I'm not there


The film begins as Pennebaker-era documentarized 'Dylan' is cut open -- let's see what we have here. I found it hard to catch my footing at first, and then, suddenly I got it -- it was about an artist of course -- but what I realized was that is was Woolf, it was Proust, it was about the multidinous self, and about those gaps in every self which are filled in by the mortar of stories, personas, ideals -- the cracks in reality over which the veil is thrown. It was about the artist creating the necessary out of the arbitrary, the artist questioning and not ever sure. 'What does that mean?' Dylan says that throughout the documentaries -- that's the image we latch on to. That moment when they discover his true name -- the moment when someone traces out an origin -- so full and so sad. Even when the entire trajectory can be plotted -- Wiki-style -- that is not the true tale -- that has nothing to do with sincerity or authenticity. It has nothing to do with anything we can speak about.

It's incredible, the film -- it's full of gaps and incredulities -- a mirror of sorts -- a mirror of the way things are when we've seen to the bottom.

I'm using phrases gleaned from the lecture I attended two nights ago -- on The Waves. I hope to write more on that this weekend -- it was excellent.