Eyes Wide Open

Essentially I am a process-oriented person. I am fascinated by what goes on during the process of creation and why we feel the need to create. I create for myself. If you get something out of my written sentiments that works too,  because it means we have similar values and outlooks on life. Self expression in all its digital forms allows me to use more than just words to connect with more beyond what’s right in front of my face.

Scott McCloud’s chapter on the 6 stages of the creative path reminds me that I have a long way to go and many more dues to pay before I can truly call myself a writer or digital storyteller. Dean Terry said the only way to become good at something is to do it and do it often. I can work with that. I believe that both my sound and my moving image reflect a lot of progress in my quest for digital textuality and media literacy.

More than any other reading, Christine Paul’s excerpt of Brad Paley’s Text Arc altered my digital textuality for ever. If it could be done with Alice In Wonderland, I realized that I could essentially do the same thing with any concept I choose. Of course, I’m not able to code Breakfast at Tiffany’s as a TextArc at this point in time, but I took it as a writer, and made it a part of my identity as an avid lover of classic films where stories are pure and special effects are for enhancement purposes rather than the main feature that winds up overshadowing the storyline in many modern movies. I appreciate being able to stay true to the original narrative by Truman Capote. The literary nerd in me is forever grateful.

Aside from the thrill of getting to read a sound piece that mentions Black Flag in Steve Wakman’s California Noise… is the fact that it helped me to identify and articulate that yes, there is a distinct difference between sound and noise. Although, that too is subjective based on audience perceptions and preferences. Who am I to tell you how to feel or how to relate to what we hear and see? That being said, dogma will only limit my experiences if I cannot look past the noise to discover what lies underneath.

Revisions made to my sound object were necessary in making the familiar into the unfamiliar, which were done by removing the iconic song that’s just be done one too many times. The hardest part meant adjusting the concept because once you changed one portfolio object, the rest must also go under the knife in order to stay cohesive and relevant.

For now, I look forward to the inspiration that can only occur by being exposed to new forms, new adaptations of analogous material revamped as only digital textuality can coax it from the past, giving it a new life, a new audience, and a newfound freedom of creativity.

We all want to feel unique and special. I think that digital textuality can empower us to do more when we think we’ve got nothing more to say or that no one wants to hear it in the first place. I worry needlessly so, that my experience with it will subside once I graduate. It is completely and absolutely unfounded of course. The databases are out there. The information exists. I can no longer rely on professors as my sole form of exposure.

I feel like a kid who is trapped in a library and discovers there are more ways and means of storytelling than what is in books. I’m still not sure where I am going to end up with all of this, but we will all know it when I get there.

Rough Hollies

Photo by Carrie Lackey

Photo by Carrie Lackey

Photo by Carrie Lackey

Remixed Image by Carrie Lackey/Original image courtesy of Sue Sparklers

Photo by Carrie Lackey

My grandparents “remixed” as Holly and her brother Fred. Photographer unknown

Photographer unknown/Owned by C.Lackey

Mosaic by Carrie Lackey using CC Images “Audrey Hepburn” from Flickr

Version 1 Still Images (above)

Version 1 Text

Preface to the self-published autobiography Holiday Golightly: Please, Call Me Holly

Recently widowed for the second time, I find that I have a lot of time on my hands, and so I find myself thinking about the past. It has taken me quite awhile to drum up enough courage to be honest with myself and with you all, dear readers.

I am often asked where I came from and what am I doing here. It is funny really because I asked myself that same question many, many times over the years, but mostly I am writing my memoir as a way to keep my memories intact. It shall remain my legacy long after my suitors’ memories of me have faded away in to the cobwebbed recesses of their minds.

Orphaned after my parents died from tuberculosis (such an ugly way to die), my sweet brother Fred and I ran away from the so-called foster family we were placed with. One day not long after we ran away, an old gentleman (whom I shall call “Doc”) caught Fred and I stealing eggs from his chickens. He took us in because that’s what men feel the need to do around me. They want to protect me from the world, I suppose.

Later that year I married “Doc” just before my fifteenth birthday. I keep an old worn down photograph of that day in the back of my closet in an old shoebox hidden underneath my stored hatboxes.

Its corners are creased and the image seems to fade just a bit each time I look at it. Taking it out from its hiding place, I rub my finger crippled with arthritis over that wide-eyed child bride with the hope that she is happy the way things turned out.

Life in Texas bored me and moved at a pace slower than molasses. I was never cut out to be a housewife anyway, you know? I shudder to think how mundane my life would have been had I stayed on that farm to raise those kids (from Doc’s first marriage) that were scarcely younger than myself. I shed my old shell as LulaMae Barnes for the more glamorous exoskeleton of Holly Golightly and everything that life entailed.

New York turned out to be everything I knew it would. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to you unless you wanted them to. And honey, let me tell you about the men. They tripped over themselves to be near me, to buy me things and take me places I had only read about.

And the parties in Manhattan…once I met Truman Capote, who wrote a novella (Breakfast at Tiffany’s) based on my life in New York. Like two drunken conspirators we would laugh and giggle about the silly socialites who thumbed their noses at us.

“Holly,” he said to me once, “Don’t ever let them call you a prostitute. You’re really more of a modern geisha anyway.”

Shake your head all you want to, but it was not a bad way to live. I could come and go as I please, but best of all, there was no one to hold me back or tie me down to anything. Sometimes though I went through these blue periods like I was missing out on something, but I could never quite figure out what it was. On those days, I would dress up and slip out into the crowded sidewalk as I made my way across town to Fifth Avenue where I would stand in the window just outside Tiffany & Co looking in. It did for me what nothing or no one ever could.

I tell you all this because I just want to be heard. And, I want you to know that the means, at least for me really did justify the ends. I am not referring to the material means—though I am surrounded by nice things. It is more than that. I just thought you should know that.

With that, I will leave you to read about my time in New York and the one great love I loved and lost without ever really knowing the effect it had on me until years after the sound of his voice had all but faded from my memory.

Yours truly,

Holly Golightly

Version 1 Sound

Version 1 Moving Image

Audible Memories

Revised Explanation:

In addition to changing the platform (from YouTube to SoundCloud), I removed Moon River (sung by Audrey Hepburn) and replaced it with a 7 Seconds cover Got My List by Jonah Mantranga. The new song conveys a sense of loss that echoes George Peppard’s taxi speech courtesy of Paramount Studios.

 

As I Age, So Do My Memories

All photos are my own.

Footage from videosbywilliams

Revision Explanation:

Once again, I removed the more iconic song and replaced it with Sally’s Tomato by Henry Mancini from the Breakfast at Tiffany’s Soundtrack. I also increased the space between the camera and the borrowed footage of the film projector to create a more aesthetic presentation.

A Means To An End

Mosaic by Carrie Lackey using CC Images “Audrey Hepburn” from Flickr

It was not a bad way to live. I could come and go as I please, but best of all, there was no one to hold me back or tie me down.

Occasionally,  I felt like I was missing out on something, but I could never quite figure out what it was. On those days, I would dress up and slip out into the crowded sidewalk as I made my way to Fifth Avenue where I would stand in the window just outside Tiffany & Co looking in. It did for me what nothing or no one ever could.

There was a man who came close though. When I was with him, everything made sense again. More than anyone or anything, I miss him most of all. I can still hear his voice that day in the cab. The sound of the rain nearly drowned out the hurt and anger in his voice.

Photo by Carrie Lackey

I tell you all this because I just want to be heard. And, I want you to know that the means, at least for me really did justify the ends. I am not referring to the material means. It is more than that. I just thought you should know that.

Yours truly,

Holly G.

Revision Explanation (All photos):

The photos are resized, and I removed the collaged image because it was incongruent with the adapted concept of iconic memories.

You Can Take The Girl Out Of Texas…

Photo by Carrie Lackey

Life in Texas bored me and moved at a pace slower than molasses. I was never cut out to be a housewife anyway, you know? I shudder to think how mundane my life would have been had I stayed on that farm to raise those kids (from Doc’s first marriage) that were scarcely younger than myself.

I shed my old shell as LulaMae Barnes for the more glamorous trappings of Holly Golightly and everything that life entailed.

New York was everything I knew it would it would be. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to you unless you wanted them to. And honey, let me tell you about the men. They tripped over themselves to be near me, to buy me things, and take me places I had only read about.

Oh and those lovely little parties in Manhattan…once I met Truman Capote, who wrote a novella (Breakfast at Tiffany’s) based on my life in New York. Like two drunken conspirators we would laugh and giggle about the silly socialites who thumbed their noses at us.

“Holly,” he said to me once, “Don’t ever let them call you a prostitute. You’re really more of a modern geisha anyway.”

Love,

Holly G.

The Day I Left Childhood Behind

Photographer unknown/Owned by C.Lackey

I married “Doc” just before my fifteenth birthday. I keep an old worn down photograph of that day in the back of my closet in an old shoebox hidden underneath my hat boxes.

Its corners are creased, and the image seems to fade just a bit each time I look at it. Taking it out from its hiding place, I rub my finger crippled with arthritis over that wide-eyed child bride with the hope that she is happy the way things turned out.

Life in Texas bored me and moved at a pace slower than molasses. I was never cut out to be a housewife anyway, you know? I shudder to think how mundane my life would have been had I stayed on that farm to raise those kids (from Doc’s first marriage) that were scarcely younger than myself. I shed my old shell as LulaMae Barnes for the more glamorous exoskeleton of Holly Golightly and everything that life entailed.

Love,

Holly G.

Humble Beginnings

Photo by Carrie Lackey

I am often asked where I came from and what am I doing here. It is funny really, because I have asked myself that same question many times over the years. I’m writing it down now as a way to keep my memories intact. It shall remain as my legacy long after my suitors’ memories of me have faded.

My grandparents “remixed” as Holly and her brother Fred. Photographer unknown

Orphaned after my parents died from tuberculosis (such an ugly way to die), my sweet brother Fred and I ran away from our foster family. One day, not long  after, an older man (whom I shall call “Doc”) caught us stealing eggs from his chickens. He took us in because that’s what men feel the need to do around me. They want to protect me from the world, I suppose.

Love,

Holly G.

Please Be Patient With Me

Remixed Image by Carrie Lackey/Original image courtesy of Sue Sparklers

Recently widowed for the second time, I find that I have a lot of time on my hands, and thinking about the past. It has taken me quite awhile to drum up enough courage to be honest with myself and with you all, dear readers. I suppose this old girl must acknowledge the 21st century after all, but I  will forever maintain, “My publicist made me do it.”

It is with you all in mind that I sit down to write this blog as a permanent legacy and the truth about my life in New York. Please join me on this path as I make my way from analog past to digital presence.

Love,

Holly

Revision Explanation (for all blog posts)

I edited the concept for a digital ebook preface to Holly Golightly’s memoirs instead choosing to publish it a blog. It is a metaphor for Holly’s character as she moves from analog memories to digital as a means to create a more permanent legacy.