Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Menginstal Windowblinds 7

Winter (Chapter 11)

The five last chapters of my novella Winter I put too time to write and post. I apologize to my readers silent.




XI



I will never forget the evening we spent with Cindy. Such moments in life just keep on the fingers of one hand, their rarity, of course, determines the price. It is difficult to explain a posteriori why they appeared so harmonious, a pond of peace and love, joy and serenity, drowned in a sea of platitudes and horrors. What makes them so special is beauty not related to their importance. Thus the release of my debut album, no more than five reminders to the public at the end of my first concert, are among the moments of grace that I am trying to evoke here. Such successes have been made possible by a huge upstream work, thereby losing some of their magic. I believe that happiness is not engaged in our consciousness until many years after the time that saw flourish.
That night, Cindy has improvised an evening Asian understand: we, Cindy, Karen, Lesley and I ordered a Vietnamese dishes charming young man came to bring us. The boys, themselves, lying on the carpet in front of the television, were absorbed before The Lion King they knew by heart every time but rediscovered with enthusiasm. Drôlissimes anecdotes about the clips that she had collaborated with Karen overflowing. I suspect the storyteller to have a talent greater than the sum of the incidents she relates about the crappy filming she frequented. Swinging his way of approaching the final gag more often triggers laughter as the fall in its history. After a few beers and trade more intimate, inevitable girlfriends, Cindy, rather reserved so far, has led to the launch point a photo unbridled where we played one to turn the model, photographer and director. With the suits brought by Karen, they had accumulated Cindy according to his career as a fashion photographer and advertising, we had at our disposal a sufficient gear to transform the apartment, social gathering or in a brothel in the Parisian fashion of the past. After much laughter and hugs invaded drunk, we ended the evening with more intimate pictures. Cindy has performed with ease, without any preparation, portraits of us all, a portrait of a melancholy Karen Strikingly, even though Karen, just exhausted, had reached the point when so tender, a frenzied burst of energy, can only be followed by a moment of abandon as they were seen rarely, when you feel cradled in comfort created by friendship, trust, love, and maintained to the limits of reasonableness. Our friend was surprised, a few days later, when Cindy gave him his portrait. I see her comfortably wedged on the lounge chair, arms resting along the arm, without installation worked other than the moment that had to slouch after laughing continuously for more than ten minutes. The portrait of Lesley upset me too. Only the photographer's intuition has guided his eyes. Lesley had a moment alone on the side of Cindy's studio. She ran from the light stuff spread out on the long desk, contact sheets mixed with glossy pages of various magazines, letters to or ready to be sent, sketches on sheets Canson. The photo was taken while Lesley, receiving a presence, had raised his face towards the goal and had not yet had time to hide his smile behind the veil of his hand. I attended the scene and that is retained by Lesley I kept in memory. But the photographer was able to overtake it, so that the cliché, our friend sent us a beaming smile as impertinently, the smile of a net that has surprised the size lost in the skirt too full of his mother or eye makeup with mascara defended. There is another photo of Lesley that will haunt me forever. One in which she appears with her son Ben, seated on an armchair in the living room, arms folded across his legs, while his son, standing, based on one of the armrests, back up like a proud father of s' explain to his daughter. Cindy has captured what no one had ever seen. Ben, who seems so frail in everyday life, displays on the voluntary action shot of a man at the top of his life, while Lesley is like a young girl whose skirt with black lace and tulle blouse color carbon appear as a protection against the outside world.
When the girls are, I thought the best of the evening was behind us. With Cindy and Buster, we've just discussed the program the next day, before going to bed, overcome with fatigue as qu'épanouis after these few hours of recklessness. The sofa bed provided a decent enough of it unfold.
I woke up once that night. It took me a moment before remembering that I was sleeping in the apartment of Cindy, a condition which I have learned not to worry. When we no longer know identify where one sleeps, there is no need to panic, the space eventually revert to familiar little that has not been won by the anguish.
The darkness at the heart of why I woke up at first proved a lure: a tiny light source, but not intense enough to locate it, I was both relieved and puzzled. Slowly, silently, I'm standing on my elbows, then taking conscience of the empty place left by Cindy to my side. As I turned to the office, I recognized my friend, standing motionless, highly concentrated on an object that escaped me. Carefully, I put forward on all fours on the carpet, hesitating to get up for fear of disturbing the intimacy of the photographer that I saw only the back. She seemed to write, what confirmed me rubbing a pencil on paper. Sometimes the friction increasing rate so frantic. I saw sniffles, spaced, episodic, but profound. A tilt of her back, I realized she had to bury his head, and his suffering in his hands. How long had she left the bed? Had she slept a little? Was it the next day's work that concern the point of sacrificing his sleep? Suddenly she pulled away from the office and started toward the windows, some return, without seeming to notice me. Constantly gnawed fingers between her lips, she could not stop, caught in a chaotic drive me informed about the nature of his anxious attitude. And when she had approached a step towards solving the enigma of the latter three steps away from her in response. I'm not intervened in the heart of this creative process because it sends me naturally to some sleepless nights I had face to harmoniously match my words about music that I composed at the piano.
So she joined the bed where I had lengthened, I pretended to sleep, waiting for her to turn sank into sleep to get up slowly and direct me to the office barefoot, Cindy had to leave. I lighted the lamp which has projected his circle of light on a series of photographs scattered. Some image refers to the children of Cindy, portraits of her elementary school classes, portraits of her and clasped her girlfriends at the age of friendship burning and exalted, when we still believed that our best friends live eternally with us. Other photographs, a print format oldest, shows a man at different periods of his life. I recognized Mr. Palmano in person, his expression serious, almost austere, in all circumstances, both at family celebrations as travel souvenirs. Discover this man that I had to cross two or three times before me, surprisingly. I never see him again, and this certainty gave the pictures a force for suspicion that was not in the know. I thought one of my aunts caved to fifty-five years ago of a cancer that has been cursed because its vitality but never his courage or his love life. The picture of Cindy looked at his desk, his head trapped in his hands, has pierced the screen of my tears. It seemed to vibrate still hear the sobs of my friend.
The computer was in standby. By clicking a button at random, I saw the screen light up and appear on any page of short paragraphs separated by two spaces. Cindy had recorded his thoughts, since I did not know when. But the list of his thoughts kept me awake for several minutes, not that my reading has been difficult but the proximity of the words of Cindy was such that I felt invaded by chills. The words rattled, terrible, sweet or sharp, anger or regret infinite.
" You were right, Dad, the picture is a stopgap. Nobody, no artist can pride themselves on having grasped the essence of life, the essence of a being, even the most beloved. "
" Oh, what have you regretted not understood earlier! What a pain this void in me again! Your death put me on the trail dug your steps, and I intend to follow your heart to the refuge in winter. "
" You taught me that no smile is not proper to insensitivity. You burn with fever unspeakable. The austerity that was only the veil lives you protect yourself from the vulgarity of the world. "
" You did not need to spread your generosity. It was revealed to me by all that you left in the lurch. "

Besides the computer, sketches scribbled in haste, blackened by the keys of a charcoal pencil. My friend had traced nervously several passes outline drawings. On each sheet in the same rectangle repeated ad infinitum, which oozes out a character. Sketched the clothing in the devil, I recognized the same identifier shot an opening in the wall of the studio. This was the famous opening shot of the clip on which we were floor, the moment before the flight time of my crossing. Because I represented the face of currently straddle the frame, I knew it was the closure plan, that we still had to wrap the return of the woman after her trip resuscitated landscapes of his childhood. Each sketch ended inevitably erased a question mark which invaded the leaf at the same time what were repeated the words " woman" and "child". There was even written on one of them: "What good , Dad? Why beat a dead horse to seize this moment indescribable? Who can translate? Claim, all that! "
I stood quietly, I heard my breath when I went to lie down next to Cindy. The peculiar texture of silence reminded me of a feeling that I had never shared with anyone else: the feeling of being an intruder, do not deserve what I had discovered and had stolen from my friend.
Just lying, I felt behind me against my neck, a murmur, soft and warm. Thank-
you, Tori.
I went back to sleep, his heart heavy and light at a time.

(more)

Hives And Swollen Joints

Winter (Chapter 12)


XII



The next morning, bursting with inspiration, Cindy was more determined than ever to abuse the program. Fruits of his impulsiveness, the changes it has imposed on the whole team has surprised more than one: abolish plans could no longer find favor in his eyes, proposed plans unpublished results no doubt his thoughts night. Thus, during the night that has become obvious to her: a section of the clip must decide stylistically with the rest, as in my song comes when the orchestra.
I remember during the recording of Little Earthquakes, Doug, my engineer, had suggested introducing an orchestral section in the last verse of Winter. My first reaction was a refusal because the idea of Doug destroyed the sobriety that seemed appropriate in an intimate song that I composed at the piano and solo instrument designed for this. With his customary diplomacy, he had not defended his suggestion unduly. He probably knew we should never interfere with my own conception of the songs. Only after the recording of it was revived by his idea, intending to re-record a new version of Winter by including in the last verse, which had an orchestra, he said, give the song a higher dimension. I finally agreed, as a curiosity, a transposition of any orchestra I was playing the part originally at Bösendorfer. He took me to go to the obvious. This version does not diminish the emotional intensity conveyed initially by the piano solo. Although it has not yet been to the agenda to replace the orchestral version at the previous, Doug made me listen to an arrangement with its machines that involved only the orchestra at the end of the song. At the first hearing of Winter as amended, chills me convinced it was the best version. Not only the unexpected burst of the orchestra at the end, mixed over the keyboard of the first version, multiplies the emotion, but his sudden death, just before returning to grace the final chorus, where the piano solo reasserts itself, is a magical moment Doug extended with a silence of three seconds.
Such silence has not just escaped that Cindy was interpreted in terms of its sensitivity:-
During this silence, everything will be black, then resuming the piano at last chorus will stoop panel that covered the screen and reappear your face ...
I perceived a shadow under the eye of the photographer. As a doubt. On its face, was engaging a battle between his visions of the most expensive and the uncertainty of their realization. Similarly, when my friend turned away from me to give instructions to the chief op ', I realized that the plan in question would a delicate problem. Looking
clip of Cindy Palmano is never an economy of means implemented that impresses, but the lovely atmosphere it succeeds in spite of everything, often to be translated, so that harmony shapes and colors seem to be the subject of the film itself. I realize too, since she leads me, of my limitations as an actress. Without the magic of editing to which it devotes hours, I express no quarter of the emotions she is.
Taking me aside, Lesley stamped with glee. Our friend had given him carte blanche to make up that could also be exacerbated as possible. She walked on my lips stick a bright red that particularly stood out with an incredible intensity of my dyed red hair.
"It is like how I love you, me she confessed, her two hands on my cheeks, while his lips kissing my forehead.
Ben, who had wanted to come this morning to attend the end of filming, was ecstatic when he saw my face in the wake of his mother illusionist.
-You 're nice like that. You're a grownup now.
Lesley and I are waiting outside the charming naivety of his child. This reassured me about my credibility as that girl. I was so afraid of appearing ridiculous in this part of the video I was ready to receive any compliments, even the most involuntary.
In a corner of the studio, stage technicians staring each other three metal panels that opened in évantail. They were then covered three long black cloth that should form the backdrop to a sequence that Cindy had on her book titled "The hair".
Hugh Turner, a landscape that Cindy had met in Tokyo, arrived with a glass under his arm and fitted with electrical equipment for the least mysterious. While talking with the director, Lesley quietly came to me to present it.
-I would have brought you a day at one of its openings. Each year, it was entitled to a new concept. The last time he created an installation inspired by Japanese gardens. Is in contact with Japanese culture, frequented during his many visits, he brought his thoughts on the art of botany in miniature. You knew you, what the Japanese gardens are a cosmogony portable?
cosmo-A ... what?
Oh, do not worry, Tori, the expression is not me, you worry doubts. A portable cosmogony is the cosmos that would fit in one hand, no larger than a suitcase. The Japanese, themselves, have concentrated on the scale of a garden, as a representation of human perfection. They see this as a backdrop, or tapestry, the highest human thoughts. In the art of Japanese garden expresses the philosophy of the sage in search of fulfillment.
When Hugh Turner walked towards us and I shook his outstretched hand, he had to feel feverish as it was quick to put me at ease.
-No discomfort please, it's an honor for me to serve the next movie of Tori Amos. In exchange, my next opening, you grant me the right to use three of your songs as a band sound.
I asked for an explanation of the glass he had brought with him.
-Ca is Cindy tell us. She only knows how she will use my invention.
Ah, because you have filed a patent for the glass?
-Absolutely, it's a project I've been working for months and dear to my heart: I designed a miniature domestic emissions. My idea is to allow individuals to insulate their homes in an area sealed glass. Until then, tell me, that's very commonplace. The novelty is that you can easily remove the glass and change at will and what is wants to see the presentation. Yes, but the trick, my icing on the cake is a completely new process of my invention: an electrical system connected to the glass, which would send water vapor inside and would seep in varying degrees of intensity with the adjuster that you see there. Things that are exposed and are rendered in moody fogging. The droplets become part of the show.
Hugh, to enlighten, set the glass on a horizontal support before installing behind a plant that Cindy had brought. After connecting the system, he asked me to dive I look through the glass. That's when the moisture began to form on glass, a light mist that transformed at will the still life that I observed in authentic tableau. The fog then intensified as the smile of Hugh, proud of himself, showing me the way he was the only one to control the phenomenon. Then water started to flow as if under the effect of a downpour, so doing a painting that would have liquefied after he had spilled on her buckets of boiling water. The show reminded me that anyone of us has never failed to enjoy a rainy day or snow, watching the droplets slide down a window, poetic performance, banal as hypnotic. I was not at my surprise. By manipulating the controller yet, Hugh turned the rain into ice that has pasted on the glass, fixing the same time the plant. Vision to give the icy chill.
Cindy came in turn explain the creation of Hugh haunted her dreams for weeks: my face on several occasions he has appeared across the screen fogged up windows of one of his crying. She also dreamed of plants wasting away inside a greenhouse in miniature. The recurrence of his dreams has decided to integrate the video of Winter. Puzzled, I just smiled, once again amazed by the richness of the vision of Cindy, who populate his work. We often wonder about my texts found obscure, but I remain convinced that the art of Cindy is far more mysterious and strange. Under a light look, naive and childish recount, his works exposed the unspeakable dimension of our regrets distraught.
Our work that morning received a rather serene ambience. Any team officiated in relative harmony with which I am still extremely sensitive.
Ideas Cindy, a touching simplicity, did not require much effort. Shoot me through the misted glass, three meters away from my face, had no major difficulty since the axis of the camera does not vary an inch. On the Monitor, I could check on my face the effect produced by the glass oozing. I thought the glass surface of a frozen lake when crystals enclose etiolated bubbles. Cindy pointed out to me that some of the more blurred the glass, which make it seem more distant in my face, create, it's amazing, the illusion of multiple dimensions within a plan, however close, which normally should flatten the image, cancel the depth of field and, consequently, relief. Cindy has stepped taken to test several ideas: she asked me to appear inside a circle with only the disk would be dry. Hugh had brought with him his tools could heat the glass at my face in there circular metal plating apparatus. The fog around the circle to the edge of camouflaging my face. While I sang, the photographer claimed:
-In your right hand, draw the female symbol.
At midmorning, we were so well advanced that director launched in the wings: More than three-
plans!
The enthusiasm manifested itself among the technical team. Karen, left behind the Monitor during the series of shots we had to chain, came to congratulate me.
-Tori, I can not wait for you to see your clip. This glass is great. Looks like a still life ... And your face in the middle ... it's beautiful ... is ...
Cindy was the only good to stay away from the general satisfaction. Although seemingly serene, his lips never opened. She threw frequent glances at the Monitor. Sometimes I was afraid that under the impetus of a new idea, it forces us to make another plan. I could not help me throw in effect at the beginning of the evening, when it is time for me to fly my friend booked me. I imagined the anguish of my guys if I had delayed my return. As the thought of my musicians began to take more and more space, I walked into the studio, trying not to get overwhelmed by anxiety. Anxiety about what to do?
Since the signing of my contract with WEA, I could put some order in my life. The preparation of a tour requires a huge personal investment. Around this event, all kinds of people gravitate, intermediaries, and are making possible the artistic events. But beyond the huge logistical set in motion a tour gives me a sense of order and harmony. I like the repetition of the days when your bus staff arrived in a city where you invest the space of a concert hall, you take ownership of the earliest sound settings, rehearsals without an audience, often the magic power of concerts themselves, finally, after a phase relief in the hotel, the time that the material removed once found the holds of the buses, departure for a new destination, the camaraderie that causes, among my guy, fits of giggles or comical outbursts of delusion ...
Why did I make a planned departure from this life on the tour? Why I joined Cindy in ignorance of what she was going to ask me? Why did I take the risk of missing my last concert and force the organizers of the city to its cancellation?
Everything went well this morning, plans chained themselves, we approached the end. So why have I felt overtaken by doubt? I thought the sketches scribbled by Cindy nervously over last night, an obsession that the crossing, condemned forever to represent the same rectangle striped in black ink. I knew the whole clip would lead to the opening in the wall that I would cross again. What Cindy doubted it? Why is my second crossing in the opposite direction of the wall he had provoked in Cindy insomnia?
technicians, moving their equipment, have joined a corner of the room. Thrown on screens that covered the descent, a black cloth was spread liberally on the ground. It was a facility that is used by photographers to produce commissioned portraits, the black cloth background for Neutral. I could not avoid making the link between the dark color of the fabric and the black rectangles on the sketch of my friend: was this the place left empty by the death or death itself on the lookout for prey ? I remembered Cindy's reflections about his father, saying she could never trust him but she had burned the last night of him screaming, helplessly, as one throws a bottle into the sea in a final start saving.
The orchestral part of Winter, Cindy explained, is making her desires of flames blazing reminder of the emotions that run through it several times a day and she needs to evacuate when the cup runneth over.
-The outpouring of the orchestra produces a transmutation of chromatic colors, she explained to his chief op '. I want it burn, black and red, passions, life drive ... Tori, I bless your hair!
This was not the first time my friend extolled the redhead that I am. Lesley checking makeup, she repeated, again ... More ... More.
The plan required a slow preparation. Cindy wanted to reproduce his meticulously storyboard. A painting by Van Gogh, who obsesses over the years, he served as a model, especially the incredible force that liberates cornfield whipped by the wind. On many sketches she had drawn on black and orange yellow grass. The plan she outlined the principle technicians initially appeared to be fairly simple to make, that's what told me later the chief op 'who thought he would shoot a field a windy day. However, Cindy was required in the same plane as the field starts to turn red before being discovered, from the next shot, it was my hair. However, such effects require a filming studio. Two fans were used to a few inches of my hair. That I may be well exposed, he had to lie on a table, his head very edge so that my hair bent in a vacuum. But the director did not seem convinced. The two fans do not brew enough air. My hair stayed too rigid. The result has become much more interesting when we combined the effect of the two fans Hair dryer borrowed from our makeup artist Lesley Chilka. Cindy's face lit up, so in a manner so shocking that it is no longer the woman I saw the girl but I have never yet known. Her smile, spontaneous and unrestrained, invigorated me. Despite the madness of the plan she had conceived, I began to believe it. But Cindy
requirements that everyone on the board is forced to bend. She loves it when the special effects are performed live in front of the camera, as at the time of Melies, his favorite filmmaker. For my hair battered by adverse winds suddenly fills up with blood, technicians have used gelatin to red spots. As the photographer wanted to shoot in continuity with the changing color, gelatins have been changed during the filming, which required both of our lighting fast execution without fault if they did not want to end up second-degree burns. When I finally
found the result to the first assembly, I was blinded by the magic of cinema. The plan, very close, combined with the black background that destroys all sense of proportion, creating the illusion that my hair is whipped by the wind field. It took me a while to become aware of an effect that was first escaped my attention. The tip of my hair was oriented towards the sky, while on the set, they hung in the air.
-A breeze, I replied Cindy. The camera that you could see was returned. She filmed your hair upside down.


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Winter (Chapter 13)


XIII


O as I felt it coming that plane! Under the deceptive silence of Cindy, which vibrated the apprehension gnawing inside. Yet, the whole team, in his recklessness, was prepared without ostentation particular, as if it were a plan that nothing stands out. Cindy itself shows no sign may suggest its importance. But for me who had surprised Last night, the strange books that she had scribbled in a rage, and had discovered the messages that were traces of his doubts and anxieties, doubt was possible: that plane, she invested with a faith hardly imaginable.
At the end of the clip, a fade would punctuate the few seconds of silence before the resumption of my voice and piano. For the next shot, Cindy had planned a chain style. Both of my hands, I had to lower the black panel which had covered the screen. Such a plan does not present a priori any difficulty. Even opening the black panel required no effort cameraman. It is not by adjusting the lens aperture that Cindy had chosen to achieve this effect. It was really a piece of black cardboard that was precut me down as one opens the window of an airplane. In the continuity of a zoom, then I had to cross a second time in crossing the wall opening. The lack of traveling over our head no requirement op 'to synchronize the camera on my trip.
The traditional aspect of the work of the photographer insisted, however meticulously: the first catches were caught by lack of coordination among team members. Or was Wilson, our cameraman who zoomed too quickly and did not allow Sean and Robert, guardians of the panel black, slip away in time, so that the objective seized them before they had time to disappear from the frame, or were Sean and Robert not operating in the proper rhythm, or they have lowered the panel too quickly or too slowly, or that the movement has lacked fluidity, as Cindy.
Rehearsals were therefore necessary to ensure proper coordination between the panel and it helps to lower the camera zooms back. We had to resort to the floor with chalk markings. Equal force did not help my score. "Partition" is although the term used by the director when she talked to me about my work. Although she emphasized the initiatory journey of my character, I could not understand the feelings she was trying to describe myself. Cindy, I have already stated, hate explaining his approach. She claims that she often does not direct the actors and a stage or a plan not owe their success to the magic of the impromptu shooting. If this is not magic at the rendezvous, no editing, as awesome as it is, can not compensate for the absence. The emotion, "she said, arises primarily from an uncontrollable grace. It's an alchemy which depends on human relations within the crew but, beyond this aspect, appears mostly recalcitrant. Despite this admission of powerlessness, I prefer the term of humility, she had to depart from principle for the needs of the ultimate plan de Winter, whose success was only the quality of my interpretation. I'm not an actress. On stage, sitting at my piano, I only play my music. I also embodies me.
-Winter is your inner journey, you come back in more loaded with meaning at the time of departure, but lighter too.
Cindy makes no difference between Tori and my character, disturbing mixture on the screen of my personality and interpreted by my friend. That's why I learn as much about myself that when I viewed it on video for Silent All These Years, Crucify, Cornflake Girl and China.
Of all the shots where Cindy has forced me to draw to the depths of my being, the one that closes Winter remains arguably the most difficult I've ever played. Each shot ending with the everlasting shrug from the director which meant we had to redo it. I can not count how many times I had to replay that scene. Sean and Robert, by dint of repeat, had the leisure to perfect the timing of their actions. However, the director kept the sulky expression that I know him well when she feels upset. After taking the tenth, I even acquired, I think, a great fluidity in my travels. Cross the wall, so I did not feel the slightest problem. I had modeled on the music diffused continuously pregnant during filming.
-I do not understand what is happening, I even admitted Karen retouch my makeup came after the umpteenth take. It's really perfect. So I see when I'm in front of the monitor screen.
"I think it comes me, that does not express or express. She wants to return to my character that I bring the child in me while reverting adult.
-You can do it feel? Karen was surprised.
-Apparently not.
If Cindy had even dared to tell me what was wrong, it could help me in my game But she addressed me hardly speak. At the end of each take, we remain suspended from the verdict that was sometimes wait because the photographer left the board.
Between the tenth and twentieth taken, I began to feel very badly offended the time we lost, unable to draw me in the slightest ounce of talent. And I 'm putting to doubt. Doubt turned into a feeling of waste, himself ousted by that of a profound emptiness with a disgust for myself.
While Cindy was preparing to launch for the umpteenth time the slogan "Action!", His eyes met mine. I could hardly stand. I wanted to stop turning, unable to give her what she asked, disappointed as qu'épuisée, washed and washed. Mine broken, I felt my cheeks slide charcoal shadow. My vision was blurred. My turn to slow down, needing to walk around the room without disturbing them to come my thoughts. Won by the devastation, my impressions are tinged with dark shards that accentuated my desolation, while the team did not know quite how to take me back to reason. Cindy has never tried to shorten the moments of reflection I gave myself. She sat, leaning forward, arms raised through the legs, prostrate in the infinite silence. I saw Lesley dare approach.
-Cindy, I think you did your plan. You see, when you view all taken, it is forced, you will find the right one.
Without moving an inch her body became hopelessly cumbersome, Cindy could not hold back the tears that flowed over his face frozen.
The shooting stopped, the order was given to the technicians leave the room. Karen and Lesley threw me worried looks before disappearing in turn.
Once alone, Cindy and I stared at us in a silence that seemed interminable. It was she who broke first.
"What is it going, Tori?
-I do not understand what you are looking for. You told me it was the adult who recross the wall at the end. As in the beginning ...
No, not like at first, just ... Tori returns from his trip the girl she once was. The child and woman live together in it.
But, I know how to do it, Cindy.
-Tori returns from this trip enriched her child back. But this inner wealth is also the pain it carries.
"It is a mixture of vitality and sadness that you ask, right? Why you tell me anything since the first shot? I thought you were trying to torture me ...
Cindy Shoulders slumped abruptly, as under the weight of an unexpected pain. For the first time I saw him crack. His hands have not had the sense to hide her face in tears, probably through inexperience, unless it is in all honesty. She left the studio and me left alone, left to my questions, as a punishment to which she submitted.


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Winter (Chapter 14)


XIV

I sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and I ' I closed my eyes, holding my head. I felt palpitations in my chest bump. I needed to take deep breaths. I was alone, lost in my suffering, confused mind, my eyes blurred. I imagined the cast assembled outside, enjoying a breath of fresh air, some smoking their fag pending Cindy. I knew she had melted into the city to bury his sentence. Something huge was played in the ultimate plan, which surpassed all that my friend was able to endure. The contrast between my song, too naive for my taste today, and the emotional intensity of the shooting lent character to the ridiculous situation. I still had to unravel the son, who intrigues me back to me, or rather me back to certain unresolved aspects of my life. By choosing Winter as his new video support, Cindy had to shake that, in me, languishing in the backwaters my feelings.
The door opened. I did not dare raise my face. My back was arched, I returned to my shoulders. Posters disappear rather the torrent of tears that kept me informed instead of capacity. Someone came to sit opposite me. More sobs were substituted for those that kept my shame. Crouching
legged, Buster looked at me, her lips giving her an air mine surprisingly serious. Reddened furrows traced their pain to her chin. His back was still right, still impervious to internal shocks which tortured. I will never forget what I read on this face: pride destroyed, suffering, infinite loneliness, shame, the painful birth of an unprecedented humility, an upheaval that left speechless and lifeless, naked as the first days of birth.
Where is Ben, I asked him.
-top, with Malcolm. They have fun.
And thou not play with them?
-No ... more ...
His eyes got set loose somewhere in a corner of the studio, his pupils were soaked with salt to distort the apparent firmness of his lips. The tall fellow, in my eyes, was decomposed into a toddler whose heavy grief, overruling the manly pride, claimed my protection. I felt the fragile figure to curl up in my lap. Having asked for anything, my arm stayed a moment suspended in vacuum, and left upset, as if unaware of the tender offer. My eyes are closed at the same time as my arm on the sentence to comfort her. My tears flowed free and good, abandoned to the convulsions of the naked child. The warmth of his hands on my shoulders, the smell of her hair child in the hollow of my neck, irregularity of his breathing bumping up against my chest, the two united in the same breath abandoned somewhere in the tender maternal home . Pictures of Buster inflexible reached me with astonishing clarity. The day before, it was he who commanded his playmates, he, the yardstick of what they should think and say to him that nobody could catch in their heated races, whose voice he proclaimed the supreme authority . And now it was that I held in my arms, fragile little being inconsolable grief.
Ben feels the best.
-Oh, what makes you say that?
Ben, he believes he will become a star like Will Smith!
Why?
"Because he is that mom chose to play the piano with you. It would have been to me.
-You wanted to play the piano though.
-If I wanted was who feared the dress. I was going to wear it anyway! It sucks!
Ben, he accepted it. He knows that is cinema. Not Ben-
he loves it. It is a PD.
Buster looked at me quizzically, waiting no doubt a reaction from me to the big word that had escaped him. I held his gaze without flinching and without seeming particularly outraged. So he dropped everything without worrying about the authority that I represented as an adult.
Ben, his mom loves women. He has no papa. It sucks! And he believes the best because he played the piano with you.
I got up. I needed air. On the pavement outside, we found the crew on nibbling sandwiches. Lesley handed me hers which was broken into. But is the warmth of her smile that I took with the most voracious. I rose in the midst of discussions which had thrown light on the lips of all smiles. I'm like a diver found impregnated the surface of the water after several minutes of apnea. Karen was laughing on my shoulder to prevent a fall. Without warning, her kiss on my cheek filed his balm on my heart. I shook her hand and she pressed harder than me, which has failed to make me upset. Nobody was referring to the nagging question that all. Everyone behaved as in a intermission.
Cindy was gone and nobody knew where to find it. The minutes passed, more worrisome than hours. Each prolonged delay me dangerously close to the time when I should fly back. I was tempted to contact my guy in LA, but shame me discouraged. Never had I felt such embarrassment vis-à-vis my live band. I had behaved in a manner so rude to them, with such recklessness that I could not forgive myself. A profound certainty inhabited me, however, a folly which was the first Surprise: I would not take the aircraft before the end of the shoot, regardless of the backlog, even if this would make me miss the time together.

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