process’ vid + 2 packs of free LUTs

 

The video presented above it’s just me watching and grading some footage while listening to radio… I know fascinating, ja ja ja, But in the doing, my dear Alex’s beautiful BS phrase made total sense continuity is hosted by the space, I rackon one could change “continuity” by relations, love, life, and so on. Other than plainly beautiful I find those words clear and “accurate”. Lalal la laaaa =)
 
SOUNDTRACK
El Sótano’s live stream, RNE3
You can download all/any podcasts’ episodes here: https://goo.gl/0VLJL0
Merci a Sara, Vp and bunny funny Ester {look it’s a heart shaped faul farting alien ship!!!}
 
 

The Petteri pack 

4 size64 LUTs: velviaesque, portraesque, proviaesque and crossprocess. Ripped from Petteri’s nice fim simulation curves using IWLTBAP LUT generator.

All merit and credit must go to Petteri Sulonenhttp://goo.gl/0f2YTe

 
 

 PETTERI’S LUTs

 
 
+ Lightroom version’s direct DL
and GIMP’s version

 

The GmaGma pack 

These are my own 5 size64 bastards. They have been developed using a rigorously unscientific method while the wildest coconut’s storm, just sayin’. BTW in the video above I used the GmaGma LUT Licensed as Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike

 
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GmaGma LUTs

 

 

Boths packs include a fully clumsy colour chart, slothssss delighttt!!

GmaGma                                                                                               Petteri’s

GmaGma_test_chart_sRGB Petteri_test_chart_sRGB

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

gashô     

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ANUK  ➓  if it’s a portrait, is mine

 
anuk
 

g a s h ô

 

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SARA  ➊➒  if it’s a portrait, is mine

 
sara_S_16_v2
 

gashô     

 

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SJCH – 7 years’ due story (w photos)

Hey there visitor!!
First and disregarding that the grand Cheikh Lô is from totally different continent/contex, it’s a possible live soundtrack. Thanks to Radio3, incredible dedication as always.

start at 15’ mark


DL link, RNE3 online source
 

It has taken me 7 years to finally develop these photos, at first it was aesthetic and technical reasoning behind the delay as I couldn’t find a way, a platform which output “made justice” to an experience lived in quite extreme circumstances. Then… well, then time went by in its red convertible… business as usual.
From 200 stills (aprox) I’ve chosen 32 to tell a little story, one that 7 years ago I lived and shared with the people of San Juan Chamula in Chiapas, Mejico.

 

NITRO

By the end of 2008 Pachus (my father) had died after more than a year and a half of fighting and finally being devoured by cancer, my long time girlfriend ditched our relation wrapped in lies’ gift paper and I was exhausted, broken-hearted and jobless; this was my “situation”. Against all odds what followed was an incredible year full of travelling, adventures, working challenges and meeting with incredible incredible people.

 

MEJICO

My priority when travelling to Mejico was to meet and greet, to expend some quality time with my just borned nephew, Leo. And so it happened and despite the burden I carried, it felt honestly joyful to make part of the baby’s life, to be a witness in my little brother Ami and Vero’s wedding, to participate in crazy buddhist parties, to eat, smoke and drink like there was no tomorrow, to travel around discovering the heritage and natural wonders of the Yucatan’s peninsula with the mex family – and just ’cause you like stats, I put 1 kilo per day in the first week. It was really really nice… but after some time… it was piercingly clear that I needed to go by my own. Mejico is very big and rich in all truly important matters, it would take anyone quite a long time to tour the whole country… so I decided to go about 1 state only: Chiapas. From different sources I gathered an extended to-do list – here picture me talking to different traveled and good willing folks, trying to set down on my notebook all instructions, must-see places, urban or wild, must-meet people, food to taste, passages to go through, etc., etc. – a sort of chaotic yet personalised lonely planet guide =)

So with a camera, a hammock and few clothes in the backpack I started my journey. Boy oh boy I was glad I had my to-do list, huge volcano-like mountains pouring water non-stop, breathtakingly deep gorges, enormous and complex ancient mayan cities being slowly engulfed by the jungle, bugs the size of a fist, plants with leaves as umbrellas, loudest howler monkeys, raving hummingbirds, huge-ass spiders and butterflies and helicopter-mosquitoes, chiapa’s coffee, spicest food with flowers, all possible variety of the freshest fruits, true breakfast for gods, windsurf ants, trees with no end, soil so rich it’ll make lakes within lakes from a tear, cataracts coming down from the heavens, rain evaporating before touching the ground, shamans in their mountains, markets overflowing colours and odours, busy characters and most welcoming people, mayans, mayans with their beautiful shiny dark pupils pinned at the beginning of life… each place was a senses’ exploding universe of ever expanding awesomeness; it would take a book for me just to do them justice… and time’s a democratic pimp, same for everybody. As if all of this fremisment wasn’t enough, while we ( chilanga Ingrid, lapricon Trevor and me-self) were lodged on the humblest wooden cabins at the incredible Lacandonian jungle the H1N1 epidemic broke out.

That same night I got to meet Alejandro, Alejandra, Alejandro junior (then everybody started laughing) and Carla. Later on my journey will again cross paths with this funny, discombobulated, excessive but happy family, who would end up “adopting” me as one of their own… snif…and they were as kind, heart-warming yet free as it is possible for a human being to be.

 

SAN CRISIS

Anyway, jumping forward I’m in San Cristobal de las Casas, aka San Crisis, with my base at the Alexes’ on the mountain’s slope and coming down to town everyday to discover the mayan museum of medicine, the market (probably my favourite place), Daniel el huesero (mix of osteopat and wizard), to meet my contacts, to be bewitched by beautiful researching ladies, to share a beer and some stories with a couple of surreal (they looked like out of a film) mechanics, to flaneur around as much as possible, to enjoy being alive despite my family insistence on leaving the country ’cause of the bird’s flu… couldn’t have cared less about that.
Then I decided to visit San Juan Chamula, a little village up in the mountains specially known for its syncretic church. Mayans in general are not kind of their portrait “being taken”, I already knew that but different people repeatedly advised me about taking pictures in SJCH; specially forbidden at the church; I also heard a myriad stories about this village and the region being a control free zone, with their inhabitants regarded as a tight, fearless and confrontational group. For what I experienced, that had some true to it, even the EZLN didn’t mess around with these guys… but there is much more in the mix, some very nice things, some quite dark like drug smuggling. Anyway, on the last day of April I took a colectivo heahded to SJCH.

 

SJCH

After buying an entrance (??) at the local authorities, went into the church, which was amazing indeed, an incredible fusion of indigenous traditions together with the classic colonial style… colourful, alive, good for the senses, … there was a cloud of copal, romero and incense being burned, the lateral walls were covered with a myriad saints, each one with a mirror hung on them, mobile phones someone told me, the “priest” was cleansing a congregant with feathers and an egg, people stood or sat on the floor which was partially covered with straw, the chants were also very curious, a agglomerate of shamanic songs and religious prayers mix of spanish, txochil and who knows what else. People came inside the house of god carrying goats, chickens, even dogs, children played and ran freely around. – – – Someone just knocked on my door and was entering the house before realising it was the wrong number, it was funny, I didn’t stop the guy – – –

So I hang around for some hours, recording everything on the microfilm of my soul. When I went outside I tried to take some pictures but I really couldn’t, I was already overflown with the visual and sonic landscape and didn’t enjoy feeling like a tourist. So bought some stuff from the nagging, ever curious and friendly children in the square and went on wondering around. At certain point I saw an old man with an strange instrument… something like an arp. I approached him, sat a few meters away, lighted a cigarette and listened the unusual melodies for a long time. More men came, more instruments, all of the while I just sat there, watching them. At certain point it was clear they were talking about me… a bit later, what I understood to be the leader, approached and asked me if I wanted to participate in Las Cruces de Mayo, I didn’t really know what I was getting into, but who needs safety net right?, right!!!

From that moment on I followed the group of men, first inside of the church, where we drank Coca-Cola (“it is sacred, ’cause expels the demons” I was told), 7-up and some very very strong home-made spirit; where we smoke, yes inside of the fucking church!!! We were chanting, profering espiritual insults and joy liberation salves for a bit… everything anew but making sense if you feel me. As more men, teenagers and children gathered outside the church, some organising was done, then we started walking till some cars, vans and a huge truck came to take us up into the mountains in this amazing ritual called Las Cruces Mayo

 

//   Click any image to enter gallery
and read the rest of the story =)   \
\

 

 

 We shall finish with silly video of the 2nd pass’ editing

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farewell Mr. Kiarostami

kiaros

 

gashô      gashô       gashô

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a mystic deepweb of olives’ sip

 
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We go and we go and almost there and suddenly it’s all just past, paste tense, je je… life’s fast but olives will forever remain stuffed sexy ladies. This is not really the way I wanted to say, but’s already happening.

You know when you go to the supermarket and buy something, say olive oil; can you imagine where does that greenish thick liquid come from and I don’t mean which country, but how did it happen? How was the trip ( ’cause it’s totally a trip), where and how did it transform? What was involved, what was needed and whom and how did that people learn and got mixed up in the process? You know, all that

In this disposable era, I feel the world’s rapidly forgetting where do dings ( the word originally meant “assembly”) come from… we have access to so many stuff, too much if you ask me, and yet that new short-lived stuff doesn’t bring happiness, peace. Well, I’m all forward the development and (good) use of technology, nevertheless there’s some ancient, very refined and supercool technology that “needs” to be kept alive. Everybody and their dog knows romans’ secret souce to success in their conquering was the olive oil… the amphoras, the amphoras!! Coincidentally the healthy process of learning, practicing and ameliorating that same technology carries on a lot of fun, challenges and humbleness ( the looking up kind); so we could say it’s very practical, ja ja ja

Last december I went to the olives’ pick in the property of some friends of mine – they want to remain anonymous and we’d respect that. This was their first ( from beginning to end) time too, so a lot of learning during the process. Despite the photos below don’t show it, a huge amount of sharing and exchanging was involved; as a deep sense of belonging ( nothing to do with ownership) with its disctint sticky residue. Most compussively I wrote a lot of stuff, an orujo/bagaço ( olive’s marc) of portuguese, spanish and english extatic poopoozas, yiiihhaa!!

Anyhow, today I got delivered the olive oil and my oh my dear gunter grasss, that I have received the whisky from atop of the trees and already drunk, I see the light, I embrace the saviour and most of all I scream virgin virgin!!!! Yes I’m happy, proud, grateful… the process, the loop is complete, closed and so we can start all over again =)

I clumsily rescued some P&S’ quick snaps ( people no, sorry no pebbles) from back then/there. Hope you like it, but I wish you could also taste this… this nectar divine

 

{extract}

Do por os pés na cabeça da árvore, da magia em cada ramo, haja vento ou deixe de haver do equilibrio e da dança-balanço, da escorregadia pele ao abraço, da cabeleira verde, do suave cheiro a folha rija, azeitona espachurrada e musgo fofinho mas traiçoeiro.
No fruto do movimento o som da rede amparando os cocozinhos pretos e compactos, na conversa filtrada pela penugem fotosintética, a paissagem triádica, aparentemente sossegada, enganadoramente simples é sempre pano de fundo, cenografía ilimitada e, claro, orgánica.

Da variedade dos tons, texturas, densidades e formas de cada azeitona. Do preto sem esperança, tão saturado que absorve o ar, ao preto satinado, o azulado batiscafo, ao purpúreo que se funde em burdeos… já para não falar do infinito verde tão tosco na sua pureza que o pantone não consegue catalogar. Os cinzentos que fazem da pequena galega uma deusa persa, os castanho manchado, indecisso que salpica umas tantas e outras deixa.

Das oliveiras destemidas, acostumadas, ambientadas, lutadoras do seu spot que não tem frío, que mexem os braços ao ritmo dos ventos com a ponta dos dedos molhadas durante muitos muitos tempos, sem frutos, se encolhem, mirram, viram-se p’ra dentro ate chegar a hora do salto ao vazio…

Um gesto, um simbólico gesto que têm muito de práctico. e a natureza é só praxis, e o amor é só praxis, é saltar ao vazio, é lançar-se ao desconhecido sem comprobar primeiro se há rede, se existe alguma coisa que ampare a queda… Mas a queda também é amor, não como contrario mas como fé, palavra tão manchada, tão cheia de burbotos por uma praxis enganosa, falsa.
No amor tudo é verdadeiro, é a luz que faz as sombras, e se calhar aprender a reconhecer as fontes de luz, descubrir uma passagem por entre a escuridão, por entre o nevoeiro… na mente, perdidos…….. e de repente o salto, o salto ao vazio… como fazem as azeitonas desde bem antes do homen conseguir se equilibrar nos seus pes.

 

{extract}
 
 

gashô

 

 click, click - ramdom order gallery

 

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biu_vp_serralv_2003
biu_vp_nabahia
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