What's my name?

An excert from the powerful 400 women exhibition @ the crumbling canongate venture. Wiped from existence by violence this moving gallery of faces and names reclaims the fragile and precious humanity of the 400 women murdered in ciudad juarez. With ceiling plaster underfoot, cracked windows and peeling paint it's a moving setting. Damp eyed I wandered from room to room quite alone. At first I tried to find each name in the booklet to understand their fate, but it just got too overwhelming to be honest. Face to face they were all alive as me.
Otherwise carpe festy diem. Lectures at vibrant new venue summerhall. Tom mccarthy takes a room of eager arty types on a journey from exploding avant guarde anarchists to the history of cut up fiction. After that some royal mile rubber necking, a pedalling john Byrne, a dancing subway sandwich, getting serreptitiously snapped by a photographer standing on the Jacob ladder railings taking a photo (wonder if I am on blip?) and calton cemetery before another epic installment of the qatsi trilogy. Powaqqatsi - a breathtaking poem to the striving battles of humankind in the developing world, caught at the cusp of transition into urbanisation and "development". Somehow even from dizzying heights and dazzling sites you never lose the sense of a common spark of life - especially when your eyes are locked in the gaze of a Hong Kong school child or a varansi holyman. Again, feels like I've travelled at light speed around the world but have taken in every slo mo detail. For those who don't read hopi powaq means dark sorceror controlling the fate of others, qatsi - an entity. Certianly few faces you see are in control of their own fate, but there are a few more beaming smiles than the last film.