing. Possibly substracting deadlines and analysis and adding traveling and madness.
Right, never mind. The madness was there the whole way through.

If you want to enjoy some of it, this is our stop motion short.

Smashed Beauty from Maria Dyrvik on Vimeo.

Euterpe's under your fingers

2009-06-05T10:24:00.001+12:00

When I was little, coming up with an idea and build a fantasy universe around it was the easiest thing in the world. When I think of it now it does give me the chills.
My ideas seem now random and fragmented, and even when they shine some light on their own it's difficult to make them stick together. Mick Jagger told me it's probably 'cause I have higher expectations now. Well, sure. But still, I kind of miss the way it didn't matter whether the storylines of our games were logical, linear or anything else. They were simply attractive, they sucked us into something wide, with infinite possibilites. My brother and I would digg a hole in the ground and find ourselves on the side of a sugar river, and I would possibly and probably be a monkey, or an old man.

When the glimpses do stick together and turn into something visible to the rest of the world, resembling what I had in my mind, it's the best thing.
Even if it's not a wide and infinite child story. Even if it's just light and skin on screen. I guess that is what filmmaking is all about - only my opinion. I might be right or wrong...Etc.

Euterpe's under your fingers from Maria Dyrvik on Vimeo.

Arthouse imbécile

2009-06-04T13:54:00.000+12:00

I'll keep on blaming the camera for the small things that move without asking and fudge up the settings. But if anyone wants to buy these prints for fifteenhundred dollars yes, this is absolutely arthouse (imbécile).

Grasssleeping and haircuts

2009-06-02T16:49:00.005+12:00

Days are flyin' by fast. Seriously. Today we handed in our visual music projects, and we'll actually be done...in a week. Iiik! Today I finally got back a couple of filmrolls taken sometime "back" in may. Bendik's hair has grown quite long since than (at least, that's what he says), and Jesper isn't asleep i the bushes right outside Burger King anymore.

Hamilton BW

2009-05-26T18:07:00.012+12:00

You wonder when. When did it happen? When did happiness turn around and climb on a tree, waiting to jump on your head and knock you down on the ground?

You walk home, and look at the fence. You start walking faster, and as you keep your eyes firm, the small vertical gaps in the fence start showing more and more of what's behind, like a film rolling slowly, showing its framelines more than its frames.

Than you sit in the car, your forehad sticking to the glass and your eyes sticking to the outside. Voices and music mix down in your head, and the poles and the bushes start passing in front of your sight following the beat. You stop and you let your eyes flow, creating your very own rythm of images.

Strange sounds are heard at all times, weird thoughts slide on the floor. Strange creatures cruise the corridors. And the best part is, you are one of them.

Things are not always under control and that's okay. The drops slide down on the window and Hansi has met a new friend. The light plays with the walls, and the wind is warm, somedays. It's difficult to capture all the small images and situations, it's hard to make them stick to my mind at find them again the end of the day. An 1600 b&w is an amazing way to try and rewind.

Than there are the things that you enjoy forgetting, like a sudden smile or a cloud too fast for your lense. Probably 'cause thats yours just for one time, yours only.

Or moments like the 17th of may. Flags everywhere, and the best breakfast ever. For the company's sake, of course. The lenses enjoys sticking to smiles, playing with the light, not always as softly.

So life keeps rolling, in either colors or black and white down here, down under. I'm starting to get the chills though, I can lift my eyes over the map of the days and see the one in which we'll be done at the University of Waikato. That's strange. I think I'm getting road hungry again. And did I tell you? We're leaving for Australia in 3 weeks. Yey.

Bubbles and toes

2009-05-25T17:44:00.009+12:00

One day we found ourselves to be on a beach in Raglan. Cam showed off his mastering of waves, Hansi and Bendik followed him in the water while Jesper and I decided to dip our shoes in the salt ocean liquid while taking pictures. I borrowed Bendik's canon, and here's what happened.

Than we walked up to the car again. Cam talked some cows into starring in his next movie, we had a terrible cappuccino at the local bakery and drove home.

Some pretty busy days here, but still I have a little time to spend on the blog. And some time to enjoy the warm autumn wind when it finally decides to show up, blowing up the colors and the temperature. And a lot of time to enjoy all the small things, which become more and more amazing for each single day. Got nothing to do today, but smile. And all the rest.

Fall paints fences

2009-05-21T12:29:00.003+12:00

Random thoughts while I try not to get to work and essay-writing, random pictures taken around in Hamilton. Smash them on the wall, stick them in your skull.

They lay down on the grass, they both laugh like mad, and you'd think, they'v been smokin somthin' strange; and no, not at all, thay haven't. Serious faces can simply not stick to their heads for a second, even the stars turn around not to bend and explode.

It's brain tornado, and it's pure. The fall passes by lifting an eyebrow and shaking his head. His finger stops on his moustache, hiding the corners of the lips that are trying to lift up to a smile. He starts swinging around, throwing random colors on fences and trees.

Stop for a second, look up at the sky. Than down on the grass, he's lost his breath, and the sounds have lost their wings. Breathe in, smile softly but hide it enough.

Fall has come and yeah, the days are crazy. One day we have to wear wool not to freeze, one other we can walk up to uni in our tees. And the moments you can sit in the corner outside a building in the sun, getting baked by the thin rays, woow. That's worth a whole summer day.

Acid Blue

2009-05-20T21:50:00.000+12:00

Chapter Twelve
"Acid blue, sick green and inbetween"

We wake up inbween sick greens and yellows on the trees. We're not that far from Queenstown, and not that far from Christchurch. We're gonna head towards the last big city on our trip, before driving up to Picton, Wellington and Hamilton. But first, a breakfast. The local way.

Omelette with salmon, food never tasted as good "early" in the morning. Now we're ready for the very special part of the day. The lakes. And if the kiwi-dolphin-pee did have psychedelic effects, I must still have some of it in my blood. 'cause the blues up here are acids. And amazing.

It's just like the Big Painter, the one that fixed the look of the world after getting rid of the dinosaurs, had spared all the burning, silly, amazing colors for the New Zealand South Island. And here they are, blue and golden, dancing with each other, tickling the wind.

The road flows on the side of canals, rivers and lakes. We drive on isolated, strange roads, and breath in the silence of a world that seems soo far away from everything else really.

A church in the middle of nowhere becomes a turist trap and still, it's beautiful. Even the little crowd over there becomes fascinating.

On our way into Christchurch we give a ride to a french girl that has been working in Fox Glacier for a year. That's pretty amazing. I liked Fox Glacier, but the place also gave me a kind of claustrophobic feeling, I don't think I'd have beared having to be there for so long. We salute la mademoiselle, and drive into the big town, looking for a hostel. I'm actually looking forwards to a good shower and some good food.

And there we go. Newly dressed very stilish people ready to go out and eat in an indian restaurant, ordering tikka masala and sauvignon blanc from Malborough. It's a good evening, even if we have to deal with return ferry tickets and planning for the last big drive northwards.

We end up in a pub where a kiwi family and a japanese one jump around and take pictures of themselves slowly involving all the other customers in a picture taking circle where the people that take picture after a while get dragged in front of the camera, in a constantly growing bunch og madmans.
A singsonger plays Jason Mraz and Bob Marley on his guitar, and we drink Monteiths and enjoy the show. Than, we drag our arses back to the hostel, in the glowing lights of a weird Christchurch.

Chapter Thirteen
"Danish breakfast and invisible penguins"

We stop at a danish bakery seen the day before to eat breakfast, and I must say this really is the best breakfast of the trip. We walk a bit around town, than we pack the car and leave the hostel, to drive up to the volcanic peninsula just outside Christchurch. The Chariot stops halfway out there, but hey. Give the lady two minutes two recover and she's as good as new.

The wind is blowing crazy out past Governors Bay. And the turist road to Akaroa seems to never end. When we at last get there we get told it's quite difficult to see penguins, dolphins and anything really. We'd have to get on (an expensive) cruise. So we give up, driving for as long as we can and showing our fingers to the invisible penguins and the hidden whales. Well, it's still amazingly beautiful here.
On our way back Jesper tries out different interesting prositions of the passenger front seat, and we laugh. we juts laugh all the way into Christchurch.

It's the end of the day and we're all pretty tired. No shops are that interesing, but at least (I fool myself into believing that) I get to take some cool pictures. It starts getting dark, and we know that we have to leave. Picton is our stop for today, and it's gonna take quite some time to get there.

On our way to the ferry we make up a bunch of fantastic rules about how to react to the different signs and things on the road. Screaming to every Britz van we meet is the most important one, I guess. We park on the side of the road just outside Picton. Our ferry is gonna leave around 6, so we better get up in time tomorrow.

Chapter fourteen
"Of silly minds and pictures that never existed but stand still"

The ferry trip it's amazing. Jesper gets to see some dolphins, Hansi and I don't. We have a cozy breakfast in Wellington, and a last shop tour where more money gets "safely invested" in clothes.
But the time-hound's biting our heels, and we've gotta run. We wave goodbye to Wellington, surely missing most of its interesting bits. But hey, it's about missing and coming back sometimes. This time that's definitly the way to go.

It's probably my fault, but I'll do as I please and I'll blame it on the Olympus. The last filmroll never came through. So all the pictures I thought I'd taken in Chritschurch at sunset, and all the amazing sunrise shots on the ferry never existed. Neither did the last pictures of Wellington.

When we get to the southern part of the Taupo lake and I open the camera, I get it as quite a shock. The last roll never started. Well. The pictures are in my mind, and that's fine. Along with all the sick fun we had in the car during the last thirty-six hours, screaming like madsquirrels.

So we're not far from Mount Doom, just a step or fifty away from the Tongariro crossing, and it's getting really dark. Jesper now knows how to count to hundred in Italian and is learning the verbs. We change seats, and I take the steering wheel, pointing towards Hamilton. Hansi reads the map, Jesper sits in the backseat talking to a plastic bag. A couple of hours away from Hamilton we change for the last time and Hansi gets on the driver seat.

We disappear in the night, three knights of an order of fools, six pairs of tired eyes and three brains smashed into tiny pieces by a road-trip tornado. We got to damned Invercargill and up again, and we laughed our arses off. Somedays we looked like hobos and smelled like mountain goats, some other days we looked pretty and smelled nice. We had breakfasts like never before, fooled and got fooled. Creating rules for a world trapped between the doors of a Mitsubishi Chariot, we ruled the road indeed.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe... The things you'll never forget.

Chapter Eleven

2009-05-18T10:00:00.000+12:00

"Churches of Dunedin [də-ˈnē-dən ], cute Rosie, cheap wool and Willy Wonka"

Yap. I'm writing here while waiting for final cut to render a tiny piece of my music video. Puh. I was really not in the mood for it yesterday. It's not like Bob Dylan or Mick Jagger, I'm always in the mood for Bob or Mick. Editing means you have to see things, and use them. The right cut, the right in and out point. Somedays, it just doesn't work. Today it's much better. So I thought I'd exploit the inspiration and write a few words about the Dunedin part of our South Island trip as well.

Whaam! Morning. bibibibibiiiip, no wait. It's too early. Anyways, have a shower (mmmh), get up!

We slept in a big hostel over a poolbar last night. Which is cool. The images that flow down from the memories of yesterday evening are about an irish pub with amazing food and streets at night. And poolplaying, and Monteith's, which is good. So, the day starts again. With the irish pub, again. We have a great breakfast, than start wandering through the streets of Dunedin.

There's a cool curch and a strange man standind on the other side of the street. He stands there for a long time and keeps on smoking. I can't help taking a picture of him, and feel of course very M16agent in that very moment. There are painted kids on the walls of Dunedin, and the sun in shining. We're like the only living boy in New York. We get all the news we need on the weather report, and we've really got nothing else to do today than smile.

Jesper stands here in front of the railway station in Dunedin, one of the most photographed buildings in New Zealand. The railway station is just behind my camera. So you don't see it here. What you see here is just as interesting as the very much photographed railway station of Dunedin. And of course, this is only my opinion. I might be right or wrong. Etc.

Dunedin is tagged, and beautiful. The walls breathe, with color. We go to a shop that very much corresponds to the norwegian Fretex and buy wool shirts for five bugs. We try on strange clothes, and pass by strange buildings. I like Dunedin. I really do.

Rosie is cute, and we walk to Cadbury. Which is a chocolate factory. No Willy Wonka though, our guide gives me the impression of being dragged around by someone that just had a chocolate indigestion or someone who had lemons in vinegar for breakfast. We see a quite powerful chocolatefall, and finally get fooled into buying some delicious chocolate. That's the good part. And Hansi keeps on smiling, 25 hours a day, which is also good.

The last drops of light slide down towards the bottom of the day. So what we do is we leave the city center, and drive to...No, don't ask me the name, 'cause I really do not remember it. Somethingsomethingstreet. Which is the world's steepest street. Worse than San Francisco, aha. And we drive up, and down. And the Chariot never lets us down.

Music in the car, the cold asphalt gets a good massage while we drive northwards. Or next stop is by the lakes. We'll sleep somewhere in the middle of nowhere tonight. By a lake, in the moonlight.
It's amazing how somethings just go how you expected sometimes. Just 'cause it doesn't happen that often. But it happens tonight. I just have to place the Olympus over the car and click a few times. We fall asleep on a dark earth caressed by moonlight, and have no freaking idea of the freaking colors we'll wake up to tomorrow morning.

Our Beauty

2009-05-16T14:45:00.000+12:00

A short film written by Cabin Crew:

DAVE

Cam Neate: Director
Maria Galliani Dyrvik: Producer
Jesper Kirkeby Brevik: Cinematographer/Editor
Bendik Stubstad Henriksen: Cinematographer/Editor
Tim Armstrong: Editor/Special effects

Chapter Ten

2009-05-12T20:21:00.001+12:00

"We were 4000 km away from the southpole, so we just swam with dolphins and played with waves"

It's difficult to explain the feeling of waking up on the edge of the world. It's of course not as dramatic as it sounds, especially when you wake up with a lip as big as yor whole face and with a hand that looks like a blown-up gum glove. Never mind, mosquito bites act just funny sometimes. Thing is, we're in Invercargill! No, we're actually not, we're in Bluff, even further south. As the big yellow sign (here portrayed in twenty-seven pictures at least) says, we're about 4000 km away from the south pole. That means that if the penguins over there had a good telescope, they would probably see us pretty clearly. Right.
We take pictures of the sign and our-very-selves, jump around, observe the way of the world, which is beautiful.

Than, we're off to Invercargill. And well, there isn't really much to say about this sleepy city. The silence and the ghost-city feeling might be due to the fact that it's the monday after Easter. Anyways, everything seems to be closed, and there almost no-one around. So we get to the only interesting spot in town. The Hammer Hardware.

'Cause there is the fabulous Indian, Burt Monroe's jewel. The world's fastest Indian. When I ask some guys in the shop about Monroe's house, though, they say it's not there anymore. Other houses have been built on it. That leaves indeed a kind of bitter taste in my brain. Argh. We're off again!

So, we're on our way to Dunedin, driving on the southern scenic route, with the vaste ocean on our right hand side. What we want to do is, swimming with dolphins. We stop in a Bay (purple bay? red bay? something like that), and we look at the water. Jesper sees dolphins. We throw our clothes off, our wetsuites on, and we just jump into the water. I have to get out after 5 minutes 'cause my lungs have problems moving to get in air. The legs aren't a problem, I just cannot feel them anymore. Jesper and Hansi swim after the dolphins, and after a while we're all stranded, exhausted. With big smiles on our faces. The dolphins probably laugh at us from under the water, but we don't care.

Right behind the corner, we find a spot where the waves crash in amazing ways against the rock. And that's the photo session for the day. Hansi gets soaked, Jesper takes pictures, I jump on the rocks and finally sit down. There's a seagall that flies in the strangest way, and i just get stoned observing it.

The colors are mad, we are mad. And that's just fine, it's chilly but never enough to get cold, we're exhausted, but never enough to stop. The sun appears from behind the clouds at times, hiding there for the rest of the day.

And the colors are just crazy. In the beginning I just thought that kiwidoplhin-pee had psychedelic effects, but after having developed the pictures I just had to admit the nature was the darn good (bastard) artist.

We look at the edge of the world for one last time. Than, we head north. We're on our way back, kind of. On the other hand, I'd say we're never really on our way back anyways. I see new things on the horizon and stuff. The future awaits for us and stuff. The sky is magical, and it's not only because I'm obsessed with it. If you see what I mean.

Dave on Vimeo

2009-05-11T23:59:00.001+12:00

Here it comes. It didn't make it, it doesn't matter. It's our sweetheart.

The Beauty's here:

Dave - 48HOURS from BendikSH on Vimeo.

Another thing that is recommended is a detour to Jesper and Bendik's blogs.

Piss out!

Popcorn break

2009-05-11T15:27:00.000+12:00

It's funny how the mind keeps on constantly building a future world. It's even funnier how the future itself tears apart all these ideas.

I'm sitting in a corridor, waiting to start a long work-night. Two days ago, Bendik, Tim, Cam, Jesper and I were sitting home, wondering whether we should shoot out short film in the airport. I actually adore how things just go the other way round, even when not everything happens as you wished. You are still the one that make them happen. Our attempt to win the 48hours furious filmmaking didn't go that well. We didn't deliver the movie in time. The thing is, we've actually made something we're proud of, and thats just great.

It feels like the mind and the heart absolutely have to roll at 12 frames per second, here in Orion upside-down town.

Chapter nine

2009-05-05T21:15:00.000+12:00

"When the coulds used to paint the water: not a whisper in Milford Sound"

We wake up in the middle somewhere, and yes, it reminds me somehow of the first day we woke up not far from Wellington. Here we are, more than a week after. We've gotten good at transforming the car into a three-people bed, and we've travelled far. We pack the Chariot, fill the car with fuel and drive away. On the way we stop to try and help to girls that seem to have problems with their car. We look at it, we lift our eyebrows and we state quite sincerely that we dont't have a clue, we really don't know how to help. We offer them a ride to Milford Sound, but they want to take their car back to Timbuctu. So we drive away, devouring the distance between the fjords and us. Getting nearer to the Sound the tourist crowd grows, and yes, it does remind me of Hardanger during the summer. The fjord kind of does so as well. Similar, just...different. There are no roads, no buildings, and the tourists are caged in the cruiseships that frequently cross Milford's waters.

It sort of reminds me of the scene in Orion Belt where a tourist is stopped before he can shoot down an ice bear. And it makes me smile. The clouds seem like big water duvets trying to reach the sky, but too heavy. So they just remain there, floating by the mountains' side. We get on our boad, an the cameras go mad for some time. Than we stop, and we just look at it, we look at the constant beauty scrolling sideways in front of us.

Mountains and falls, the water screams and roars, defendig its position in the world. Right now it's difficult to imagine the poles melting and Venice submerged. The fact that the glaciers on the top of these mountains actually aren't gonna be here in thirty years scares the shit out of me, though.

Above, an attempt to catch the jump of two dolphins in which I fooled myself into believing my olympus would make it. Isn't it a nice example of modern art though?

After a while, some sunbeams appear between the water duvets over our heads, painting the water and the earth with some amazing reflections.

We stop in an underwater observatory, where we can observe fishes adn stuff in a greenish, cool light. My pictures from that part suck, so I'll just leave it to your imagination. When the fishes finally get tired of us we leave again, floating towards the base. A mosquito sits down on my lip, bites it, I swallow the mosquito and after five minutes i look like I've failed some kind of sick experiment involving botox. Well, I don't have pictures of that either (what a shame!), but still, close your eyes, imagine it and have a good laugh.

We get out of our ship, into the car, and start driving. The goal for today is damned Invercargill. And it's just about driving, see the light flashing in sick ways down from the sky on some lakes, stop, take pictures, start driving again, and again, and again.

Photographers need some technical abilities, a geometrical sense for the whole world, a sixth sense that explains to them the rythm of the world through lightlines, horizons and vertical shapes, some ingeneering skills. And a good deal of luck. Like when heaven decides to take a break and fall down on earth.

We've stopped counting the roadkills long time ago, now we're on to counting sheeps. We stop and Jesper bends out of the Cariot to take some pictures of the animals. A bunch of farmes drive past and scream at us. Everybody in this country's crazy about screaming at people from their cars! Ahaha, that's a good laugh as well.

That's the last picture for the day, and our last stop before Invercargill. We stop in the city just to have some food, and than drive up to Buff, where the South Island ends. It's incredible, we've driven through a whole island. And now we're here, parking in the dark and getting to sleep in the chariot, in our sleeping bags. We're gonna wake up looking at the end of the world at dawn. Who gets to do that?....

Chapter eight

2009-05-04T19:54:00.001+12:00

"Queenstown falls on color"

It's morning. And it's a wonderfu day. Today we'll meet Mike and Brian, who are travelling around the South Island the other way around. Waiting for the two american boys with their Wicked van, Hansi Jesper and I walk around town, looking for cool stuff and warm clothes and trying to book the cruise in Milford sound for tomorrow. When we finally meet, we're ready for an exploration that will take us to quite some places. The little Lord-of-the-Rings-location book that Jesper's borrowed from the uni library helps us getting up to what I'd dare calling a breathtaking scenary.

Deers and goats walk around happily ignoring us and not scared at all. They even lay down in the middle of the road and glance at two cars shaking their heads and proably thinking "oh lord, another bunch of freaks".

The Chariot really behaves on this kind of road, our 4x4 baby shows what's shes worth. On top of track there are small blue lakes, yellow meadows and of course, a building that looks like a chinese prison. And no, I haven't got a clue of why that thing is there. But it's pretty fascinating, surely worthed a click of my Olympus.

Here and there are some locations that were part of LOTR. If you're a great fan you'll surely recognize them yourself. If you, like me, are a goldfish who can hardly remember whether Arwen hooked up with Aragorn or with Gimli, just have a good look at all of this, than close your eyes and imagine you're walking though these meadows. Imagine you sit down, with the grass straws tickeling your arms, legs and face. Imagine you see the sky and the rest of the world though a yellow, organic frame. And all of this smells like the sun that right in that moment is warming your sking, fighting the breeze.

We drive up to Arrowtown once again, to walk up some kind of Nazgull-bataille river. Hansi and Jesper disappear up the river, on an expedition to fin the exact spot where the Nazgull scene was shot. Mike and I walk around for a while taking pictures, than we all meet in town.

It's the day before Easter, and Jesper completes the first step of the chocolate-egg plan, buying a Cadbury egg trying not to get caught by Hansi. We drive back to Queenstown, and Mike meets us for an incredibly good dinner at a mexican restaurant. We finally salute him: we have to leave, in order to get to Milford Sound by tomorrow morning. I drive, Hansi reads the map, and Jesper prepares the small clue-drawings for the chocolate-egg-quest in the dark of the backseat. We stop in Te a...something (I just got used to call it Timbuctu) and park the car in a field right outside town. Tomorrow we'll fill COF with fuel and drive up to the fjords. In the black of the night the quest for the egg hidden inside the car starts, and it's good fun to watch Hansi movig like a tornado on spide inside the Chariot to find all the clues. He eventually finds the chocolate egg, and we all eventually fall asleep. It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be amazing.

Chapter Seven

2009-05-01T17:23:00.000+12:00

"Breakfast at Cook's, Narcissus, lakes devouring the sky, labyrinths and fish soup"

It has been a freaking cold night. Yes, Fox Glacier is a cold place. So waking up and getting out of the sleeping bag is just as hard as it can be. We force ourselves to do it though, because the invisible hounds of time that keep chasing us southwards. Almost a week has gone since we left now, but it feels like we've been on the road for ages. So we do tighten up our frozen arses and pack the car. We won't eat a croissant in front of a jewelry today though: our breakfast will be far more fancy.

Hansi walks in front of the small row of half-asleep us, the shoebox with bread and cheese under one arm, a bottle of orange juice in the other hand. We cross a bridge and there we are, in the middle of a forest whose trees and bushes are having the greatest time playing with the early morning sunbeams. We walk along the path on the sides of Lake Matheson, Jesper and I stopping every five stepst to get a picture, Hansi veeeery patiently waiting.

And enough is enough. When pictures have been taken, what remains is to stop in a spot and devour the food in a far less gentle way than what Audrey's mouth would have done. High level pissed-off aggressivity can be really fun to both watch and live between us. Our getting way too earnest and way too angry at any time and person in the car is a sort of big joke that will continue til the end of the trip. Here below you can observe J & H practicing.

Waterdrops fall from leaves and spiderwebs play the morning rays of light. Narcissus tries not to drop her camera in the lake, for any small wave from such a splash would turn the perfect reflection of Mount Cook into an impressionist painting.

Cotton candy on the bushes, light games all over the place. I never get enough, at after a short while I realize even my OM10 isn't enough. It's the same as Pancake Rocks or the Abel Tasman, or as a perfect sunny autumn day in Hamilton. You capture a detail of it, than you put away the camera and let the warmth (or the coldness) of the air, the sounds, the smells in as all the missing pieces of a perception puzzle.

The road, again. It's like a child you leaving playing with the colored plastic balls pool when you have to shop at Ikea. It's there, waiting to drain you for energy and you, you adore it. The big adventure continues every second, for every turn of the wheels.

And it's simply perfect, the way we can push the break down every time we see a sign that leads to something that could be amazing. Most of the times it is, amazing. We blend in with the other tourists, or we discover isolated spots, where we feel like Colombo in a Gulliver's world. Mini-universes to discover sitting down on the sand and showing our teeth in distorted smiles to the clouds, rivers on which we can jump around like elegant frogs, we're a first-class brand of aliens monkeys catapulted into the next galaxy.

The grass straws keep on swinging in the wind, indifferent to our passing by. But nothing is indifferent to me, when the sun decides to be so kind and slide down on the earth, lighting up all the existing colors. The road is like a solid jelly river, reflecting colors and creating its own.

We stop in a Puzzling World in which we get our perception distorted by illusions and in which we run like madrats through a labyrinth. Up and down, the feeling of getting lost and found makes the heart beat like your next drumset, supposed you wanna be a drummer, aey. We leave the solid behind, keeping the feeling, the memory, letting the world floating inside the head.
The sun starts sinking, shutting down almost all the colors, leaving a few, burning, behind. We drive down the mountains towards Queenstown, and stop in Arrowtown, to have dinner in a really cool and quiet place. Fish soup, maroccan soup. Than it's time to get to the hostel.

Jesper and I try to go out in Queenstown, having forgotten a tiny detail. It's Good Friday. No entry in any pub unless you buy something to eat with the drinks. Weell. We'll save the energy to run around tomorrow. 'Cause we're in Queenstown now, and a few of the Lord of the Rings sets are just around here! Aaand, we're planning a bit of an exploration on our own, tomorrow!

Chapter Six

2009-04-30T20:32:00.000+12:00

"We chased the high tide, walked on pancake rocks, forgot hats, stepped on wood and catched the moon rising"

It's morning. And we're ready for the high tide chase: our first stop today will be at Te Miko, and in order to see the blowholes and the waves crashing against the pancake rocks, we'll have to be there around ten-eleven. So we go, following the Route 6, crashing our eyes against the sea. Hansi drives, I read the map and Jesper plays the guitar in the backseat.

Everything is under control, crew. And of course, pancake rock's just like Hønefossen back home, which means buses stuffed with tourists, cars, vans, souvenir shops and cafès all around. The rocks are not deceiving, though. They become more and more spectacular as we walk along the path, and no, it's really impossible to describe the strenght of the noise of the waves and of the wind, trapped into colors that are as powerful as the currents. It seems like a bunch of whales are having a school reunion between the rocks under our arses.

We climb the pancake stairs, good material for our chemist - and temporary geologist, mr. Hansi. We observe with scepical looks the interpretation that others have given to the rock-drawings in front of us, laugh and give our own ones, probably even more insane.

The boys buy some icecream, Jesper forgets his newly-bought Volcom beanie in the cafè, and whoom, on the road again. We pull off following a smaller side road, and we get to a beach that seems spilled out from some kind of dream you could have had after eating loads of delicious chocolate ice cream before going to bed. It's amazing. It's the three of us and nobody else, not a mouse, not a dinosaure. Us, and the weird shapes formed by the woodstocks, and the smooth stones. The kids wake up in our eyes, as we run around and breathe in sun.

It seems almost unreal, everything is so calm but also so exciting. I'm excited, and smiling just for the smile's sake. And because of the circus we seem really, and the lines of laughter we paint on the transparent air with.

The road is there again, frying the wheels of our Chariot of fire. Whoom, and the music fills the car. I get the news I need on the weather report and bang bang bang and take your money, you were a child crawling on your knees so take only what your need, you better you better you bet so pop goes the world and out here in the fields I don't need to be forgiven. Pull off the road again, near a campervan of retired germans. I can't keep the energy inside, I just have to run up and down and jump around for a couple of minutes. And than we're like Jesus or like Deep Purple's smoke, dancers on the water.

The mountains starts appearing again, thousands of meters straight up from the ground. It's beautiful, and now we start looking forwards (litterally), to try and see Mount Cook. And a cow observes Jesper and Hansi on the seesaw.

We reach Franz Joseph glacier while the shadows are slowly sucking it and pushing towards the evening. A short walk up to the glacier takes us to a quite interesting sight. But the last bit of road is still waiting for us. We leave tons of ice behind our shoulders, and start the Chariot up.

It's a race against the turning around of the world and against the arc of the sun. We want to get to Fox glacier before the sun slips down, we want to get the last rays on Mount Cook.

It feels like being in an action movie, when we stop (iiik!!) in front of the tourist information. The boys run in and get out after a few seconds, waving a map in the hand. We have a spot, and few minutes to get there. Whooom, again, while the sun sinks behind the horizon. When we reach our spot, mr. Sun is just begone. And than we look up, towards Mount Cook. The moon is rising. And the colors are simply incredible. Some weird birds make some weird noises, and it starts getting really cold. But the silence that finally covers everything, the darkness floats in intense, unique.

The night takes Fox Glacier bite after bite. We order interesting salmon pizzas, hide in an internet point with internettt axes card and finally push our babychar on the side of the road to try and get some sleep. Some can see the stars through the windows, I can see the moon. It's seriously hypnotizing, although I guess Hansi and Jesper would say I'm simply obsessed with it. Never mind, tomorrow it'll be gone.

Chapters Four and Five

2009-04-29T13:40:00.000+12:00

Chapter four: "It was cold in the tent, than it started raining and we drank fine wine"

It's about finding comfortable, cheap and fast solutions to our 11 p.m.ish accomodation problem. And, in my modest opinion, that is one thing we've become seriously good at during our road trip. This is one of the first nights out though, and we're still experimenting. We go for the tent solution. Two of us sleep in it outside, and Hansi gets the Chariot. Yeah, no, it's alright I mean. Pretty cold, we'll have to try something else next time.

We wake up on the side of the road with some others 4 or 5 camper-vans parked near to us. We salute the grey morning with a little walk, looking at yellow and red trees. And the road is there again, sliding under our wheels, offering some splattered possums here and there. I'm not kidding, I've never seen so many roadkills in my life.

When we stop in Nelson the clouds bend a bit down starting to pour down rain. The mood isn't at its best. The gods are pissing on us, we're hungry and our kayaking-in-the-sun plan will obviously not work out. I also get to know about something terrible about an earthquake in Italy, without having any details. I try to contact some people via sms, and after I've done that I know there isn't much else I can do. It may sound a little cynical and little unsensitive, but the distance shapes thick, invisible walls to alterate the perception of tragedies. I don't really realize anything as I should, not even the most tragic event.

Everything seems as black as the sky, but sometimes a breakfast in a seriously cool pub can save your day. We get some information about cool winetours in the area, we do find a hostel, and half an hour later there we are, sitting on a small bus driven by an oldish kiwi lady with a new-married australian couple, a Hamilton-couple and two irish ladies with a little girl. The tasting is fascinating, it's a mixture of constant laughter and increasing of blended flavors and alcohol in the mouth. The tastings happen through the ironic and mocking smiles and laughs of the kids, and that's alright, it actually makes the tour. (Punktum)

We get fooled into buying a red Montepulciano - pretty good really - by a really fun farmer that pulls out some stories about rubies and wives forgiving husbands. In and out of the bus, starting to get quite tipsy, and a brewery is our last stop. By this time we've become friends with all the people on the tour, especially with Nick and Lisa, the australian couple.

Back to the hostel and out in town again. We walk to "our" pub (simply the one cool we ate breakfast at) to have dinner there. And hey, Mac's red is the choice. And heey, Nick and Lisa enter the pub. We sit there talking their jobs, and about ...stuff, 'til they have to go. We reckon it's time for us too to drag our arses back to the hostel. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow.

Chapter five, "This place looks like eden and oh making tacos in a camping kitchen is such a great idea"

The currents in the water are too strong, we are too late, they are too expensive. Basically, no kayak today, my love has gone away. Instead, we drive up to the beginning of the Abel Tasman National Park. And wow, do you remember what I wrote about Eden falling down and such stuff? Well I was wrong, this is actually Eden. The words can only drag you into the feeling of warm air on the skin, of sea perfume and of bird songs and fall sounds in the air. Your eyes and imagination will have to do the rest.

We walk through a path that takes us to some quiet beaches where the colors seem to dance with each other, blending within the canvas without ever disappearing. Jesper trains for his future job as a circus acrobat, and we all sneak into holes in the rocks and jump around.

Yes, we get pretty obsessed with the incredibly cool rock over there. As we play around the bushes and the shells and the grains of sand and everything observe us silently, probably smiling inside. About five minuets away from the car it starts raining. We're so soaked it's not funny, but still, we laugh.

The rain, of course, stops as soon as we've reached a roof under which we can hide. Well well, as I said before I really am found of this weather's sense of humor.

A few hours later we're still driving southwards. Our goal is to reach Westport tonight, and possibly have something to eat. The landscapes slide through the windows, and there they are, the most important altough silent and discrete beautis of this trip. Everything outside. Clouds, sky and earth, flowing in the opposite direction of our dear Chariot, hitting the eyes 'til they're filled with too much beauty.

In Westport we find an ok camping, and we get ready to make dinner. Jesper and I smartly suggest "Taco!!" as the main course. Now that is smart and easy to make in the kitchen if a camping with no frying pan and almost no utensilens. Considering the circumstances I'd dare to say we actyally did pretty well. Than it's bedtime. A quick look at the bible deposited in the recycling case (have a look at Jesper's blog for further information), and goodbye pork pie. Tomorro we are gonna walk on pancakes of rock, and do car-slalom between lakes!

The Kids Are Alright - Chapters 1,2,3

2009-04-28T14:43:00.000+12:00

Chapter one, "We're gonna take this damn car down to Invercargill! Or to the gas station next door."

It's around seven a saturday afternoon. It's sunny in 40, Mansel ave. The kids hug Bendik and wave and smile, and such. They drive away.

And stop at the gas station about five-hundred meters away from home. They check the car, and find out something is leaking. A little fountain of an unknown liquid (is it water, oil, beer? Who knows.) pumping out from somewhere in the motor makes Jesper, Hansi and Maria suspicious. Jesper puts a little tube back into a place where it looks like it's supposed to be, and after filling the car up with oil and fuel, they drive away. To ignore the problem is the best solution when you're dealing with the Chariot. The amazing thing about it is that I'm not joking. The chemist and the "media-people" drive towards south west, listening to music and laughing, disappearing in the dark of the night, passing Taupo, still driving southwards.

Chapter two, "Of when they woke up in the middle of somewhere"

The Velvet Underground play Sunday morning, and we open our eyes. We're laying inside the car, the sun is raising. Wellington is not far, the air is cool.

We devour the remaining road, and enter the capital. We book the ferry for tomorrow through the hostel, and suddenly there we are, walking in a whole new world, like those who appear day after day, when you travel from place to place. We enter no museum, we stop under no church. We enter and exit shops and streets, emptying pockets and filling eyes and hands.

We stop in front of a cinema, and a new journey of laughter starts in front of the big screen. Monster Vs. Aliens 3D is definitely recommended. We fall asleep knowing that a ferry and a whole island are waiting for us tomorrow.

Chapter three, "The narrow streets of Wellington and the dark ones of Picton"

Wellington is the most windy city I've ever seen. The clouds fly by like birds on red bull. The kids leave the hostel for a last tour through what we still see as a pretty chaotic city. I like though, it's a chill chaos.

Hansi, Jesper and I walk through shops and streets again, up narrow and strange stairways, clicking and pulling focus though tagged walls and autumn-painted leaves.
The chariot gets packed and ready to float. At six O'clock the Jespers sir drive the car into the ferry, and the waterrooute is set, destination: Picton, South Island.

Our first thought when we bought the ferry ticket was "Ooh, yeah! Leaving at six p.m. we get to see the sunset on Cook Strait!". Yeah right.
A few minutes later we're floating in what I'd call with little or no doubt "pitch black". We don't really get to see anything at all after leaving Wellington. The view of the city at night from the sea is pretty cool though.

We drive through Blenheim to drive towards the Abel Tasman and Nelson (it takes me a little while to get that we're driving in the wrong direction).
After being stopped by the police because of not turning the lights on after having stopped for a little while in the center of town, we get on the right route again. Westwards!

Hello!

2009-04-21T22:56:00.000+12:00

Aey, long time no see (or type)!

Yes, we've been away for more than two weeks now.
But I'm back! We're back! With a travel journal in my pocket, and a bunch of film rolls that I'll have to pay sweat and blood to develop.

So an update about the beloved road trip to the south island might not be the first thing I'll start working on tomorrow morning at 7 a.m.
But do not despair, I'll do my homework and get things to work as soon as I can. In the meantime you can enjoy some of our real homework (the one for university). Here and here! 'Cause yes, that's still what I'm here for -believe it or not.

And hang on, because in a few days you might find a wild bunch of 35mm right here. Pictures of a Chariot leaving Hamilton, Waikato, hosting three sleepy norwegians, getting dragged down (or should I say dragging us down) to Invercargill and up again, on the other side. I'm surely gonna have to write something about my partial mutation into a mosquito, or about attempted swimming with dolphins.

All of this and much more some unspecified time very soon!

So long!

2009-04-03T10:43:00.001+13:00

Tomorrow's the big day. We're gonna jump in the car and drive down south, somewhere.
Jesper and Hansi are ready for the trip, and so is my Olympus. Even though we haven't made any plan at all. Bendik will stay in the North Island, enjoying Killers and downhill.

Whatever happens, it's gonna be awesome.

So long, thanks for all the fish, hamburgers, and see you in two weeks!

The living ones

2009-04-01T22:50:00.000+13:00

Sunday evening, on the bus. The kid wipes off the fog from the window and stares outside. The orange sky is shining throught the distorted landscape. It's getting dark and it's time to sleep. Or maybe it's time to wake up. Hasn't it all been a dream?

The expert fools team jumps in the car, ready for the new adventure and road hungry as always - and as never before. It's friday afternoon, and the sky is sliding towards sunset already. We drive past the most amazing landscapes, the ones drawn by the fingers of lake Taupo.

Sigur Rós plays through some burning clouds, the fingers of the night can't wait to wrap themselves around us. At our last stop before destination we play with the weaker sunbeams and with the shadows, drinking the golden light that has invaded everything around us.

We reach a last the place where we're gonna spend the night.

And wow, yes. It's a school camp, and it looks like an old school from the fifties. It's amazingly fascinating. And there's something spooky to it, that's for sure. We keep of course on kidding about that. The ghosts hidden behind the walls must have had a good laugh as well, aey.
Half a pizza, a couple of beers on some old couches, than it's bedtime. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow. A beautiful day.

With a bit of rain. That's just a detail. We're driving towards the start of the Tongariro crossing, and some rain is falling from the sky. Oh, it's soon gonna stop.

Or maybe not. On the walk towards the top the rain increases in quantity and power, and a cold wind starts blowing. I got it, I've got it. We've got it. This was not the best day to go for a little walk on an old volcano. The ridiculous thing about the whole is that I'm actually enjoying it. I'm laughing at myself, than at us, and I'm having fun, while Steve and Bendik are waaay ahead of Jesper and me.

The downhill is real fun. We slide down from the top on volcanic sand, and it's like skiing on black, grainy snow. We run past some bewildered tourists, laughing, screaming, freezing. We leave some fog-baked blue acid lakes behind us, and are once again alone with Mother Nature. She hears us singing loud some Beatles songs though the desert, quiet landscape.
The rain stops falling, and some sunbeams appear towards the end of the path. I love this weather's sense of humor.

A few hours later we're floating in the water of some thermal pools, getting cooked like tired, happy chickens. It feels like we deserved, although the word "deserve" never really sounds appropriate to me. We leave some beautiful mountains behind us, some wonderful landscapes that we never got to see. That's pretty fascinating. I love having reasons to go back to places.

Be thankful for all the things you've lost, amen.

It's Saturday evening and we're back in Hamilton, rushing to get to the big Balloon show at university. I leave my camera at home, and like Jesper says, leaving the memories to the mind alone, does give a sense of freedom sometimes.
The balloons are lightened up following the rhythm of the music, the cricket lawn on campus is packed. It's just like being back in the North Harbour Stadium. Well, the Who aren't there, that is a pretty important detail. The fireworks explode over our heads. It feels good to just have a sip of kiwibeer and let the world work for our minds, getting brainlessly amazed and blasted by some lights flashing in the sky.
Time stops being a matter, numbers are never important when the beats of the music regulate the passing of hours, days, and breaths.
Undefined elapsed time, and we're following Oklahoma Boy and Jersey towards a house right in front of campus. Some guys are standing naked on the roof, and the whole crowd walking away from the balloon show slows down staring at them. I'm incredibly amused, I can seriously not stop laughing and smiling. Undefined elapsed time, and we're walking towards the city, meeting random people that I'm gonna forget in a while. Undefined elapsed time, bar 101, and heyk, Stever's here!, undefined elapsed time, again and again.

Dlindlontrilliliii, whatever sound the alarm on my cellphone makes. It's sunday morning, nine o'clock. And we have a whole day of adventures ahead of us. Aey!

Our bus heads towards our beloved geothermical-stinking Rotorua. And the first stop is the Zorb. That has got nooothing to do with the Zorba-the Greek dance. Although it's a bit of a dance, for sure. It's the kind of thing I've dreamt of as a child. I remember looking at my roof at home, my head upside down, wondering how I eventually would place the furniture if the house was ever gonna be tilted upside-down. 'Cause that would have been so cool. Be able to walk on the roof inside the house. And roll down a hill in a gum ball filled with warm water. Believe it or not, it's the best thing to do after a party night.

The kid pushes the nose against the still foggy glass, and smiles in a wasted, amazingly amused way. "Than I liked the rafting".

And it's true, it's been one of the best experiences so far in New Zealand. Jumping on a raft with the mates, screaming like madmans at the maori raft-captain's orders. Ahhhr!

It's sunday afternoon, and we're falling down a seven meters fall on a raft. Our cap* Lee gets thrown overboard, the rest of us manage to emerge from the scum screaming and laughing, still on the raft. I get thrown out of the raft and into the water, and yes. I love being there, ridiculously trying to get back on the raft, feeling like a stupid duck, laughing at myself, and at everything at the same time.
I love crossing the most beautiful forests sliding down a river, playing with mother nature's veins. Which are as powerful as dinosaur breaths.

I love sitting in the new sunset an hour later, staring at everything and nothing at all. I'm thankful, I suddenly realize how much I adore this whole life.

The kid opens her eyes, the bus has reached Hamilton. And now she realizes how everything actually did happen. The four norwegians walk through the night in the park, and the milky way is shining like a jewel rainbow.
Home is where your own smile appears.

Quote of the day(s)
"You're pretty too, but you have a penis..." (Jesper to Steve)

Song of the day: "The only living boy in New York" by Simon and Garkunkel

Put out the fire, and don't look past my shoulder

2009-03-26T18:44:00.000+13:00

Their names are written on us, while we cross the almost desert lawn. It's waaay to early, but the sky is blue and the grass is shining. We lean on the fence, and the scene doesn't seem that far away. We're waiting for The Who, and I still can't believe it. People start gathering behind us, the first warm-up band plays unknown music in the sunset.

When the Counting Crows get on stage, the feeling somewhere near where the heart's supposed to be is really strange. I hadn't listened to any of their songs in a while, and "A Long December" comes as a real kick in the back of the head, bringing with it five years old memories, dragging them out of the closet and throwing them right in my face.

Some people start screaming. Someone turns off the sky, someone else turns on the stage lights. The crowd grows, the crowd screams. And there you go, Pete and Roger walk in on the stage. They do not appear from darkness, they don't come flying down from heaven. They just walk in. And I suddenly realize how our little stupid fence is miles and ages away from that scene. I try to grab the air, and the beating of my heart. But you can't touch dancing nerves.

They start. The music strikes the fluorescent petrol in which we're all floating. We get hit by it, time after time. Rogers's voice never gets covered by the screaming, ooh no. The voices of the crowd in the stadium take his vibrant tones and throw them up against the sky. The stars look at the music and soon realize that this kind of shining madness can only be human. So they throw it right back at us, song after song.

Orion is shining (upside down as always) right o'er the stage. Baba O Riley comes right after another song, totally unexpected. Notes from nothing. I've never really been religious but I've heard about people who can swear they've seen god, angels, and stuff. I think something similar happened there with the Music, and the idea that we all have an amazing unexplored ocean inside ourselves. As the organ starts to play it feels like there's just one voice, made out of all the screams. Just one heart beating, out of all the people. And that heart is beating inside my head.

Reign O'er me, You Better Bet. The night is long, the crowd is hungry. On the bus to the city center we all look pretty wasted. We have been inside a tornado, we just don't know it.

I think I've lost the fear of getting lost.

Through the windows of Auckland

2009-03-26T13:41:00.000+13:00

The magic of all places is that they're never, ever
what you expect. I guess.

Rocket to a ghost

2009-03-19T22:02:00.000+13:00

The brilliant Journalist: Have you ever had your heart broken?

The Ghost: I've never been in love.

[They look at each other for a long while, without moving any facial muscle at all. Than she smiles]

The Ghost: Of course I have, just like anybody else. Everybody's loved, cried, got a heart broken at some point. What is special is why those things have happened, and how. And "special" doesn't mean interesting for the rest of the world anyways. You have to have or find a reason for doing the things you do, you know...

The brilliant Journalist: Do you have a reason for everything you do?

The Ghost: You know what I saw today? There were a man and a woman sitting in the park, holding around each other. A little kid was running around them. It was almost dark but nobody cared, they all three just tasted the liquid honey of the night slipping down from the sky.

The brilliant Journalist: Do you believe in God?

The Ghost: I haven't slept for three days now, you know. They've kept us awake for a long time in Limbo, we're rebuilding the whole thing. We keep seeing these glass walls where all of our past reflects, running in a loop, day after day. No, why should I believe him?

The brilliant Journalist: I asked if you believe IN Him.

The Ghost : That's a dumb question. And the only reason for which you're asking it is because you're too afraid of answering the question yourself.

[The ghost smiles again]

The Ghost: I'd rather talk about the rugby league.

[But before the brilliant Journalist can think of any brilliant australian rugby-league name, the Ghost vanishes leaving him alone, holding a question mark in the hand. Question marks are beautiful. You can saw them, and wait 'til some question-mark plants grow big in your garden.]

[The silly lyric I'm listening to tonight is "Rocket took a lover", by Bell X1. It does make you fly.]

309

2009-03-18T19:22:00.000+13:00

The sky in New Zealand is mad and, as you can see,
Hansi is mutating and becoming a Maori.

Papa Aroha and Colville

2009-03-18T18:51:00.000+13:00

The colours in New Zealand are mad
and the tide is high, sometimes

Coromandel [Road]

2009-03-18T18:10:00.000+13:00

Eden falls down

2009-03-18T17:56:00.000+13:00

I think some guy must have ripped off a page from the Bible, a long time ago. The one page that comes right after Adam and Eve being chased away from Eden, the tale of how the ancient Paradise just exploded and got shot into the most remote places in the Universe.
Just because it's coming back now, and not just one piece at the time. Divided in billions of minuscule, invisible shooting stars, Eden falls down. That's also why I really don't believe in the rest of the story there, I guess.

You walk home from uni and you stand in the middle of Hillcrest park, looking around. The sun was just kidding with you last week, when it was getting cold. It's still summer, the air is hot again. You lie down, your head on the grass, the feeling of small insect steps bouncing around you, Belle and Sebastian in your ears. Eden is falling down again, you think. It's just a drop in the ocean, but still. You don't need to believe in anything else.

Boards and kos

2009-03-16T17:14:00.000+13:00

Rugby ?

2009-03-16T17:02:00.000+13:00

Here come some of the earlier pictures, delayed by ruined
cds and cd confusion. Rugby match on march 6th, Chiefs vs Force!

Papa aroha & the top of the world

2009-03-15T21:26:00.000+13:00

The wheels of the van are turning faster than their minds. Their eyes are ravished by the sea and by colors they thought they'd only see in paintings.
It's late afternoon, and it's friday. There are infinite hours of adventure waiting for them.

They get to Colville, where the race is gonna start. The racer keeps on laughing loud, spreading a mad joy around. The mud isn't scary, and it probably doesn't matter how many hours he's (not) gonna sleep tonight.
Papa Aroha, a few hours later. Camping their own way, the racer, Natalie, Jesper&Hansi and Jackie Onassis lie down in the same tent, opening one side of it and looking up at the stars. Some strangers walk by, looking at all the the faces and lifting their eyebrows. Everybody start laughing again.

The morning comes with grey clouds, and right after the start of the race some real bastard up there starts pouring down rain. While the racer fights the mud, Natalie, Jesper, Hansi and Jackie Onassis take a train up a mountain to see the Eyefull tower. Than they walk through a saloon, eat a pie and finally get back to Colville, right in time to meet a muddy racer at the arrival.
The rest of day sees a van transformed into a Tullamore Dew limo, a bunch of fools running on the beach, miss Onassis crossing a river and discovering too late that the tide is high, somebody getting thrown on and over the van and some really good deepfried food in the middle of the night. Or late evening. When it's dark and your watch is lost somewhere under everybody else's stuff you start caring less and less about what the time is.
Everybody falls asleep. And everybody manage to get up again in the morning, in time to leave Papa Aroha and get back on the road.

What follows is something that can be barely described. To see it you'll have to close your eyes and imagine the strongest and brightest blues, greens and reds, accompanied by sun, wind, and random explosions of wild laughter from the diver's seat.

Castle Rock is an old volcano. Castle Rock is a twenty minutes walk through a deep forest and up some steep rocks. Castle Rock also feels like the top of the world, when you at last get there. Jesper climbs to the farthest rock, Jackie Onassis observes the two sides of the Coromandel peninsula and makes her Olympus OM10 go mad taking pictures. On one side of the Coromandel the sky is cloudy and the sea is grey. On the other the sun is shining and the sea is a weird mixture of blues and greens.

The water that comes down the Waiau falls is pretty cold, but nobody's scared, heey. Everybody jumps into the little lake at the end of the waterfall, and it feels just like an icy eden. Hansi, Natalie, the racer, Jesper and J.O. manage to scare away all the tourists around the Waiau. The only sounds that are floating in the air are water falling, and laughter.

The van reaches the end of the Road 309, and there are loads of tired eyes there in the back. Jesper and Steve the racer point the van towards Hamilton, sometimes driving and sometimes flying on the road (scarying to death the poor guys in the backseat).

The Coromandel peninsula is now behind their shoulders, and when Jackie Onassis takes her shades off she gets back to just being me. Natalie gets on her bus, and the rest of us get home. With some unforgettable colors, some salty water and some fall water in the head, and total road addiction in the veins.

Now (and always) playing: Dire Straits.
Quote of the day: "I've got everything for everything" (Steve Kane)

Trampers

2009-03-11T19:19:00.000+13:00

Speed in the eyes

2009-03-11T19:18:00.000+13:00

The thousand steps

2009-03-11T17:50:00.000+13:00

Some trees are higher than Steve

Hard lightning green

2009-03-11T17:40:00.000+13:00

Orion's upside down

2009-03-11T17:38:00.000+13:00

Moondance

2009-03-11T17:37:00.000+13:00

Pauanui

2009-03-09T18:45:00.000+13:00

(Jepser on the board again)

Cloud, freeze, paint

2009-03-09T18:12:00.000+13:00

It's the end of the day, and the end of a season. As Steve put it yesterday, the end of something nice. You can feel it. There are leaves falling from the trees, I only noticed them today. We walked to school in a colder air this morning, now I'm lying afloat in an outdoor pool and a freezing wind is touching my face. I'm looking at the clouds, and while a white and fluffy dino passes through the sky, a new session of ice-breeze carves the water. It's good to let my head spin freely, getting almost dizzy after the hours we spent inside the TV studio, drawing monkeys and bananamoons. Working on our first small animation project. And yeah, that's because all the papers are set. We're ready to roll!

Og..je. Ei lite helsing til Anne Martha. Eheh!

Chariot, people and creatures

2009-03-09T17:42:00.000+13:00

Things

2009-03-06T14:24:00.000+13:00

What are the things, the objects you couldn't do without? What is it that you always need, no matter where you are in the world? My list is pretty short, actually. What I really need, what I can't do without is toothpaste, toothbrush, paper and pen. Andt if all I can't do without are some things I actually can find everywhere and buy for a little money, my travel nerve's preatty safe. I'll always be the one who takes the chance for a ride, without turning around and looking back every five seconds.

And...we're going to see The Who in Auckland on march 21st. If you feel like listening to something amazing, take the time to follow this link to my favourite song. Ever. When we got the tickets I kept on smiling wide and jumping around for a couple of hours, and I think at least two people just smiled back at me telling me I really looked happy. The power of music, ahm!

Flashed film in Rotorua

2009-03-02T21:57:00.000+13:00

Boys on the boards : Raglan

2009-03-02T21:40:00.000+13:00

(Jesper there)

(Bendik)

We didn't start the fire

2009-03-02T21:31:00.000+13:00

Great wheels

2009-03-02T21:13:00.000+13:00

Thing is, we happen to be in Hamilton, New Zealand, for a reason. The reason is Waikato University, where "there is no stopping you". (I could argue. Anyway.)
We had our first class today, and wow.
It's just a whole new experience after months away from classrooms, pens, paper and screenings. It was great, actually. It was like getting back to the time when I really enjoyed being there. I did enjoy being there. When the person in front of you is actually not worrying about being cool, intresting or understandable, when the only thing she's trying is to communicate something, that's when it works. When ideas start turning like great wheels, and you're suddenly into it. Concepts flow into your head and out again, shaped by memory and criticism, accepted or refused. They become something, they evolve. The can become an idea for a story, or a whole new and personal theory. It's amazing like thinking can work as a contagious virus, jumping from one brain to another. It's not about starting a discussion, 'cause that's just the expression of the whole concept. It's about really getting into it, even if just for one second. Tasting evaporated thinking.

After a rainy day...

2009-03-01T21:22:00.000+13:00

...sun, crocodile clouds, labyrinth faculties and yellow elephants in Hamilton.

The sound of speed

2009-03-01T21:12:00.000+13:00

My feet are stuck in the sand. The silouhettes are there already, far out, sinking and fighting the salty water, sometimes on the board, sometimes under. Jesper stands on his for a moment, than disappears in the scum again.
The sea is roaring, it's the time of sound, again. I close my eyes and see us flashing on the road, like millions of teleported photocopies of ourselves, flappering on the asphalt at the rythm of Billy Joel. The coulds are heavy, but they're gonna disappear. The sounds coming from the forest in Pauanui are not sounds. They're a symphony, and I'm stuck there, wondering whether all the green of the trees will start moving, following the insect's beat.