<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040</id><updated>2012-02-14T08:55:25.836+01:00</updated><category term='poetry'/><category term='schmetterling'/><category term='blick'/><category term='psyschoanalyse'/><category term='film'/><category term='spiegel'/><category term='desire'/><category term='Lacan'/><category term='tschuang-tse'/><title type='text'>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;</title><subtitle type='html'>Recovery of memory.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>49</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2797897115718157343</id><published>2011-12-17T17:24:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2011-12-17T17:39:59.804+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Feuilleton</title><content type='html'>Recherche für eine Telenovela:&lt;br /&gt;Die Ästhetik des populären Melodramas ist abhänging von der großen Gestik, dem Tableau, weiten moralischen Themen, mit Erzählstrukturen des Zufalls, plötzlichen Wendungen und unvermittelten glücklichen Ausgänge der Handlungen, organisiert um einen rigiden Gegensatz zwischen Gut und Böse. Die Charaktere repräsentieren mehr Mächte als Menschen, sie vermögen ihre Lebensumstände weder zu beherrschen noch zu verstehen, sodass mehr als eine heroische Traszendenz das Schicksal seine Lösungsmöglichkeiten für das Drama anbietet. Eine stark betonte Erzählung des Leidenschaftlichen und der Überraschung muss das Wort durch Geste setzen und die Sprache durch visuelle Repräsentation von Bedeutungen. (Aus Laura Mulveys "Melodrama In And Out Home")&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2797897115718157343?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2797897115718157343/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2797897115718157343' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2797897115718157343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2797897115718157343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/12/feuilleton.html' title='Feuilleton'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-678347278452391831</id><published>2011-12-03T16:29:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2011-12-03T16:44:32.508+01:00</updated><title type='text'>FilmLabFest 2011</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mluEkTyQfiw/TtpB86vs7HI/AAAAAAAAAHk/8LaG7ijMTBw/s1600/FW_Filmlabfestival_2011_lowres1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 151px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mluEkTyQfiw/TtpB86vs7HI/AAAAAAAAAHk/8LaG7ijMTBw/s320/FW_Filmlabfestival_2011_lowres1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681926394698591346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FilmLabFestival &lt;a href="http://www.filmwerkstatt-duesseldorf.de/filmbeschreibungen/filmlabfestival/"&gt;Programm Fr. 09.12.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FilmLabFestival &lt;a href="http://www.filmwerkstatt-duesseldorf.de/filmbeschreibungen/filmlabfestival2/"&gt;Programm Sa. 10.12.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Das Andere Ich: Maya Deren &lt;a href="http://www.filmwerkstatt-duesseldorf.de/filmbeschreibungen/maya_deren/"&gt;Programm Sa.10.12.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-678347278452391831?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.filmwerkstatt-duesseldorf.de/filmbeschreibungen/filmlabfestival/' title='FilmLabFest 2011'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/678347278452391831/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=678347278452391831' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/678347278452391831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/678347278452391831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/12/filmlabfest-2011.html' title='FilmLabFest 2011'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mluEkTyQfiw/TtpB86vs7HI/AAAAAAAAAHk/8LaG7ijMTBw/s72-c/FW_Filmlabfestival_2011_lowres1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-7365521555766793775</id><published>2011-11-30T20:39:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T20:50:20.145+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Open call</title><content type='html'>&lt;h1 style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Georgia;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h1&gt;EMDASH Award 2012: Call for entries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The  Emdash Award is open to artists living outside of the UK, up to five  years from graduating from an undergraduate or postgraduate degree or  under 35 years of age. The Emdash Award is part of the Frieze Projects  programme, produced by Frieze Foundation, supported by the Emdash  Foundation and presented in collaboration with Gasworks. Entrance  to the award is by open submission and the winner will be selected by  an international panel of artists and curators. The recipient will have  the unique opportunity to present their work at Frieze Art Fair 2012 to a  significant international audience. Additionally the prize will cover  production costs of up to £10,000, an artist’s fee, per diems, travel  expenses and a studio residency at Gasworks in London from August to  October 2012.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The  selection committee for 2012 will be: Andrea Dibelius (Emdash  Foundation), Ryan Gander (Artist), Rowan Geddis (Residencies  Co-ordinator, Gasworks), Udo Kittelmann (Director of the National  Gallery, Berlin), Sarah McCrory (Curator, Frieze Foundation), Dr.  Matthias Mühling (Curator of the Lenbachhaus Kunstbau, Munich), Amelie  von Wedel (Emdash Foundation).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Emdash Award winner in 2011 was Anahita Razmi, whose work Roof Piece Tehran was launched at Frieze Art Fair 2011 to significant critical acclaim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The closing date for applications is 9 January 2012. The winner of the award will be announced in May 2012.&lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 18px; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Georgia,Verdana;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-7365521555766793775?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://frieze.new.mindunit.co.uk/email/643/send' title='Open call'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/7365521555766793775/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=7365521555766793775' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7365521555766793775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7365521555766793775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/11/open-call.html' title='Open call'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-1020070848120459708</id><published>2011-10-27T17:08:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-10-27T17:27:50.895+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Film My Desire</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-64xLZmCsKX8/Tql0wx-lHlI/AAAAAAAAAHY/5f3oPM1BLZ4/s1600/still06.tif"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-64xLZmCsKX8/Tql0wx-lHlI/AAAAAAAAAHY/5f3oPM1BLZ4/s320/still06.tif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668189987420839506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-1020070848120459708?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/1020070848120459708/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=1020070848120459708' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1020070848120459708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1020070848120459708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/10/film-my-desire.html' title='Film My Desire'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-64xLZmCsKX8/Tql0wx-lHlI/AAAAAAAAAHY/5f3oPM1BLZ4/s72-c/still06.tif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4559458188257824255</id><published>2011-08-31T10:56:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-31T11:33:38.977+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Film My Desire - Synopsis</title><content type='html'>The personal quest for identity brings me (us) to the encounter with a stranger and the confrontation with his image. He looks through my (our) eyes. They called him Desire. I follow him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The film plays with the boundaries between biography and fiction, between documents and film references, going from a constructed identity to a real one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4559458188257824255?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4559458188257824255/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4559458188257824255' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4559458188257824255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4559458188257824255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/08/film-my-desire-synopsis.html' title='Film My Desire - Synopsis'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-6200859991462031019</id><published>2011-08-13T20:00:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-13T20:01:43.199+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Optical phonogram</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Cb2tA8yW-M/Tka73PmseJI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/rPzSB1OgxLM/s1600/ni-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 224px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Cb2tA8yW-M/Tka73PmseJI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/rPzSB1OgxLM/s320/ni-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640402141084154002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-6200859991462031019?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/6200859991462031019/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=6200859991462031019' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/6200859991462031019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/6200859991462031019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/08/optical-phonogram.html' title='Optical phonogram'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Cb2tA8yW-M/Tka73PmseJI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/rPzSB1OgxLM/s72-c/ni-2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-5734887784596306946</id><published>2011-07-18T17:54:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-07-18T17:55:40.011+02:00</updated><title type='text'>pink tilt</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/26027480?title=0&amp;amp;byline=0&amp;amp;portrait=0" frameborder="0" height="225" width="400"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/26027480"&gt;Pink Tilt&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/ghrodriguez"&gt;Gonzalo H Rodríguez&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com"&gt;Vimeo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-5734887784596306946?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/5734887784596306946/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=5734887784596306946' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5734887784596306946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5734887784596306946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/07/pink-tilt.html' title='pink tilt'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4842769298424315806</id><published>2011-06-14T12:39:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-06-14T12:50:02.779+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Death of Subjectivity II</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/oUTHDo_hhe0" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4842769298424315806?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4842769298424315806/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4842769298424315806' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4842769298424315806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4842769298424315806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/06/death-of-subjectivity-ii.html' title='The Death of Subjectivity II'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/oUTHDo_hhe0/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-3183063513080097083</id><published>2011-06-12T00:24:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-06-12T00:29:21.915+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Death of Subjectivity</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe width="400" height="257" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/k-_3SCeylQ8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-3183063513080097083?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/3183063513080097083/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=3183063513080097083' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3183063513080097083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3183063513080097083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/06/death-of-subjectivity.html' title='The Death of Subjectivity'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/k-_3SCeylQ8/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-3087908783211040658</id><published>2011-05-12T10:26:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-05-13T22:32:22.363+02:00</updated><title type='text'>VIER AUS 1774</title><content type='html'>K.WEST Mai 2011    &lt;br /&gt;Kunst: VIER AUS 1774&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alle zwei Jahre zeigt Bonn, was es Neues gibt in der Video-Kunst. An die 50 Produktionen flimmern jetzt in der 13. »Videonale« über Wände und Monitore im Kunstmuseum. Stark ist der Umkreis der Kölner Kunsthochschule für Medien vertreten. K.WEST besucht vier dieser jungen Video-Künstler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TEXT: STEFANIE STADEL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Die Idee schwebte ihr schon lange vor, allein der Schnee fehlte. Bis zu jenem Wintertag 2009. Johanna Reich sieht es kräftig rieseln und macht sich sofort daran, ihre teure Videokamera an das alte Wäschegestell vor dem Fenster zu montieren. Als die Schneedecke dick genug ist, stürmt sie die Treppen hinunter in den Garten hinter dem Haus und beginnt, im Weiß zu wühlen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Von oben schauen wir mit der Kamera zu, wie das Loch im Schnee immer größer wird. Es dauert nicht einmal zwei Minuten, dann ist die Künstlerin, trotz unserer ununterbrochener Beobachtung, verschwunden – und mit ihr das Vertrauen in die Wahrheit des Mediums Film. Denn in Wirklichkeit ist Reich natürlich noch da. Der Apparat kann sie nur nicht mehr ausmachen in ihrem schwarzen Outfit vor dem Hintergrund des ebenfalls schwarzen Bodens. Das Verschwinden und der Zweifel am medial vermittelten Bild sind Themen, die Reich immer wieder angeht in ihren kurzen, knappen, pointierten, oft ergreifend einfachen Arbeiten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man merkt: Sie denkt sehr stark in Bildern. In bewegten zwar, doch tritt die Erzählung in den Hintergrund. Das passt zu Reichs Anker in der bildenden Kunst: Sie hat ihren Abschluss an der Kunstakademie in Münster gemacht, bevor sie zum Postgraduierten-Studium an die Kunsthochschule für Medien nach Köln kam. Ihre Arbeiten sind Bilder und Filme zugleich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um noch mehr von ihnen zu zeigen, legt die Künstlerin das iPad auf den Tisch im aufgeräumten Atelier. Ein Film zeigt: Auf einer Industriebrache spielt sie gekonnt mit allerlei verwirrenden Spiegelungen in riesigen Pfützen. Oder noch besser: Sie kickt auf der Straße oder im Grünen, benutzt aber statt des Fußballs die laufende Videokamera – eine von zwölf, die sie genau für diesen Zweck bei Ebay ersteigert hat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gelegentlich trifft man die Künstlerin mit einem kleinen Beamer. Im Kölner Stadtteil Ehrenfeld, wo sie wohnt, wirft sie ihre bewegten Bilder groß an Mauern, Zäune, Hauswände. Noch mehr Aufmerksamkeit verspricht nun ihr Auftritt bei der Videonale in Bonn. Dort zeigt Reich ihre schlichte Schneegeschichte mit Titel »Black Hole«. Sie ist nicht die einzige Kölnerin im Kunstmuseum. Von den 48 ausgewählten Kollegen arbeitet immerhin ein halbes Dutzend in der großen Nachbarstadt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast alle um die 30, haben sie ihr Studium an der Kunsthochschule für Medien noch nicht lange hinter sich gebracht und versuchen nun, mit ihrer Kunst in der Szene irgendwie Fuß zu fassen. Hüpfen von Stipen-dium zu Stipendium und helfen sich nebenbei mit diversen Jobs über die Runden – schneiden Werbefilme, schießen Hochzeitsfotos, leiten Film-Workshops für Kinder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ihre Kunst schicken sie derweil um die Welt, um sich einen Namen zu machen. »Black Hole« von Johanna Reich etwa war bereits in Island, in den USA, in Japan und Italien unterwegs. Die Teilnahme an einem international renommierten Festival wie der Videonale kommt nun krönend hinzu. Sicher ein dicker Pluspunkt in der Karriere. Zumal die Auswahl unter 1774 Kollegen, die sich in diesem Jahr um eine Teilnahme beworben haben, keine Selbstverständlichkeit ist, eher schon als große Ehre gelten kann.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So zeigen sich Reich und die Kölner Videonale-Truppe denn auch ehrlich stolz. Man trifft sie zwischen Poll, Deutz, Südstadt und versteht auf dem Weg von Atelier zu Atelier, was in der Kunstform steckt. Man ahnt, welche oft sehr eigenen Herangehensweisen die Videonale unter ihrem Dach vereint: von ironisch bis poetisch. Von eher sachlich bis höchst persönlich. Vom einfachen Monitor bis zur komplexen Installation. Von zwei Minuten für Johanna Reichs schwarzes Loch bis zu einer knappen halben Stunde für Anna Hepps 94-jährige Großmutter. Bisher lief diese künstlerische Doku von 2009 vor allem im Kinosaal, auf Filmfestivals. Hepp freut sich, dass sie nun im Kunstkontext angekommen ist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hepp hat ihre Oma mit der Kamera durch den Alltag begleitet. In ihren eigenen vier Wänden, wo sie Tag für Tag ihren Gewohnheiten nachgeht. Der Film zeigt, wie die alte Dame vor einem Glas Saft am Couchtisch sitzt, wie sie gut zugedeckt auf dem Sofa ruht, wie sie mit geschlossenen Augen und einem großen Kopfhörer im Sessel versinkt. Genau, trotzdem respektvoll registriert Hepp die Zeichen des Alters – die faltige Haut, die zittrigen Bewegungen der Hände, die müden, glasigen Augen. Die Bilder bleiben stumm. Doch wechseln sie mit ganz schwarzen Passagen, in denen allein Dorothea, so heißt Annas Oma, zu Gehör kommt. Sie sinniert über ihr vergangenes Leben und über das, was da noch kommen mag. Wenige Tage nach Annas Aufnahmen stirbt Dorothea – überraschend, wenn man das in diesem Alter sagen kann.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seither hat der Film ihrer Enkelin eine ganze Reihe von Preisen eingebracht. Rund um den Globus ist er gelaufen. Anfangs konnte Hepp noch zusehen. Doch mit der Zeit sei es gefühlsmäßig immer schwieriger geworden – »man darf das nicht unterschätzen«, bemerkt sie. Ihr Publikum beobachtete die Künstlerin beim Weinen und Lachen. Große Emotionen. Welche von beiden hält Hepp für angemessen, welche sieht sie am liebsten? Keine – die eine wie die andere gehöre dazu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Auch Gonzalo Rodriguez macht die eigene Großmutter zum Thema. Versucht im Video, ihre und damit auch seine eigene Geschichte aufzuarbeiten. Der 30 Jahre junge Künstler kam 2006 nach Köln zum Studium an der KHM und um zu bleiben, denn daheim habe er nicht leben und arbeiten können. Man trifft ihn in Deutz in einem alten Industriekomplex, auf sein rotes T-Shirt ist eine Art alter Fernseher gedruckt. Rodriguez teilt sein uriges Atelier dort mit einem Kollegen, der sich&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aktuell für Ameisen interessiert. Sie krabbeln durch Schläuche auf und ab von einem Terrarium ins nächste, schleppen allerlei umher, bauen hier und da ihre Hügel. Manchmal finden sie auch den Weg aus dem Glaskasten. Es kribbelt auf der Hand, während der Künstler geduldig erklärt, was ein VJ ist. Denn als Visual Jockey jobbt Rodriguez gelegentlich bei Partys oder Konzerten – begleitet die Musik dabei mit Live-Videoperformances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Die Ameise hat den Hals erreicht, da kommt der Künstler auf die Geschichte mit seiner Oma Rebeca zu sprechen. Sie starb beim Überqueren einer Schnellstraße, als Gonzalo zwölf Jahre alt war. Ein Unfall? Oder könnte es Selbstmord gewesen sein? Das sei bis heute nicht klar. Mit etwas Projektgeld in der Tasche machte der Künstler sich zur Spurensuche auf nach Lima. Rodriguez interviewte die eigene Familie und begab sich an die Schnellstraße. Er stöberte in der Vergangenheit der Großmutter. Besuchte mit seiner Kamera das Krankenhaus, wo sie sich wiederholt aufhalten musste. Auch Telenovelas wurden gesichtet, denn die hat Rebeca so gern gesehen. »Die Suche war sehr wichtig, auch weil ich vieles über mich selbst erfahren habe«, so Rodriguez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Viele Stunden Bild- und Tonmaterial sind zusammengekommen, die der Künstler im Rebeca-Video auf gut 20 Minuten komprimiert. Weniger eine Dokumentation ist das, eher ein experimenteller Kurzfilm, der allein um die Recherche kreist, denn zu objektiven Ergebnissen kann er nicht führen. Am Ende scheint nur Eines gewiss: Dass jede Erzählung immer nur eine einzige von vielen möglichen Perspektiven vermitteln kann.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2009 hatte Rodriguez mit seinem Film einen Förderpreis bei den Kurzfilmtagen in Oberhausen gewonnen. Nun debütiert er im Museum. Welches Forum ihm lieber sei, wisse er nicht recht zu sagen. Tut es aber dann doch irgendwie: »In Oberhausen gefallen mir die linken Gedanken – die Philosophie, dass ein Film auch gesellschaftliche Aufgaben zu erfüllen hat. Und dass es nicht nur großes Unterhaltungskino gibt.« Im Museum bestehe dagegen die Gefahr, dass die Sache zu elitär werde, meint er. »Da könnte man sich am Ende fragen, warum man den Film überhaupt gemacht hat – um cool zu sein, um zu verkaufen, um einem kleinen abgehobenen Kreis zu gefallen?«&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Für das letzte Treffen an diesem Tag wechseln wir wieder auf die rechte Rheinseite. Richtung Süden den Fluss entlang gelangt man zum Schokoladenmuseum, wo Tessa Knapp gelegentlich das Atelier einer befreundeten Künstlerin mitbenutzt. Wie Rodriguez, so war auch sie für ihren Videonale-Film auf Reisen gegangen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allerdings in eine ihr bis dahin fremde Welt. Es war ein Stipendium, das Knapp 2009 nach Istanbul führte. Nach ersten Versuchen, die türkische Sprache zu lernen, fiel ihr auf, dass die Vornamen dort meistens einen direkten Bezug zur Alltagssprache haben. Die Leute heißen etwa Özlem, was so viel wie Sehnsucht bedeutet, oder Özgür, das bedeutet Freiheit; Volkan steht für Vulkan und Deniz für das Meer. »Es kam mir so vor, als würde ich mich in einer großen Allegorie bewegen.« Tessa Knapp setzt eine Reihe solch »sprechender Namen« wie Allegorien aus traditionellen Theaterstücken im tiefen Schwarz einer Bühne in Szene. Die Protagonisten erzählen von sich und von den mit ihrem Namen verbundenen Eigenschaften. So entsteht eine Reihe von filmischen Porträts, die als Videoperformance hintereinander geschnitten sind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So endet die Kölner Video-Tour. Mit dem festen Vorsatz, demnächst weiterzufahren. Immer den Rhein hinauf nach Bonn, um bei der 13. Videonale die übrigen Beiträge kennen zu lernen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kunstmuseum Bonn;bis 29. Mai 2011; Tel. 0228/77 62 60. www.kunstmuseum-bonn.de&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;© K.WEST&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-3087908783211040658?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.k-west.net/modules.php?name=News&amp;file=article&amp;sid=1122' title='VIER AUS 1774'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/3087908783211040658/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=3087908783211040658' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3087908783211040658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3087908783211040658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/05/vier-aus-1774.html' title='VIER AUS 1774'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2071175610435843474</id><published>2011-04-20T12:32:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-20T12:41:13.622+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Preis der Videonale für Nate Harrison - Anerkennung für "Rebeca"</title><content type='html'>Pressebericht: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preis der Videonale für Nate Harrison&lt;br /&gt;Der amerikanische Künstler gewinnt mit einer Videoarbeit über das Kunstvideo. Jury: Die Geschichte der Videokunst wird von Harrison auf erfrischend persönliche und selbstironische Weise inszeniert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l-YiZX0aNe4/Ta63383x58I/AAAAAAAAAHA/V29G4KNAPN8/s1600/Logo_V13.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l-YiZX0aNe4/Ta63383x58I/AAAAAAAAAHA/V29G4KNAPN8/s320/Logo_V13.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597613558728878018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nate Harrison ist Preisträger des Videonalepreises 2011. Die fünfköpfige Jury sprach sich einstimmig für die Videoarbeit des amerikanischen Künstlers mit dem Titel „Aura Dies Hard (Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Copy)“ aus. Darin thematisiert Harrison das Kunstvideo und stellt die traditionelle Auffassung über das Medium Video als eine immaterielle Kunstform in Frage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wie das Kunstmuseum Bonn weiter mitteilt, honorierte die Jury die strukturelle "Kompilation, die sich eines Fundus von Raubkopien historischer Arbeiten von Altmeistern der Videokunst bedient und sich als Meta-Text zur aktuellen Mediendebatte präsentiert."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weiter heißt es in der Begründung: "Die Geschichte der Videokunst (…) wird von Harrison auf erfrischend persönliche und selbstironische Weise inszeniert." Nate Harrison, geboren 1972 in Eugene, Oregon, lebt heute in Brooklyn, New York.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anerkennungen erteilte die Jury zudem an Johanna Reich für ihre Video-Performance „black hole“, an Gonzalo H. Rodriguez für „Rebeca“ und an Helena Öhman Mc Cardle für „I remember“.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Der Jury gehörten an: Julia Apitzsch, Referentin Studienstiftung des Deutschen Volkes, Julia Draganovic, Kuratorin, Bologna, Mischa Kuball, Künstler und Professor an der Kunsthochschule für Medien Köln, François Michaud, Kurator Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris und Christoph Schreier, stellvertrender Direktor des Kunstmuseum Bonn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2071175610435843474?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.kultur-in-bonn.de/nachrichten/anzeige/article/preis-der-videonale-fuer-nate-harrison-1302800928.html' title='Preis der Videonale für Nate Harrison - Anerkennung für &quot;Rebeca&quot;'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2071175610435843474/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2071175610435843474' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2071175610435843474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2071175610435843474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/04/preis-der-videonale-fur-nate-harrison.html' title='Preis der Videonale für Nate Harrison - Anerkennung für &quot;Rebeca&quot;'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l-YiZX0aNe4/Ta63383x58I/AAAAAAAAAHA/V29G4KNAPN8/s72-c/Logo_V13.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2544114573674549765</id><published>2011-03-30T20:38:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-30T20:39:54.501+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Factory - Kunstausstellung im Atelier</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l-_tEQHb72M/TZN42gq2G2I/AAAAAAAAAG4/gPdwRr_codc/s1600/FACTORYEINLADUNGoutline.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l-_tEQHb72M/TZN42gq2G2I/AAAAAAAAAG4/gPdwRr_codc/s320/FACTORYEINLADUNGoutline.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589944440374827874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eine spontane Ausstellung mit Arbeiten von Charlotte Krauss, Theresia Tarcson, Benjamin Bischof, Philipp Böll und Gonzalo H. Rodriguez&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Kunstetage Deutz (über Gebäude 9)&lt;br /&gt;Deutz-Mühlheimerstr. 127-129&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2544114573674549765?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2544114573674549765/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2544114573674549765' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2544114573674549765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2544114573674549765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/03/factory-kunstausstellung-im-atelier.html' title='Factory - Kunstausstellung im Atelier'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l-_tEQHb72M/TZN42gq2G2I/AAAAAAAAAG4/gPdwRr_codc/s72-c/FACTORYEINLADUNGoutline.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-7712056117899849160</id><published>2011-02-28T18:54:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-28T19:04:16.943+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/20430965?title=0&amp;amp;byline=0&amp;amp;portrait=0&amp;amp;color=ffffff" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-7712056117899849160?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/7712056117899849160/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=7712056117899849160' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7712056117899849160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7712056117899849160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/02/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4769667584259410477</id><published>2011-02-19T17:26:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-19T17:32:38.295+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Film my Desire</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MDXn8jlIPDw/TV_wikJtteI/AAAAAAAAAGw/EmJGFjPSzNg/s1600/still11.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MDXn8jlIPDw/TV_wikJtteI/AAAAAAAAAGw/EmJGFjPSzNg/s320/still11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575439340318602722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ut7FY-N84Pg/TV_v-kBOAKI/AAAAAAAAAGg/ZbCM76Tk618/s1600/still10.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ut7FY-N84Pg/TV_v-kBOAKI/AAAAAAAAAGg/ZbCM76Tk618/s320/still10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575438721807679650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fFrMqgb3_R8/TV_v9btSS-I/AAAAAAAAAGY/xHK9jpsERKc/s1600/still09.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fFrMqgb3_R8/TV_v9btSS-I/AAAAAAAAAGY/xHK9jpsERKc/s320/still09.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575438702396722146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some stills of my new work. I'll be uploading some more soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4769667584259410477?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4769667584259410477/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4769667584259410477' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4769667584259410477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4769667584259410477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/02/film-my-desire.html' title='Film my Desire'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MDXn8jlIPDw/TV_wikJtteI/AAAAAAAAAGw/EmJGFjPSzNg/s72-c/still11.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-7014354456981805054</id><published>2011-02-11T14:32:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-11T14:35:31.960+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Oberhausen short films tour eleven countries</title><content type='html'>International Short Film Festival Oberhausen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fifth edition of “Oberhausen on Tour” gets on the road on 19 January 2011 for a debut screening in Hanover. From January to June 2011, the International Short Film Festival Oberhausen will once again be sending award-winning shorts and audience favourites off on a trip around the world. A selection of 50 short films from the last two festivals will be on view at 27 venues from Almaty to Jakarta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One focal point of the present tour is Eastern Europe: dates in Riga, Sofia, Almaty and other Eastern European cities are scheduled, along with screenings in Paris, Innsbruck, Lausanne, Jakarta and elsewhere. Viewers in Germany will be able to catch the programme in Bamberg, Bochum, Bottrop, Brühl, Freiburg, Hamburg, Hanover, Karlsruhe, Cologne, Lüneburg, Mainz, Munich, Münster or Nuremberg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The countries:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Belgium, Bulgaria, Germany, France, United Kingdom, Indonesia, Kazakhstan, Latvia, Austria, Rumania, Switzerland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The festival has put together eight different programmes for Oberhausen on Tour 2011. Organizers can choose from several “best of” line-ups with award-winners, audience favourites and highlights from the competitions, a selection of artist’s films, the clips from the MuVi Award 2010, or the works of Herbert Fritsch. Included are the winners of the Grand Prize of the City of Oberhausen, Magnus Bärtås’s Madame &amp; Little Boy, and the best entry award in the German Competition, Gesang der Jünglinge by Andree Korpys and Markus Löffler, as are current works by artists such as Yael Bartana, Jeanne Faust, Mounira al Solh and Jaan Toomik. Also awaiting discovery are films like Thiago Ricarte’s Chapa, the story of a Brazilian day labourer, or Catching, which tells of a Finnish woman working at a sawmill in Argentina, a fiction film by the young Finnish director Hannaleena Hauru.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-7014354456981805054?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.kurzfilmtage.de/en/metanavigation/press/press-releases/latest/oberhausen-on-tour-2011.html' title='Oberhausen short films tour eleven countries'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/7014354456981805054/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=7014354456981805054' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7014354456981805054'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7014354456981805054'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2011/02/oberhausen-short-films-tour-eleven.html' title='Oberhausen short films tour eleven countries'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4147300205554181318</id><published>2010-12-16T16:14:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T16:16:23.806+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Libro de cabecera</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe frameborder="0" scrolling="no" style="border:0px" src="http://books.google.de/books?id=9YdyjvszY7EC&amp;lpg=PA1&amp;ots=I6oP4jq2-y&amp;dq=Jean%20Genet&amp;pg=PA29&amp;output=embed" width=500 height=500&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4147300205554181318?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4147300205554181318/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4147300205554181318' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4147300205554181318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4147300205554181318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/12/libro-de-cabecera.html' title='Libro de cabecera'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-5551369836617049759</id><published>2010-11-22T19:53:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T19:55:28.453+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Open Call</title><content type='html'>Within the framework of the 7th Berlin Biennale for Contemporary Art in 2012, curated by Artur Żmijewski, artists from all over the world are requested to send in their artist material for a research investigation, following the conditions below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We accept artistic material in hard copy formats not bigger than A3 (297 x 420 mm or 11.69 x 16.54 in.), printed images, digital data, as well as DVDs.&lt;br /&gt;PDFs in A4 (297 mm x 210 mm or 11.7 x 8.3 in.) or fax will also be accepted.&lt;br /&gt;Please do not send any original artworks.&lt;br /&gt;We welcome all possible languages of your artistic comments and explanations. However there should equally be an English version.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the research also focuses on the question whether artists consider themselves to be political, please inform us about your political inclination (e.g. rightist, leftist, liberal, nationalist, anarchist, feminist, masculinist, or whatever you identify yourself with) or whether you are not interested in politics at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please send your artistic statement or presentation as a hardcopy via regular mail, via e-mail or fax to the following address or number before January 15, 2011:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Berlin Biennale&lt;br /&gt;– Open Call –&lt;br /&gt;KW Institute for Contemporary Art&lt;br /&gt;Auguststraße 69&lt;br /&gt;10117 Berlin/Germany&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e-mail: call@berlinbiennale.de&lt;br /&gt;fax: +49. 30. 24 34 59 88&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This open call is not guarantying that you will be invited to take part in the 7th Berlin Biennale. Please be aware that your submission might be used and published within its framework. Please also consider that the 7th Berlin Biennale is not able to send back any received material, but that everything will be integrated into the public research archive of the Berlin Biennale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A short explanation by Artur Żmijewski can be found on the website &lt;a href="http://www.berlinbiennale.de/index.php?lang=en"&gt;www.berlinbiennale.de&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The open call is available for download in various languages (Arab, Chinese, English, French, German, Hebrew, Hindi, Italian, Polish, Portuguese, Russian, Spanish) on the website &lt;a href="http://www.berlinbiennale.de/index.php?lang=en"&gt;www.berlinbiennale.de&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Berlin Biennale is organized by KW Institute for Contemporary Art and funded by the Kulturstiftung des Bundes (German Federal Cultural Foundation).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;KW Institute for Contemporary Art&lt;br /&gt;Berlin Biennale for Contemporary Art&lt;br /&gt;Auguststraße 69&lt;br /&gt;D-10117 Berlin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-5551369836617049759?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/5551369836617049759/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=5551369836617049759' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5551369836617049759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5551369836617049759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/11/open-call.html' title='Open Call'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-1576942640989603024</id><published>2010-11-11T19:13:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T20:21:09.272+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Absolutamente</title><content type='html'>Esa palabra se expande, se dilata en mis oídos. Te oí decirla: "absolutamente", y repetir su eco en tu mirada. Luego te levantaste, tomaste un cigarrillo y, posando exageradamente, intentando por tres segundos ser un galán de cine de mal gusto, me dijiste: "vete". Tu orden se mezcló impertinentemente con el eco decreciente de tu anterior palabra: "absolutamente" y, aunque entendía lo que me decías, no era capaz de reaccionar. "No te conozco; esta es mi casa y quiero que te largues. Vete". Lentamente me fui incorporando, me puse de pie y recogí mis cosas. Las guarde como pude en mi mochila, tome mi abrigo y automáticamente ví la hora: las tres de la mañana. Sin meditarlo demasiado abandoné tu territorio, ese espacio inverosímil de montaje escénico. Ese espacio donde las acciones discurren dentro de un guión establecido con ciertas libertades improvisativas que no alteren la estructura dura de la narración. Ese espacio que es tu hogar.&lt;br /&gt;Tras cerrarse la puerta la oscuridad me abrazó por completo y tiernamente me perdió en su complejidad. Generosamente me liberó de la visión para permitirme escuchar, oler y palpar, logrando hacerme sentir mi propia presencia fuera de este mundo. Y mi miedo a la soledad. Desde este universo paralelo llegué naufragando al puerto de lo no absoluto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-1576942640989603024?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/1576942640989603024/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=1576942640989603024' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1576942640989603024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1576942640989603024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/11/absolutamente.html' title='Absolutamente'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4427873550626573948</id><published>2010-11-08T22:25:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T22:26:34.024+01:00</updated><title type='text'>state of mind</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/16625683" width="400" height="300" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/16625683"&gt;Untitled (state of mind) / drawing Nr. 4&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/ghrodriguez"&gt;Gonzalo H Rodríguez&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com"&gt;Vimeo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4427873550626573948?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4427873550626573948/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4427873550626573948' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4427873550626573948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4427873550626573948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/11/state-of-mind.html' title='state of mind'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-8694717819298676672</id><published>2010-08-08T14:02:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T14:06:20.150+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Film my Desire</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;Synopsis für einen dokumentarischen Film-Essay&lt;br /&gt;von Gonzalo H. Rodríguez&lt;br /&gt;Im Rahmen des Filmlaboratoriums, Filmwerkstatt Düsseldorf&lt;br /&gt;HD/ ca. 70 min&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eine Tür öffnet sich und lässt die Beleuchtung von innen nach aussen strahlen. Er geht schnell zur Tür, tritt ein und läuft weiter durch einen Flur. Am Ende diseses Flurs sieht er den athletischen Rücken einer Frau, die ein schwarzes Tango-Kleid trägt. Sie steht vor einer geschlossenen Tür, die sie zunächst mit beiden Händen elegant öffnet. Die Stimmen einer großen Menge Leute erklingen plötzlich laut. Die Frau geht hinein und schließt die Tür hinter sich. Die Stimmen klingen ab.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wie findet man seine sexuelle Identität? Kommt die Lösung zu diesem Rätsel aus dem tiefen Inneren des eigenen Wesens, aus dem Begehren oder aus der Wunschvorstellung des Ichs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;„Film My Desire“ handelt über den persönlichen Prozess der Suche und Konstruktion von Identität im Bereich der Sexualität. In diesem Kontext verknüpfe ich meine eigenen Erfahrungen an das Leben meines alten Bekanntens Dan in einer Art Parallele, die durch unterschiedliche Erlebnisse, Erinnerungen, Themen usw. bis zu unserem Treffen führen. Die Narration entsteht aus einem konstanten Dialog zwischen uns beiden. Im Laufe dieser Reise mache ich drei Stationen, wo ich über drei unterschiedliche Protagonisten die sexuelle Identität thematisiere. Mein Ziel ist Buenos Aires, Argentinien, wo das Treffen mit Dan stattfindet. Die Reise berücksichtigt die Repräsentation des Begehrens um globale Themen zu berühren. Ausgehend von Gender, Weiblichkeit über Poligamie, Medien, Cinema und virtuelle Realität bis zu kulturellen Unterschiede und sexueller Bekennung, schliesst „Film My Desire,“ mittels persönlicher Erfahrungen der Protagonisten und meine eigenen, die Recherche zur sexuellen Identität ein.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Geschlängelt wie die Wege in den Städten der Noir-Filme, wird in „Film My Desire“ die Suche der Sexualität angegangen. Der Ausgang ist womöglich auch mit hell-dunklem Kontrast versehen. Man kann nicht wissen wo es uns hinführen wird.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-8694717819298676672?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/8694717819298676672/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=8694717819298676672' title='3 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8694717819298676672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8694717819298676672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/08/film-my-desire.html' title='Film my Desire'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-5689955551795860553</id><published>2010-07-01T16:07:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T16:19:22.527+02:00</updated><title type='text'>C.A.R. 2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/TCyjq6yY6_I/AAAAAAAAAF0/j8tbXXN_PTw/s1600/DSC00140.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/TCyjq6yY6_I/AAAAAAAAAF0/j8tbXXN_PTw/s320/DSC00140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488942003588230130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Media-art Fair C.A.R. 2010 Contemporary Art Ruhr from 2nd until 4th July at  Welterbe Zollverein.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Selected media-artists with sponsored stands&lt;/strong&gt;:  Nikola Dicke, Osnabrück, Svea Duwe,  Dresden, Christiane Fichtner,  Bremen, Oliver Held, Cologne, Janne Höltermann,  Hamburg, Tilman Küntzel,  Berlin, Adrian Lehmann, Leipzig, Nina Annabelle Märkl,  Munich,  Franziska C. Metzger, Berlin, Egbert Mittelstädt, Cologne, MOOVs: Detlef   Klepsch, Axel Klepsch &amp;amp; Nils Kemmerling, Düsseldorf, Seung-Won Park,   Hamburg, Gonzalo H. Rodríguez, Cologne, Corinne Schneider,   Blankenheim-Hüngersdorf, Tina Tonagel, Cologne, Luis Valdivia, Salzburg/ Austria, Andrè Chi Sing Yuen, Düsseldorf&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-5689955551795860553?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/5689955551795860553/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=5689955551795860553' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5689955551795860553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5689955551795860553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/07/car-2010.html' title='C.A.R. 2010'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/TCyjq6yY6_I/AAAAAAAAAF0/j8tbXXN_PTw/s72-c/DSC00140.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2963730318603218675</id><published>2010-05-27T11:47:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:59:13.803+02:00</updated><title type='text'>New Talents - Biennale Cologne</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S_5A65CT7VI/AAAAAAAAAFs/dn0iOkPem5Q/s1600/new+talents+logo_4c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 101px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S_5A65CT7VI/AAAAAAAAAFs/dn0iOkPem5Q/s320/new+talents+logo_4c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475885577416207698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;new talents - biennale köln&lt;br /&gt;12th to 20th of June 2010&lt;br /&gt;between Kunst-Zentrum Neumarkt and&lt;br /&gt;Rheinufer (Cologne City Center)&lt;br /&gt;Opening: Samstag, 12th of June 2010, 6pm, Kunst-&lt;br /&gt;Station Sankt Peter&lt;br /&gt;With its second edition the new talents biennale becomes firmly established in Cologne’s&lt;br /&gt;cultural centre. Every other year, young graduates of the creative institutions of higher&lt;br /&gt;education of Cologne and Düsseldorf are presented. More than 50 artists were&lt;br /&gt;presented at the same time at the newly opened Rheinauhafen of Cologne in 2008, the&lt;br /&gt;year of the premiere. The second event will be in June 2010, taking place in selected&lt;br /&gt;spots mainly between the Kunstzentrum Neumarkt and the Rheinufer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Rebeca' in new talents:&lt;br /&gt;Friday 18th June / 7:30 pm / Filmforum NRW at Museum Ludwig&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2963730318603218675?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2963730318603218675/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2963730318603218675' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2963730318603218675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2963730318603218675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/05/new-talents-biennale-cologne.html' title='New Talents - Biennale Cologne'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S_5A65CT7VI/AAAAAAAAAFs/dn0iOkPem5Q/s72-c/new+talents+logo_4c.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-5599471831394928168</id><published>2010-05-06T20:42:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-05-06T20:59:53.794+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-6a1d85bb245b2602" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v9.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D6a1d85bb245b2602%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331529113%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4D1768C1FCAA42E758A0C26C6BAA0291DFE1581.35EF9C50EC9A00E994175ECED0B641599717C311%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D6a1d85bb245b2602%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DE9DB6lC34XkfbPD1NyCDtMwBGhM&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v9.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D6a1d85bb245b2602%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331529113%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4D1768C1FCAA42E758A0C26C6BAA0291DFE1581.35EF9C50EC9A00E994175ECED0B641599717C311%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D6a1d85bb245b2602%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DE9DB6lC34XkfbPD1NyCDtMwBGhM&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-5599471831394928168?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=6a1d85bb245b2602&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/5599471831394928168/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=5599471831394928168' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5599471831394928168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5599471831394928168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/05/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4946865483905113439</id><published>2010-04-27T15:56:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-04-27T16:04:45.377+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Kurzfilme aus Oberhausen</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S9bu8caVq7I/AAAAAAAAAFk/6NXiEpLKxEs/s1600/rebeca63klein_color.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S9bu8caVq7I/AAAAAAAAAFk/6NXiEpLKxEs/s320/rebeca63klein_color.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464817920046902194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3sat begleitet das Festival in seinem Programm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Die Internationalen Kurzfilmtage Oberhausen sind eines der ältesten  Kurzfilmfestivals der Welt. Bei den 56. Kurzfilmtagen vom 29. April bis  4. Mai 2010 verleiht 3sat als Medienpartner zum zwölften Mal den  3sat-Förderpreis an einen talentierten Filmemacher im Deutschen  Wettbewerb und begleitet das Festival in seinem Programm. Zu sehen sind  acht Filme aus dem aktuellen Deutschen Wettbewerb sowie der  3sat-Förderpreisträger 2009.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4946865483905113439?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.3sat.de/page/?source=/film/143248/index.html' title='Kurzfilme aus Oberhausen'/><link rel='enclosure' type='text/html' href='http://www.3sat.de/page/?source=/film/143248/index.html' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4946865483905113439/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4946865483905113439' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4946865483905113439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4946865483905113439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/04/kurzfilme-aus-oberhausen.html' title='Kurzfilme aus Oberhausen'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S9bu8caVq7I/AAAAAAAAAFk/6NXiEpLKxEs/s72-c/rebeca63klein_color.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-3868307493321842375</id><published>2010-04-15T09:50:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T09:52:46.930+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Familie und Freiheit</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S8bFhQyqXUI/AAAAAAAAAFc/gPW_kXc1f0Y/s1600/FamilieundFreiheit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S8bFhQyqXUI/AAAAAAAAAFc/gPW_kXc1f0Y/s320/FamilieundFreiheit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460268773467118914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-3868307493321842375?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/3868307493321842375/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=3868307493321842375' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3868307493321842375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3868307493321842375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/04/familie-und-freiheit.html' title='Familie und Freiheit'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S8bFhQyqXUI/AAAAAAAAAFc/gPW_kXc1f0Y/s72-c/FamilieundFreiheit.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-1993205914652782248</id><published>2010-04-03T16:28:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T20:27:44.343+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Mishima</title><content type='html'>Yûkoku aka Patriotism aka Rite of Love &amp; Death (1966)/ in Ubuweb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ubu.com/film/mishima_rite.html"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Playwright and novelist Yukio Mishima foreshadowed his own violent suicide with this ravishing short feature, his only foray into filmmaking, yet made with the expressiveness and confidence of a true cinema artist. All prints of Patriotism (Yžkoku), which depicts the seppuku of a army officer, were destroyed after Mishima's death in 1970, though the negative was saved, and the film resurfaced thirty-five years later. New viewers will be stunned at the depth and clarity of Mishima's vision, as well as his graphic depictions of sex and death.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-1993205914652782248?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/1993205914652782248/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=1993205914652782248' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1993205914652782248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1993205914652782248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/04/mishima.html' title='Mishima'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-6025571500217743330</id><published>2010-03-16T12:21:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2010-03-21T13:10:35.273+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='desire'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='film'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poetry'/><title type='text'>Film my Desire (first sequence-voice over)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S59rWHuyW0I/AAAAAAAAAFU/Gf40MW1mWBI/s1600-h/FMDTITEL.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S59rWHuyW0I/AAAAAAAAAFU/Gf40MW1mWBI/s320/FMDTITEL.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449192101918169922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Oh Desire! I love you so badly! I found you in an odd manner the first time we met. It was as if you knew already my way of looking. I was so impressed. It just happened in a familiar space, floating on a cloud of madness. You taught me a lot. Then I started looking for a colateral place, more intimate than the first one. As I found it, my gaze was placed, yes, you already knew it, so I looked a bit further...&lt;a href="http://salonkritik.net/09-10/2010/03/judith_butler_para_principiant.php"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-6025571500217743330?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/6025571500217743330/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=6025571500217743330' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/6025571500217743330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/6025571500217743330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/03/film-my-desire-first-sequence-voice.html' title='Film my Desire (first sequence-voice over)'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S59rWHuyW0I/AAAAAAAAAFU/Gf40MW1mWBI/s72-c/FMDTITEL.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-3826903706870892478</id><published>2010-03-01T19:08:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T19:11:49.351+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Film my Desire</title><content type='html'>As Lacan’s term for the Imaginary suggests, with a simple connotation of the term as casual form of fiction, the amount of optical language that happens between projection and identification, turns out to be the link of the encounter between image and observer's desire. In other words; the assumed fragmented body of the self opposes to the whole body of the Other, and therefore elaborates the wholeness of his own body as an image of the desired Other. So then the optical language happening between the projected image and the observer’s identification must correspond later to the observer’s desire of a whole-body. Following this idea, the body does not disappear without physicallity, but more than that, it turns to be outlined by the means of images. Sexuality and desire are, therefore, inscribed as drive forces of the subject in the field of the visible, laying out the reached dynamic of the visual. We possess a body without body or an image of a body: we are another. Is there not a key role cinema has been playing and in a way the Internet seems to be expanding?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My intention is, on one hand, to interrogate the lacanian concept of the mirror in the construction of the subject as it is one of the main topics in cinema theories to explain the situation of the viewer in front of the film projection. The model of the „mirror stage“ was actually conceived by Lacan to categorize the psycho-sexual development of the child as recognition of the Self from the visual. Cinema therefore finds in this stage a way to analyse the spectator-screen event as the imaginary production between screen-camera-look. In doing so, the media (cinema) sexualize its discurse, becomming itself the object petit a: cinema itself becomes then „that shiny object of desire“ (twisting a little bit the name of Buñuel’s classic film). On the other hand, I will confront the concepts of language and image through mass-media phenomena (like cinema and the Internet) in order to research on sexuality. The new digital technologies -where images have lost its materiality (ink, oil colors, photo-sensible emulsion, etc) as they have been completely structured by mathematic language (binary codes)- urge us to rethink the psychoanalitical terms of the Self, sexuality and language from a more complex scenario that inevitably shifts the Other from its past position. If images become manifestations of a language of codes, a technologize mirror faces us with a codified reflexion, which is not ours nor of the Other; it is actually placed as a „cyber-image“ somewhere in the middle. Where is then the sexual drive that causes the construction of the subject in such a situation? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The project aims at diverse experiences in contemporary sexual relations, apparentely liberated of the old repressions but, at the same time, unattached of the corporeal act of sex by means of mass media. I will interrogate the position of cinema in today’s subjectivity, when the cinema theories on the lacanian mirror stage seem to be merely outdated. Using diferent audiovisual formats such as HD video, film or cell-phone movies to mediate between me and the other, I will record my encounters with different strangers which I will meet through internet’s sexual networks.  My avatar (my character) in this online-spaces and in the film will be named „mirror_stage,“  stressing the lacanian problematic of this action inside the cyber-space. Since any kind of physical sexual contact between both bodies is, in such spaces (chat-rooms, internet-forums or social networks), imposible -being instead replaced by text and visual representation- I will agree with each stranger, before the meetings, to remain with our avatar’s identities in order to make a film out of our encounters. On location and in this very sexualize context, I will challenge them to direct me as a camera-man for making a short-film about their alter-egos. In this fashion, the pro-filmic image will be made up of several elsewise situations, directed by sundry virtual identities, which will be trying to configurate the concept of sexuality with their visual bodies –being in front of the camera- and my imposibility to have a body –being behind the camera. From this tension, the project „Film my Desire“ will be dealing with a very difficult task to achieve, i.e. the existence of the language of the body as manifestation of sexuality in contemporary representation, as a media-based reflection of the Other’s body emerges on the surface where we find our own image, the tension arising from this situation will be as important as the  film themself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-3826903706870892478?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/3826903706870892478/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=3826903706870892478' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3826903706870892478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3826903706870892478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/03/film-my-desire.html' title='Film my Desire'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2816688875982579961</id><published>2010-01-04T16:03:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-04T16:05:53.838+01:00</updated><title type='text'>her absence 1 (still)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S0IDxKAlQPI/AAAAAAAAAFM/LGo_w5IC-1U/s1600-h/trip01aSTILL.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 136px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S0IDxKAlQPI/AAAAAAAAAFM/LGo_w5IC-1U/s320/trip01aSTILL.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422901044342767858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2816688875982579961?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2816688875982579961/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2816688875982579961' title='6 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2816688875982579961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2816688875982579961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2010/01/her-absence-1-still.html' title='her absence 1 (still)'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/S0IDxKAlQPI/AAAAAAAAAFM/LGo_w5IC-1U/s72-c/trip01aSTILL.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-8564509997119227519</id><published>2009-12-02T11:46:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T12:08:20.622+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='psyschoanalyse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spiegel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tschuang-tse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='schmetterling'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lacan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blick'/><title type='text'>mirror_stage (note 2) -Der Schmetterling des Tschuang-Tses</title><content type='html'>In einem Traum ist das Subjekt ein Schmetterling. Was besagt das? Es besagt, dass das Subjekt den Schmetterling in seiner Realität als Blick sieht. Was wären all die Figuren, Zeichnungen, Farben -wenn nicht ein geschenktes Zu-sehen-Geben, in dem sich für uns die essentielle Primitivität des Blicks abzeichnet. Ein Schmetterling, meingott, nicht mal so verschieden von dem, der den Wolfsmann terrorisiert- Maurice Merleau-Ponty weiß genau, wie wichtig das ist, er verweist darauf in einer Anmerkung, die nicht in seinen Text integriert ist. Tschuang-Tse kann, nachdem er aufgewacht ist, sich fragen, ob nicht der Schmetterling träume, Tschuang-Tse zu sein. Er hat recht, und zwar in doppelter Hinsicht, denn erstens beweist das, dass er nicht verrückt ist, er hält sich nicht für absolut mit Tschuang-Tse identisch -und zweitens, weil er sich nicht bewußt ist, dass er mit seiner Aussage so genau ins Schwarze trifft. In der Tat, als er eben Schmetterling war, erfaßte er sich an einer Wurzel seiner Identität- war er und ist er in seinem Wesen dieser Schmetterling, der sich in seinen eigenen Farben malt- und deshalb ist er im lezten Grunde Tschuang-Tse.&lt;br /&gt;(Lacan, "Vier Grundbegriffe der Psyschoanalyse", 1964, S.82)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-8564509997119227519?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.lacan.com/' title='mirror_stage (note 2) -Der Schmetterling des Tschuang-Tses'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/8564509997119227519/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=8564509997119227519' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8564509997119227519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8564509997119227519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/12/mirrorstage-note-2-der-schmetterling.html' title='mirror_stage (note 2) -Der Schmetterling des Tschuang-Tses'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4757792457285283852</id><published>2009-11-05T15:14:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T16:21:55.738+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Spiegelstadium Recherche 1.0</title><content type='html'>the classic theory of cinema that the camera is an impartial instrument which grasps, or rather is impregnated by, the world in its ‘concrete reality’ is an eminently reactionary one.  What the camera in fact registers is the vague, unformulated, untheorized, unthought-out world of the dominant ideology. Cinema is one of the languages through which the world communicates itself to itself.  They constitute its ideology for they reproduce the world as it is experienced when filtered through its ideology’. (Conolli and Narboni 1969, 46)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scientific criticism has an obligation to define its fields and methods.  This implies awareness of its own historical and social situation, a rigorous analysis of the proposed field of study, the conditions which make the work necessary and those which make it possible, and the special function it intends to fill.  It is essential that we at Cahiers du Cinema should now undertake just such a global analysis of our positions and aims. (Comolli and Narboni 1969, 43)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Robert Lapsley and Micheal Westlake isolate two aspects of Lacanian theory, which were to prove crucial to film studies.  The first is Lacan’s reversal of the Cartesian notion of subjectivity.  Rather than the subject creating and naming the world, Lacan states that is in fact language itself, which creates the world, ‘the concept…engenders the thing’ (Lacan 1989, 72).  This idea has many implications for filmic criticism, as speech can thus be conceived of as already saturated with the predominant ideology, making it difficult or even impossible to utilise speech to criticize ideological norms.  In fact, Lacan even goes so far as to say that language can never fully articulate what the subject wishes to say: the unsignifiable order of the real is evidence of this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second of Lacan’s theories that proved indispensable for film studies is his re-reading of Ferdinand de Saussure.  Lacan reverses Saussure’s formula for the sign, placing language above reality (S/s).  He states that, ‘[f]or the human being the word or the concept is nothing other than the word in its materiality.  It is the thing itself.  It is not just a shadow, a breath, a virtual illusion of the thing, it is the thing itself’ (Lacan 1987, 178, my italics).  Language murders the thing and takes its place.  In this model of the sign, there is an endless sliding of signifiers over signifieds, which is temporarily halted by the point de caption.  The graph of desire (Lacan 1989, 335) articulates succinctly the complexities inherent in signification.  The horizontal vector represents the signifying chain, and intersects with the vector ΔS at two points.  The first point of intersection denotes the constitution of the signifier from ‘a synchronic and enumerable collection of elements in which each is sustained only by the principle of its opposition to each of the others’ (Lacan 1989, 336).  In short, this point represents the signifier, which attains its status through its difference from other terms in the system of language.  The second point of intersection denotes the moment of punctuation, in which the signifier at the first point of intersection attains its full meaning retroactively.  The two points of intersection are not symmetrical, nor are they intended to be.  The first is ‘a locus (a place rather than a space) and the second is ‘a moment (a rhythm rather than a duration) (Lacan 1989, 336).  The elementary cell of the graph cited here is simplistic, but serves to illustrate the relationship between subject and meaning. (http://intertheory.org/psychoanalysis.htm)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4757792457285283852?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://intertheory.org/psychoanalysis.htm' title='Spiegelstadium Recherche 1.0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4757792457285283852/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4757792457285283852' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4757792457285283852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4757792457285283852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/11/spiegelstadium-recherche-10.html' title='Spiegelstadium Recherche 1.0'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-8365462878889222504</id><published>2009-09-30T17:32:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T17:33:49.688+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Glaukos</title><content type='html'>To be inscribed beneath a tableau.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   I want to describe the charming Glaukos, gently gathering up a heap of his love letters in a ray of sunlight. All written on fine perfumed paper, some already old, some from a few months ago, all of them beginning with: My dear little Glaukos, or my darling Glaukos, or oh you, the best of my friends, or little soft flesh of mine, or my little beloved.&lt;br /&gt;   Glaukos smiles at the memory of great violent passions that stirred him in days gone by, his lovely clear eyes, blue flowers, dimming for a moment, drawing him back onto his sleepless bed, filling his mind with foolish fancies and infinite despairs.&lt;br /&gt;   All his hopeless dreams of being loved as distractedly as he loved, by this person or that person, he had realized almost all of them. But satisfied love flies elsewhere. Today his heart is calm. But he has so many male friends and by some he is loved boundlessly. All of them are very beautiful, and delight in subtle thoughts. Often seated on the muscular knees of one of them, cheek to cheek, bodies entwined, he discusses with him Aristotle's philosophy and Euripedes' poems, while they embrace and caress each other, making elegant and wise remarks in the sumptuous room, beside magnificent flowers...&lt;br /&gt;   I have described Glaukos dreaming alone, nearly naked to show off his beauty before dressing in precious linen. He smiles and the sun warms him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;M. Proust&lt;br /&gt;Written before 15 October 1888.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-8365462878889222504?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/8365462878889222504/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=8365462878889222504' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8365462878889222504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8365462878889222504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/09/glaukos.html' title='Glaukos'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-8109196306168364540</id><published>2009-09-04T19:25:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T19:29:46.012+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Erschrocken</title><content type='html'>Heute habe ich über den Tot eines Kerles erfahren, der genau so alt wie ich war (28) und bin erschrocken. Er war ein Filmkritiker aus Thailand.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-8109196306168364540?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/8109196306168364540/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=8109196306168364540' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8109196306168364540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8109196306168364540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/09/erschrocken.html' title='Erschrocken'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4883687493854878957</id><published>2009-08-21T11:19:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T11:55:16.621+02:00</updated><title type='text'>film noir</title><content type='html'>The clock stopped some years ago at three past midnight. On its dusted surface a picture is reflected, distorted by the rounded shape of its glass cover. Margaret, Pauline, a forgotten name. Who is the person of the picture? &lt;br /&gt;She walks in. &lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;blood runs crazy!&lt;br /&gt;...can even touch the scarlet furniture...&lt;br /&gt;Don't let him die!&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;a cold noise spreads out the silence of the empty room.&lt;br /&gt;Eternity.&lt;br /&gt;The sound of long strides echoes from the wet floor. A door opens as the blue and red light penetrates the still stage.&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;The sun-glasses cover her gaze like the perfect mask. "How d'I know I trust you?" The words fall dry through the telephone line. She sucks once more her menthol cigarrette, exhalate the flavoured smoke, breath in, breath out. No answer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4883687493854878957?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4883687493854878957/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4883687493854878957' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4883687493854878957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4883687493854878957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/08/film-noir.html' title='film noir'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-7294770867438537209</id><published>2009-08-15T16:16:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T16:30:16.807+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Breña -hommage a Augusto Rojas Llerena-</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-57f164d3e87657ef" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v24.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D57f164d3e87657ef%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331529113%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D47BF2BA9D504B12291391AA82E13071FBAE68B10.3097F3E07E4E2C410CA5A087394C17804E6509DF%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D57f164d3e87657ef%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dq9DL-yBlupXw0rbHtQpBccHGKFA&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v24.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D57f164d3e87657ef%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331529113%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D47BF2BA9D504B12291391AA82E13071FBAE68B10.3097F3E07E4E2C410CA5A087394C17804E6509DF%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D57f164d3e87657ef%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dq9DL-yBlupXw0rbHtQpBccHGKFA&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AMADA MÍA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vals&lt;br /&gt;Autoría: Augusto Rojas Llerena&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;¿Dónde estarás amor, que yo te espero?&lt;br /&gt;Surge en mi nueva vida una esperanza;&lt;br /&gt;de volverte a encontrar en mi camino&lt;br /&gt;y pedirte perdón porque te quiero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Volverás junto a mí&lt;br /&gt;porque mi corazón se fue contigo,&lt;br /&gt;llegarás porque aquí&lt;br /&gt;un pedazo de mi alma yo te di&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dulce amada mía, luz de mi esperanza,&lt;br /&gt;dame tu consuelo que mi corazón&lt;br /&gt;está llorando por su añoranza.&lt;br /&gt;Lucerito triste, que alumbras mi vida,&lt;br /&gt;dile que regrese, dile que mi amor&lt;br /&gt;está esperando siempre a su amada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ROSA DE AMÉRICA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vals&lt;br /&gt;Autoría: Augusto Rojas Llerena&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tus ojos son dos luceros&lt;br /&gt;quieren robármelos, no sé yo,&lt;br /&gt;porque eres mi linda Rosa&lt;br /&gt;como el tesoro que guardo yo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Escondido aquí en el pecho&lt;br /&gt;llevo tu nombre grabado,&lt;br /&gt;porque siempre te llamaron&lt;br /&gt;Rosa la flor celestial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guardo de tu mirada&lt;br /&gt;sólo un recuerdo, paloma mía,&lt;br /&gt;para que no se borre&lt;br /&gt;ni con el tiempo en mi corazón.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Serás para mí, mágica ilusión,&lt;br /&gt;Rosa que en la América reinó.&lt;br /&gt;Serás para mí, mágica ilusión,&lt;br /&gt;Rosa que en la América reinó.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-7294770867438537209?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=57f164d3e87657ef&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/7294770867438537209/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=7294770867438537209' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7294770867438537209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7294770867438537209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/08/brena-hommage-augusto-rojas-llerena.html' title='Breña -hommage a Augusto Rojas Llerena-'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2763069121618824998</id><published>2009-08-05T20:06:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T20:17:48.373+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost in el D.F.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMWemECMI/AAAAAAAAADs/5B3lpYaW2sU/s1600-h/CieloAzul.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMWemECMI/AAAAAAAAADs/5B3lpYaW2sU/s320/CieloAzul.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366545117530556610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMWFE3F3I/AAAAAAAAADk/f53Oufnk4Os/s1600-h/Mexico02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMWFE3F3I/AAAAAAAAADk/f53Oufnk4Os/s320/Mexico02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366545110680409970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMVh2O4pI/AAAAAAAAADc/o_MP2wLSNYc/s1600-h/Aragon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMVh2O4pI/AAAAAAAAADc/o_MP2wLSNYc/s320/Aragon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366545101223813778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMVTWv0hI/AAAAAAAAADU/Ebj8lQn70f4/s1600-h/torre-latino.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 208px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMVTWv0hI/AAAAAAAAADU/Ebj8lQn70f4/s320/torre-latino.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366545097333658130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2763069121618824998?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2763069121618824998/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2763069121618824998' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2763069121618824998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2763069121618824998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/08/lost-in-el-df.html' title='Lost in el D.F.'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SnnMWemECMI/AAAAAAAAADs/5B3lpYaW2sU/s72-c/CieloAzul.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-5392494494252285641</id><published>2009-07-19T16:23:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-19T17:04:44.425+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Abissinia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SmMtCkknRTI/AAAAAAAAADE/HUavx9bQfxg/s1600-h/gondar%2Blalibela+326.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SmMtCkknRTI/AAAAAAAAADE/HUavx9bQfxg/s320/gondar%2Blalibela+326.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360177503701255474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SmMtCTQgQRI/AAAAAAAAAC8/r9AOLWu_OjQ/s1600-h/gondar%2Blalibela+314.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SmMtCTQgQRI/AAAAAAAAAC8/r9AOLWu_OjQ/s320/gondar%2Blalibela+314.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360177499053506834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SmMtCGc_xMI/AAAAAAAAAC0/HRZnLL2LDBQ/s1600-h/gondar%2Blalibela+298.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SmMtCGc_xMI/AAAAAAAAAC0/HRZnLL2LDBQ/s320/gondar%2Blalibela+298.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360177495616242882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-5392494494252285641?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/5392494494252285641/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=5392494494252285641' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5392494494252285641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5392494494252285641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/07/abissinia.html' title='Abissinia'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SmMtCkknRTI/AAAAAAAAADE/HUavx9bQfxg/s72-c/gondar%2Blalibela+326.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-6105985405566832439</id><published>2009-07-09T02:59:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T03:01:26.566+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Star Witness</title><content type='html'>MY TRUE LOVE DROWNED IN A DIRTY OLD PAN&lt;br /&gt;OF OIL THAT DID RUN FROM THE BLOCK&lt;br /&gt;OF A FALCON SEDAN 1969&lt;br /&gt;THE PAPER SAID '75&lt;br /&gt;THERE WERE NO SURVIVORS&lt;br /&gt;NONE FOUND ALIVE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TREES BREAK THE SIDEWALK&lt;br /&gt;AND THE SIDEWALK SKINS MY KNEES&lt;br /&gt;THERE'S GLASS IN MY THERMOS&lt;br /&gt;AND BLOOD ON MY JEANS&lt;br /&gt;NICKELS AND DIMES OF THE FOURTH OF JULY&lt;br /&gt;ROLL OFF IN A CROOKED LINE&lt;br /&gt;TO THE CHAIN-LINK LOTS WHERE THE RED TAILS DIVE&lt;br /&gt;OH HOW I FORGOT WHAT IT'S LIKE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HEY WHEN SHE SINGS, WHEN SHE SINGS WHEN SHE MOVES LIKE SHE RUNS&lt;br /&gt;MOVES LIKE SHE RUNS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HEY WHEN SHE MOVES, WHEN SHE MOVES WHEN SHE MOVES LIKE SHE RUNS&lt;br /&gt;MOVES LIKE SHE RUNS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"HEY PRETTY BABY GET HIGH WITH ME,&lt;br /&gt;WE CAN GO TO MY SISTER'S IF WE SAY WE'LL WATCH THE BABY"&lt;br /&gt;THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE YANKS MY NECK ON THE CHAIN&lt;br /&gt;AND I WOULD DO ANYTHING&lt;br /&gt;TO SEE YOU AGAIN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GO ON, GO ON SCREAM AND CRY&lt;br /&gt;YOU'RE MILES FROM WHERE ANYONE WILL FIND YOU&lt;br /&gt;THIS IS NOTHING NEW, NO TELEVISION CREW&lt;br /&gt;THEY DON'T EVEN PUT ON THE SIRENS&lt;br /&gt;MY NIGHTGOWN SWEEPS THE PAVEMENT, PLEASE&lt;br /&gt;DON'T LET HIM DIE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH HOW I FORGOT...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-6105985405566832439?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.nekocase.com' title='Star Witness'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/6105985405566832439/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=6105985405566832439' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/6105985405566832439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/6105985405566832439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/07/star-witness.html' title='Star Witness'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2645545088702553625</id><published>2009-06-24T01:52:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T19:28:07.259+02:00</updated><title type='text'>mirror_stage (note 1)</title><content type='html'>Four steps to the front and we are there, in the middle. The aspect of this crossway is unmaterial, unplausible. But it is there, flushing desire, dead and life. I got the feeling I will look there for ever, without touching, without tasting, just looking images estimulated by a soundtrack, going to another orbit outside my body. As I land on a quite well known geography -which I cannot recognize- I close my eyes, hold my breath and go on moving, moving and moving because there is no other alternative. Motion is my only possibility. Four steps back, four front, we're in the middle, dancing so hard.&lt;br /&gt;And, in a way, I'm not discovering anything. No point in doing such a thing. To discover. Instead of that I try to re-cover, to hide, to dress, to be someone else, to make someone else possible in me. To live another life, to die another death. To be a mirror...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2645545088702553625?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2645545088702553625/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2645545088702553625' title='13 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2645545088702553625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2645545088702553625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/06/mirrorstage-note-1.html' title='mirror_stage (note 1)'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-1220748184895407228</id><published>2009-02-27T02:12:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T03:02:36.432+02:00</updated><title type='text'>the voice</title><content type='html'>The ancient Egyptian sacred statue which, at every sunset, as if by a miracle, issued a deeply reverberating sound. This mysterious sound magically resonating from within an inanimate object is the best metaphor for the birth of subjectivity. For Subjectivity in its proto-ontological status. Subjectivity is here reduced to a spectral voice, a voice in which resonates not the self-presence of a living subject, but the void of its absence.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-1220748184895407228?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='text/html' href='http://www.aber.ac.uk/~jmcwww/Misc/spittle01.html' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/1220748184895407228/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=1220748184895407228' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1220748184895407228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1220748184895407228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/02/voice.html' title='the voice'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-7713691285577391611</id><published>2009-02-06T01:57:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T02:06:49.267+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Geschwindigkeit</title><content type='html'>Wenn Bergson sagt, der Geist ist ein Ding, das dauert, könnte man hinzufügen: es ist unsere Dauer, die denkt, fühlt und sieht. Die erste Produktion unseres Bewußtseins wäre demnach seine eigene Geschwindigkeit gegenüber der Zeit, wodurch die Geschwindigkeit zu einer kusalen Idee wird, zu einer Idee vor der Idee. So ist es heute üblich, davon auszugehen, daß unsere Erinnerungen vieldimensional sind, daß das Denken ein Transfer ist, ein Transport (metaphora) in buchstäblichem Sinne.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-7713691285577391611?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/7713691285577391611/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=7713691285577391611' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7713691285577391611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7713691285577391611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/02/geschwindigkeit.html' title='Geschwindigkeit'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-2617897480906087702</id><published>2009-01-16T14:23:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T14:29:29.118+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SXCLrtD_eKI/AAAAAAAAACE/7nr2M9swhN8/s1600-h/DSC01900.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SXCLrtD_eKI/AAAAAAAAACE/7nr2M9swhN8/s320/DSC01900.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291883145107306658" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someday he'll come along,&lt;br /&gt;and he'll be big and strong,&lt;br /&gt;and when he comes my way I'll do my best to make him stay&lt;br /&gt;and then in a little while&lt;br /&gt;he'll kiss my lips.&lt;br /&gt;I'm waiting for the man I love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-2617897480906087702?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/2617897480906087702/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=2617897480906087702' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2617897480906087702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/2617897480906087702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2009/01/someday-hell-come-along-and-hell-be-big.html' title=''/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SXCLrtD_eKI/AAAAAAAAACE/7nr2M9swhN8/s72-c/DSC01900.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-5383002740908791746</id><published>2008-07-27T14:06:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T20:13:40.566+02:00</updated><title type='text'>diario</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SIx51-6A_iI/AAAAAAAAABo/qKyKeqADGZg/s1600-h/Bild163.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SIx51-6A_iI/AAAAAAAAABo/qKyKeqADGZg/s320/Bild163.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227687235796663842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;____&lt;br /&gt;Yo me pregunto que va a suceder. Yo me pregunto qué camino nos depara la vida y la muerte, el perdón y el olvido. Yo quiero saber en dónde estuviste, qué hiciste, cuándo y por qué. Quiero dejarte a la deriva y pensar sólo en mí; al menos esta vez. Tal vez caminar, encontrar ciertos espacios, entrar en sus territorios, en el planeta de todos y dar la vuelta a la página, gozando al máximo los exquisitos momentos de derrota y perdición. Atravezarte con la mirada, decidir cuándo y caminar sin despedirme. Necesito que me busquen y que me encuentren, que se pudran sus entrañas de desesperación, de malestar. Que lloren océanos porque hacia allí voy. Sola. Y mientras cierro la puerta de mmi reino el tiempo se paraliza. Un paso, dos pasos, tres, cuatro, voy descalza y no miro hacia atrás. El camino se borra mientras lo recorro, no hay nada que ver, lo sé, lo sé todo: soy todo. Yo me pregunto que va a suceder y por qué no soy parte de tu vida. Por qué me haz quitado la piel y los ojos, las manos, los pies el sexo y me dejas sólo píldoras. No importa, no me sirven las palabras cuando puedo volar y ver en que me he convertido. Hoy te visito mi más grande miedo, necesito de tu compañía en estos momentos difíciles de vacío total. Treinta pasos, treintiuno. No puedo, debo verme al espejo; debo recuperar lo que me ha sido arrebatado. Debo dejar de templar y escupir al suelo, escupir tu porquería, mi porquería. Respirar el olor nauseabundo del sacrificio, perder la razón una vez más y reir por todos, por mi madre, por mi hija y la hija de su hija. Somos señuelos, pistas perdidas en la catástrofe: carnada. Es el momento y el ahora, el día de la velocidad, del fuego, es año nuevo. Miro mi esencia a gran distancia, no creo en el hombre, en la mujer, no creo en Dios, en el humano. No creo en el cielo, las constelaciones, en el volúmen, las formas, los sonidos, el viento, los fluídos, en el tiempo y el espacio. Sólo creo en la máquina y su infinita estupidez. Me hago una con ella. Y todo se hace gris. Realizo mi último vuelo perdida en imágenes. Me suspendo en el vacío con la única convicción que me queda: que nunca más voy a aterrizar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24.05.08&lt;br /&gt;Entre una imagen  linda y contar una historia, la disyuntiva está compuesta de innumerables interrogantes: ¿es posible hablar a partir de los recuerdos a pesar de que estos estén compuestos en esencia de imágenes? Tengo, por ejemplo, el recuerdo de su aspecto descuidado, su voz ronquita, su buso marrón... lo que me atormenta es la existencia de un diario, y no haber sido capaz de obtenerlo. Que esté perdido y quede así de aquí en adelante. No se por dónde comenzar y por dónde continuar; mis recuerdos no son una buena fuente porque son demasiado difusos, desenfocados. Puedo plantearme, probablemente, esbozar algún esquema arbitrario que sirva de señuelo para la salida de este laberinto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;___&lt;br /&gt;La recuerdo echada en una cama de hospital con la cara pálida y los ojos perdidos, es posible que invente esto, pero podría decir que su ojo derecho era el más desorbitado, exactamente el mismo que mi madre tiene afectado por las tiroides y el mismo en el que yo sufro constantes orsuelos. Es posible que nuestro propio cuerpo sea una crónica de ella, es posible que nuestra materia cuente su historia, es sólo cuestión de entender su idioma y saber leer. Medio rostro de Rebeca fue destrozado traz su impacto con un vehículo de seis ejes, probablemente una buzeta. El impacto produjo que su cuerpo se eleve, gire y aterrize en una zanja al borde de la autopista. Después del impacto, Rebeca no murió inmediatamente. Se mantuvo con vida posiblemente hasta poco después de ser encontrada. Y entre el momento del impacto y haber sido encontrada transcurrieron poco menos de seis horas. Cuando intento imaginar sus pensamientos durante ese tiempo me doy cuenta de lo limitada que es mi imaginación. Es muy probable que no pudiera pensar más razonablemente, abriendo mucho más el espectro de posibles pensamientos. ¿Qué es el ser humano sin su racionalidad? ¿Qué queda? ¿Instinto? ¿Espíritu? ¿Energía? ¿Imagen? No es tan fácil. Todos estos conceptos son producidos a partir de un pensamiento racional, uno que designa, define y cataloga. Es probale que Rebeca haya visto la tierra, el pavimento y las ruedas de los vehículos a gran velocidad; y que al disminuirse el dolor su mirada se haya centrado en el cielo. Y que en él haya encontrado una nueva vida, una historia mejorada de su propia vida: con muchos altos y ningún bajo, con felicidad en todos sus aspectos. Y, al final, el cielo, la autopista y la tierra. Un final idéntico. Es posible que sólo luego de eso haya sido encontrada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;04.06.08&lt;br /&gt;I don’t want to recover from this trance. As I feel the images coming and saying nothing. They just retire and lose and still prevail. I can see those pictures in the imposture of a memory, the memory of a dead which wants to remain throught the meanings of cultural reproduction. The past will be then just compose by our own possibilities of perceive the present. She is there while the unapprehensible turkish  noise break down at the opposite border of the street, in front of my appartment in Cologne. What it's on frame and what’s outside is the question of memory. Everything else are pieces, waiting to be ordered and reordered or just staying indifferent to everything, so far away as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;05.06.08&lt;br /&gt;No soy lo que soy. Ante tus ojos soy sólo una representación y, con suerte, existo a la expensa de un sentimiento. Estas imágenes son todo lo qu tengo, no existe más allá; no existe meta ni camino. Sólo existe un camino falso que nos aproxima a la realidad. Y nuestra imposibilidad de tocarla.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;08.06.08&lt;br /&gt;No estoy satisfecho, no estoy contento: mi vida es una castración fría, seca y estéril. No puedo evitar la autoindulgencia, la masturbación. Esta vez, sólo esta vez, deseo que la voz se apague que no me hable y que todo sea negro, sólo esta vez en la nada. No puedo estar sólo; no puedo vivir por mi cuenta. Lo lamento, te he fallado. Perdón. Son las putas voces. ¡Cállense! ¡Cállense! Tengo dolor de estómago. Necesito un cambio radical, pero aun no estoy seguro de  ser capaz de emprenderlo. Un cambio que modifique absolutamente todo y que mate a la voz, la elimine y me deje ser libre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;___&lt;br /&gt;So there is my film. I’ve got two weeks to record those images from my hometown Lima, where I was supposed to find some amusement and inspiration from a very intimate moment of my childhood: the dead of my grandmother. I think I got sort of lost, I’ve had always problems of orientation. Anyway, there was my family, or part of it, my sister, my mom –who was moving from Bogota to Addis Ababa and using the opportunity to be for a while on town and have some of her and my step father’s stuffs back to Lima- and even my grandfather was there, who actually was the husband of the lately Rebeca. Also some uncles, aunts and cousins where there, and some friends aswell. They all where there but I was still lost. So I dedided to ask for facts. Not that was pretending to get some true out of it, was it indeed more like a kind of training, asking my family some unconfortable questions and then inmediatly trying to put some ice on the situation with some joke or any irrelevant comment. My family there, me here. Also I could go to some of the places I wanted to recall from my memory to this film, like the ex-home of my grannies or the place where Rebeca was driven over. Still I wasn’t that confident to go any further, probably because I felt more secure in those places, although they had brought out some of the woefully memories of my life. I was ok with that, in fact it wasn’t that painfull at all, all what really care was the movie; getting the story told. My granddad wanted to leave. Obviously he wasn’t happy at all with this visits on my account. It was actually very painful for him going back there and being forced to remember such a terrible moment he has tried so keen to forget. I didn’t feel guilty about it, maybe because I know he was a policeman so I guess he could afford it, or maybe because I deeply thought he deserves it. Nevertheless he is an old man, and I’m young, it wasn’t fair. Anyway I got my mom, she is younger than he and she looked so happy to help me find it out. Find my way out, not being lost. I had also the feeling she took it in a kind of therapeutical way, a kind of chance of tearing appart her own ghosts, I mean, the ghost of Rebeca walking around her psychis all over and over. Although I don’t have a good feeling, this pictures of cotidianity are too close to me, I can’t get any distance and for the first time I think I have no aesthetical shield to save my ass. This is the last weapon the human being has by the means of representation. I better look no longer and start to find a way of my own. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22.06.08&lt;br /&gt;I’m trying to find a way of my own but I’m too anxious. I want it now. As you can guess, I have no experience doing this, so there’s not much more to see than what you already do. This isn’t a great movie; probably is not good at all. In fact I've already told the end: she passed away. If I didn’t, you could have figured out. Anyway, you know it now: she died. End of the story; the rest is a big black screening. You can get up now and leave the place because that’s it. For now they who want to stay, don’t say I didn’t warned you. Everybody is free of doing with his live as pleased. Now then, let’s assume that’s a fact. You are anyway hearing my voice, in your situation my voice means power, you listen at it as you were in a mental hospital, getting instruction. The more you hear, the more you’ll be healed. It was funny to ask for the definition of madness among the people I know as I wanted to state Rebeca’s condition.  I wonder which would be the  institutional position of the peruvian psychiatry on this subject, if there is any. An anachronic position in order to find out her condition. I want to know wether they believe on psychiatry, if they agree with my definition,  which is a relation of power based on order and morality. I believe this power is represented by the voice, the voice which heals, the voice which tells humanity what is right and wrong. A political voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23.06.08&lt;br /&gt;I’m tired. I’m fucking tired and can’t understand why I’m always tired. Everything tires me out and, boy! I’m not old, don’t smoke, don’t use hard drugs, neither sick nor fat. I suggest this feeling or state of the body (being tired) to be the rhythm of the movie. It’s not sequences and montage in a sense of long takes and slow actions, it’s more the communication of this feeling towards an audio-visual format, which could be also transmited by short takes, rapid cuts and violent actions. I think it’s time to go to sleep for a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24.06.08&lt;br /&gt;„Take your time and try to remember.“ This is the title I’ve choosen for the piece. I’ll go mentally back in time, collecting traces from my own memory: the traces of your house and your belongings; and scan them in video until getting dry. I’ve thought about making a book too, which would be based on the audio score. Book + CD. Everything that happens on audio must take be reflected in its printed pair, even the silences, by the meaninigs of poetry. I was also thinking in taking a foto of my face early in the morning, every single day for a long, long time, maybe years. I need some documented proofs of my physical changing. I don’t care about the movie right now because you can take care of it. You (Rebeca) are responsible for the rightly culmination of your film. I have by the way two question before I leave you in charge: Have you thought sometime that your body was made of glas or you were some sort of uncrowned queen? I know I’m putting a label on you as I ask, but sorry, I enjoy it! Did you wanted to dive your body in excrement in order to prove the love of your closest persons (me among them) by testing their tolerance to you in such a condition? Surely sounds like a weird thing to do but I find a logic in this action. If someone really loves you, he/she has to love your shit too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25.06.08&lt;br /&gt;I found myself  on the search for Lalo, son of Rebeca, brother of my mother. He represented a very particular case in my family because as Rebeca’s most beloved child, he ended up on the wrong way: No future. No independence. I must stop here. I’m completely tired out. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but my energy is absolutely gone. My daily life is more and more one of a low batt devise. Low batt, beep, beep, beep, out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26.06.08&lt;br /&gt;So Rebeca will be interviewed. I must prepare the questions and get a costume. I’m positive this will bring something out, although I have to act quickly. There is no much time left and the narration is not ready yet. Long takes, I need long takes. I’m not happy with the handy shots, it’ll be better to try some kind of weight hanging on the camera. Let’s test it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28.06.08&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I didn’t write a word. I don’t know why I’m still writing in english given that I’m not really capable. It’s pretencious. Anyway I need some practice since my intention is to tell the story in english. How come? Not completely sure, though. Maybe because is the globalisation tongue with a larger tolerance for orthography and grammar mistakes. It is just assumed it’s not your mother tongue. I wonder if I can really tell something, if there is something to be told. This topic should be clear. I don’t pretend to honour Rebeca making a hommage of her. It’s all about me. It’s my fantasy; her story is just my raw material. Does it make sense? I say it once more: is my story, not yours!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29.06.08&lt;br /&gt;Where is the time gone to?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30.06.08&lt;br /&gt;Roll it. Simulation is the weapon of choose. To performe is to survive. I can’t tell wether we are getting somewhere or not, but I’m sure we can simulate. It could be just a matter of being catched up, but then, then! It’s time to change the strategy and perhaps let the mask fell down or maybe find out another way of simulation. So that’s the point where reality begins pretending unreality and the madness stops being mad and rescues the reality from its delirium tremens, reaviling the simulation. I’m glad I’m doing this. But I’m afraid not of my lack of capacity of doing the job but of getting the job done and then turning the page. Because then is when reality will kill the simulation for good. That’s what really worries me. I hope the madness will never go away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;01.07.08&lt;br /&gt;So then, mommy is comming. Finally. From the very first interaction she’d make me feel like a kid again. I’m pleased, though is not so alright since I intend to get a morbid side of her which is inevitable linked with painful memories. Maybe she won’t be open enough to scout on this side but I’m quite sure she will be. I expect to get morbidity, the problem is to do the first step. I can’t. I can’t because I’m a little kid. Maybe David Petrov would say: „it doesn’t matter just do your thing and say what you wanna say.“ The fact is Petrov was way more talented and intelectually gifted than me; way more cinema-man. On the contrary I’m an ordinary art student, skilled enough to write ordinary texts and work in an average movie while feeling like a kid, running away from trouble, sleeping early today and going to work tomorrow. Mommy is comming and I hate unstability.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;04.07.08&lt;br /&gt;Now that girl over there, she has no control of herself. She’s being deeply hurt. And yet she’s going on like if nothing happens. But nothing is about the same as before. It just doesn’t make any sense, rather takes more of imagination. She thinks „if you are yourself you won’t get hurt.“ Well she’s wrong. It’s a matter of time til she makes herself up.“ Not easy, though, she has no control of herself. Neither do I. I can’t help starring at her. I lost her glance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;05.07.08&lt;br /&gt;Mother I’m leaving you. Mother if this isn’t the time to leave then when?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;07.07.08&lt;br /&gt;Better start from the begining. I got it. I got what I needed. The story is there, the pieces are there. She got missunderstood, besides she didn’t really care. Two elements are the esence of the whole: obsetion for the power of velocity on a road, in other words, for inminent collition of the machinal body against the human body; and the facination for the home expressed in its physical presence i.a. in the building itself. Both elements are finally confronted towards the end of her life. For now I’ve nothing more to declare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.07.08&lt;br /&gt;It was a moment of peace. The reason you ceased fighting, the way you did it, was a matter of time and was rather clear. Of course the struggle inside was going on in an inappropiate manner, of course, but you always knew there wasn’t any other possible end, didn’t you? Of course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15.07.08&lt;br /&gt;There is a subject on the facial traces. As I look my mother I want to scan all her expresions, her spirit and make them data. But what I desire the most is to scan my subjectivity upon her. I believe it’s possible through uncontrolled technical failure, caused perhaps by the impossibility of fulfil this desire, finding out a new subjectivity, the one of the devise. It is hard to tell. I hope you can finally find yourself throught my technical mistakes, maybe we can finally get a chat from the uncontrol. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16.07.08&lt;br /&gt;Your daughter is gone. She said good bye, I said good bye. It’s difficult to define but she goes on bringing out memories, like finding life everytime she have thoughts about it. I see it like trascendence, you know? The kind you get after thinking on something else, something superficial. And then you got your entire life in retrospective with a new worth, like pulder gold you let fall throught your fingers. That kind of feelling is what I rediscover in your daughter. She knows it. So then we said good bye to each other but it wasn’t like a true farewell, rather than a new way to bring some forgotten things aout. An opportunity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21.07.08&lt;br /&gt;One phrase to record. Good bye mom. I will miss you. I don’t know who or which movie said that saying good bye is like dying a little bit. Good bye. And now, at the naked face of the facts, I shall ask: are you the one instead?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-5383002740908791746?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/5383002740908791746/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=5383002740908791746' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5383002740908791746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5383002740908791746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2008/07/diario.html' title='diario'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SIx51-6A_iI/AAAAAAAAABo/qKyKeqADGZg/s72-c/Bild163.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-5198411228431571084</id><published>2008-06-14T12:17:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-14T12:39:45.537+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's start from the beginning</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SFOf60CMhhI/AAAAAAAAABY/R0BgHP_iUGw/s1600-h/oo+(5).jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SFOf60CMhhI/AAAAAAAAABY/R0BgHP_iUGw/s320/oo+(5).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211685026546877970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's start from the beginning. At the beginning there is just a story, which is about people we don't know but somehow we can recognize -or assume to do so. On this issue it seems to exist a variety of factors that work quite efficiently and comes up with an unmesurable result. A story is to say a new world's creation, one that isn't entirely new though, perhaps because we are constantly using reality as a background or as a sheat of paper where we write on. We are indeed more bounded to reality than we would like to be. An explanation could be found by answering how come we are able to see reality as time, or at least as time perception. By the way, I'm refering to the succession of events but also to the trails that go lost by the development of this succession. A constant generation and regeneration on a kind of loop we cannot truly follow because changes are produced throughtout the repetitions. Therefore we make an agreement on what we do follow: we define time as bordered and unbordered space, as location, utopia, enviroment, society, language, knowledge, noise, silence, memory and oblivion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-5198411228431571084?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/5198411228431571084/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=5198411228431571084' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5198411228431571084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/5198411228431571084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2008/06/lets-start-from-beginning.html' title='Let&apos;s start from the beginning'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SFOf60CMhhI/AAAAAAAAABY/R0BgHP_iUGw/s72-c/oo+(5).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-7213051019000614819</id><published>2008-05-23T19:52:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-24T12:32:51.438+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Texto1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SDfuqWFOSgI/AAAAAAAAABA/y_-zLhnH67E/s1600-h/Bild031.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SDfuqWFOSgI/AAAAAAAAABA/y_-zLhnH67E/s320/Bild031.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203890305699301890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No voy a decir por donde voy a comenzar. Sólo se que existe un camino cada vez mas despejado. Rebeca nació en noviembre en algún año entre mediados de los veintes y comienzos de los treintas. Durante su infancia vivió en Jauja, una pequeña ciudad de provincia en el Perú, y luego en el Callao, el Puerto de Lima. Su padre fue Don Augusto Mieses, comerciante, de ascendencia española-judía (sefardí) y su madre Doña Adela Mesa de Mieses, ama de casa, de familia mestiza e indígena. Rebeca tuvo 4 hermanas y 2 hermanos. Ella fue la cuarta en nacer, y al hacerlo empieza esta historia. No se si ella recordaba sus primeros cuatro años de vida o los había olvidado por completo como yo. Se que fue feliz y que todo fue de ella hasta el nacimiento del siguiente hermano. Luego todo se hace borroso. A partir de aquí la historia se hace poco clara y varía entre su personalidad explosiva y brillante hasta sus desvaríos y tratamientos psiquiátricos. Ella fue un secreto y, por lo que sé ahora, lo sigue siendo. Cuando yo era niño recuerdo detestar ir a su casa y quedarme a solas con ella. Le tenía miedo. Sin embargo su casa era lo suficientemente grande como para perderme entre sus esquinas y encontrarlo todo. Entre las cosas que encontré estaban sus pelucas, pestañas y uñas postizas, medias nylon usadas y guardadas, juguetes, herramientas sucias, cartas de amor y mucho dinero, el cual se encontraba escondido entre los bolsillos de su ropa. También encontré balas, una revista playboy y una mini-ametralladora conocida como mini Oozy, todo esto, supongo, de propiedad de mi abuelo. Alfonzo (ese es el nombre de mi abuelo) se cazó con Rebeca en 1950 y tuvo tres hijos con ella, la mayor de ellos es mi madre. A fines de los sesentas, durante  una dictadura militar de izquierda que se hizo llamar "la revolución peruana" fue nombrado director general de la policia. Previamente hizo cursos de investigación e interrogación con el FBI y en Israel. &lt;br /&gt;Quizás estos fueron los mejores años en la vida de Rebeca, casada con un hombre poderoso, con reconocimiento social y dinero. Los únicos detalles fueron que mi abuelo la engañaba y ella lo sabía y que muchas veces no podía controlarse. Rebeca era maniaco-depresiva. Y violenta, muy violenta. &lt;br /&gt;El año en que yo nací mi abuelo se retiro de la policía, el Perú tenía después de doce años un gobierno democrático y Sendero Luminoso, una guerrilla campesina, le declaró la guerra al estado. Doce años y medio millón de muertos después, Rebeca pasó el año nuevo abrazada a su hija, mi madre, yaciendo ambas en su cama royal, de caoba labrada y con agujeros de polilla. Cinco años antes en su cabeza habian explosiones que no la dejaban en paz. Fue internada en una clínica psiquiátrica con una camisa de fuerza.  Durante su internamiento mi hermana y yo acompañabamos a mi madre a visitarla. La mayoría de veces nos hacían esperar fuera de su habitación, otras veces entrabamos y se alegraba por la visita, otras veces no sabía quiénes éramos y debíamos esperar nuevamente fuera de la habitación. Se le diagnosticó demencia y se le recetó píldoras de líteo, así como escribir un diario. El diario está perdido. Después de algunos internamientos fue dada de alta y permaneció en su casa con una enfermera. Y el año nuevo de 1993 yació en su cama. Al día siguiente, el 2 de Enero, muchas cosas sucedieron en el mundo: George Bush S. firma un acuerdo de desarme con Rusia traz la guerra fría, Marines norteamericanos deciden salir de Somalia, Bosnia y Serbia discuten sus nuevas fronteras, un incendio arraza uno de los mayores mercados de contrabando de Lima y dos mujeres fueron atropelladas mientras esperaban un bus. Ese día Rebeca se levantó muy temprano y decidió ir a caminar. Salió de su dormitorio y se recorrió el resto de cuartos con mucho cuidado; dos de sus hermanas habían pasado la noche ahí. Luego bajó discretamente las escaleras y su mirada se detuvo en Alfonzo. El la vió y volvió la mirada al televisor. La enfermera había salido de  la casa dejando la puerta abierta. Rebeca salió de la casa y caminó, caminó, caminó...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-7213051019000614819?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/7213051019000614819/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=7213051019000614819' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7213051019000614819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/7213051019000614819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2008/05/no-voy-decir-por-donde-voy-comenzar.html' title='Texto1'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SDfuqWFOSgI/AAAAAAAAABA/y_-zLhnH67E/s72-c/Bild031.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-1322299778943626912</id><published>2008-05-17T10:09:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-17T10:20:57.236+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Jacob's Ladder</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SC6TcPWxRWI/AAAAAAAAAA4/Iir6XvKErUU/s1600-h/Bild028.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SC6TcPWxRWI/AAAAAAAAAA4/Iir6XvKErUU/s320/Bild028.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201256733027157346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; If you're frightened to die and then you hold on, you'll see devils tearing your life away, but if you've made your peace, then devils are really angels freeing it from the earth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-1322299778943626912?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/1322299778943626912/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=1322299778943626912' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1322299778943626912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/1322299778943626912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2008/05/jacobs-ladder.html' title='Jacob&apos;s Ladder'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zRz8J4w8uTc/SC6TcPWxRWI/AAAAAAAAAA4/Iir6XvKErUU/s72-c/Bild028.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-4434071780808072016</id><published>2008-05-16T20:45:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T22:37:11.435+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Notizen um Spurenlesen</title><content type='html'>In der vorliegenden Allegorie handelt es sich also nicht bloß um&lt;br /&gt;einen rezeptiv schauenden Wissenschaftler, der die »Natur« sprechen läßt; er geht vielmehr&lt;br /&gt;voran, indem er die schweigende Natur »zum Sprechen bringt«: Und zwar bringt&lt;br /&gt;er sie zum Sprechen, indem er ihre Spuren interpretiert.Das ist die Pointe, die dieses Erkenntnismodell strukturell dem »Spurenparadigma«&lt;br /&gt;annähert. »Beobachtung« und »Theorie« werden auch hier gemacht und nicht mehr nur&lt;br /&gt;empfangen. Aus der »vernehmenden Vernunft« ist eine bis zu einem gewissen Grade&lt;br /&gt;schon konstruktive, zumindest eine rekonstruktive (aus Spuren rekonstruierende)&lt;br /&gt;Vernunft geworden.Die Spuren der Natur sind keine bloßen&lt;br /&gt;Fakten der Naturwissenschaften, sondern verweisen auf etwas, was sie selber und an&lt;br /&gt;sich nicht sind. Das heißt, sie sind (auch und vor allem) Zeichen. Es ist vielleicht eher, jedenfalls auch&lt;br /&gt;ein neuzeitlicher Versuch, der beginnenden ökonomischen und wissenschaftlichen&lt;br /&gt;Neuzeit geistigen Widerstand und eine Art Utopie entgegenzusetzen, die auf vormoderne&lt;br /&gt;Vorstellungen zurückgreift. Dann hätte das alles&lt;br /&gt;(wie später die »Landschaft«) vielleicht von vornherein etwas von einer Konstruktion&lt;br /&gt;und Kompensation an sich gehabt, und dann wäre auch der alte Naturforscher von Anfang&lt;br /&gt;an eine zugleich moderne und nostalgische Figur sowie ein direkter Vorgänger der&lt;br /&gt;heutigen »Alternativwissenschaften«, die so gern auf alte Weisheiten zurückgreifen,&lt;br /&gt;und vielleicht auch, wenngleich auf andere Weise, eine Vorprägung der spurenlesenden&lt;br /&gt;Laien- und Alltagswissenschaften von heute.Kurz, wie der alte Naturforscher betrachten wir beim Spurenlesen das Inventar der&lt;br /&gt;physisch-materiellen Welt nicht oder doch nicht nur und nicht einmal vorrangig als naturwissenschaftliche&lt;br /&gt;Gegenstände, die der physisch-materiellen Welt angehören, sondern&lt;br /&gt;als Artefakte.Das Erkenntnismodell ist im Prinzip gleich&lt;br /&gt;geblieben: der neue wie der alte Spurensucher sondiert, »betastet«, »untersucht«, »befragt&lt;br /&gt;« das Terrain, die Steine, das Holz, die Fußspuren, er verfolgt also das gleiche Inquisitionsparadigma&lt;br /&gt;der Erkenntnis wie der alte. Aber es gibt auch große Unterschiede zum alten Naturforscher. Erstens: Nicht mehr&lt;br /&gt;»die Natur«, sondern nur ein rayon, ein terrain, ein vergleichsweise winziger Weltausschnitt&lt;br /&gt;ist Gegenstand, eine Stadtbrache, die im Roman sogar auf einer Lageskizze ca.&lt;br /&gt;1:500 festgehalten wird, und was sie interessant macht, ist nicht mehr, daß sie ein Teil&lt;br /&gt;der ganzen Natur oder der einen Schöpfung ist; sie ist nur zufällig-historisch interessant&lt;br /&gt;geworden, wird einen Augenblick lang von den Scheinwerfern des Erkenntnisinteresses&lt;br /&gt;– um im Text zu bleiben: den Laternen der Neugier – bestrahlt und wird bald wieder&lt;br /&gt;gleichgültig und dunkel sein.Wenn man sich in der wissenschaftstheoretischen Literatur (im weitesten Sinn) umsieht,&lt;br /&gt;dann sieht man, daß eine solche Spurendekodierung eine ähnliche Form wie eine&lt;br /&gt;sogenannte narrative Erklärung hat, und weil es sich (vereinfacht gesagt) um einen&lt;br /&gt;»Schluß« von der Wirkung auf die Ursache handelt, handelt es sich gleichzeitig um eine&lt;br /&gt;Abduktion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-4434071780808072016?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/4434071780808072016/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=4434071780808072016' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4434071780808072016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/4434071780808072016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2008/05/notizen-um-spurenlesen.html' title='Notizen um Spurenlesen'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-3048494750500829299</id><published>2008-05-16T19:46:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T19:52:14.671+02:00</updated><title type='text'>2Wege</title><content type='html'>En el espacio temporal de este minuto, no encuentro el camino falso y me pierdo en la aglomeración. No se como continuar. No se contar esta historia. Y es que no es posible, que sobre este camino no llegue algún día a descubrir lo verdadero. Es posible, el resto es simple inocencia...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-3048494750500829299?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/3048494750500829299/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=3048494750500829299' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3048494750500829299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/3048494750500829299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2008/05/2wege.html' title='2Wege'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-555072684374389040.post-8434202967633650234</id><published>2008-05-09T20:08:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T20:09:50.720+02:00</updated><title type='text'>0</title><content type='html'>We are comming. We are just comming. Becomming.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/555072684374389040-8434202967633650234?l=gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/feeds/8434202967633650234/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=555072684374389040&amp;postID=8434202967633650234' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8434202967633650234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/555072684374389040/posts/default/8434202967633650234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonzalohrodriguez.blogspot.com/2008/05/0.html' title='0'/><author><name>Gonzalo H. Rodriguez</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11281458971488565469</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
