Live, capture, revisit, share
It was a Sunday and we were spending most of the day inside. Yağmur went and built wings from paper, strapped onto her arms like shields. I told her that she could tape an extra piece onto each wing to make them longer. Her first thought was that it was a bad idea, and that they would be too detached when her arms were bent. But then went and built them anyway.
I think I was reading a book while all this was happening. She came back and started jumping and flapping her arms like wings—as fast as she could. I thought, now that she had wings, she could better imagine how flying would feel. I suggested her to fly around the house and come back, but didn't pay enough attention and I cannot remember if she actually did.
I am now watching William Kentridge's documentary-series Self Portrait as a Coffee Pot on Mubi and Kentridge is talking about flying in his dreams. I realized how similar our ordinary Sunday experience with Yağmur was to what Kentridge is trying to share on film. I wished I could have been more aware of that moment. I could have savored it a little more. I could have used a small fan to blow air on her wings, she could lie on the ottoman, like a flying VR rig I saw somewhere. This could have been a fun little project.
Later, Kentridge started to make up languages. We do that with Yağmur too! Sometimes we like to talk in made-up languages. I like to replace words with clicks, klacks, abrupt words and sliding pitches. I sometimes imagine communicating in a digital on-and-off clicking sounds as a language with higher bandwidth than ours. I had this idea years ago, while thinking about the efficiency of human communication.
After the dreaming scene, Kentridge talks about the passing of time and starts drawing on a roll of paper as it constantly slides under his brush. He then puts these "flowing paintings" on a screen and has musicians perform to the movement of the brush strokes. Just like how we like to do with Yağmur, where one of us pretends to be a conductor while the other one makes sounds or noises in relation to the hand gestures. We have so much fun trying to do high and low pitches while raising and lowering our hands. I try to repeat movement patterns to get her to learn the patterns to better create matching sounds, but she has yet to get it right.
What a series of consequences! I am now super happy that I am writing these experiences down. Looking at them from Kentridge's perspective made me realize how special these moments were. They were filled with art, joy, and life.
Kentridge is very good at capturing these and sharing them in a captivating way. He indeed has a unique style, mixing performing arts, film and animation. Is this something I could have done? Be more mindful of those moments and capture and share them? I guess writing and sharing it here is the least I can do for now.
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Inspired by this, we built more intricate paper wings with Yağmur. We cut out many feather-shaped pieces and glued them onto a wearable cardboard wing skeleton that bends at the elbow, allowing the wings to fold and open with her arms. She loves them.
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Yağmur loves playing open-world games where she can explore freely and go wherever she likes. Her latest favorite in that genre is A Short Hike, where she can roam at her own pace and special to this game: Fly. The flying mechanic is especially charming; it’s one of my favorite indie games as well.
