Tag: short film

Showing And Knowing

There’s a strange expectation that you must be stupid if you flip burgers, make lattes, or, in my case, answer (and make) phone calls. This sharp divide -between what I love and what I do -used to bother me a great deal.

When I arrived in Dublin many years ago, I took a series of “joejobs” and found myself spiralling into a great fierce tornado of depression. In hindsight, I think I hadn’t worked out separating one’s self from the source of one’s income. You’re not necessarily what you do, as this short points out, though for us souls who want the opportunity to do professionally what we love most, the joejob tornado can sometimes be hard to sidestep.

I don’t know what accomplished filmmaker Shaun O’Connor was thinking when he wrote and directed this delightful work, but it feels awfully familiar. There’s a knowing wink directed at people who are both too quick to judge, and who see that judgment coming a mile away. I used to react badly; now, I try not to react at all.

Demonstrating the finer points of my well-read self to people in the joejob environment isn’t a priority anyway; booksmarts are great, but they’re limited -and limiting. Too many potentially interesting conversations and possibly great connections get cut off because one hasn’t read the latest Eggers or Bezmogis or any of the books on the New York Times Bestseller List. But maybe that person likes graphic novels, or comics. Maybe they draw. Maybe they dance. Maybe they own a small business. Maybe they sell vegetables off the back of a truck. Everyone has a story.

Everyone has a feisty, scissor-wielding hairdresser in them too.

Special thanks to the James Joyce Centre Dublin for posting Mr. O’Connor’s work on their Facebook page.

Swirling

A little piece of inspiration, amidst the Christmas/holiday nutties.

The ocean has always been a source of inspiration for me. When I lived in Dublin, I used to have to take the DART south for work twice a week; I loved being along the Irish sea and looking out at the swirling waves. It was a hell of a public transit ride for a wide-eyed Canadian girl more used to seeing concrete and tracts of homogenous suburban town-boxes along commuter routes. I marveled at the many people who simply fell asleep on the ride. How can you miss this?, I thought. Maybe it’s something you get used to, and sick of, the way us Canadians are about snow and winter scenes.

On the (few) days the sun shone in Dublin, the watery landscape turned into a glinting kind of jewel; I only wish I had been painting then. Still, I had my trusty Minolta with me. The photos I took are languishing somewhere in Ireland. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again; the feeling of seeing that dance of sky and sea will be with me, though, forever. Another ride along the DART is inevitable, both physically and otherwise.

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