I could write about this film all day, but I'll spare you my more excessive admiration. trois couleurs: rouge is part of director Krzysztof Kieslowski's trois couleurs trilogy, with each film exploring, both symbolically and aesthetically, the colours and symbolism of the French flag: Blue for liberty, white for equality and red for fraternity. While Blue is an excellently made film which received the most critical acclaim, my favourite is red.

This is in no small part due to the lead actress of red: irene jacob. She spends much of the film bathed in red and light, waiting for a type of emancipation, family, love and self-actualisation. I also personally think that the film is a form of adaptation of Shakespeare's The Tempest, with irene jacob as Miranda. What I love most about this film is the way that it conveys so much of the restlessness, the anticipation, the untried desire and expectation that is often associated with youth. I remember the first time I saw it as an undergraduate student during my first year at university, I felt as if I was watching myself. The idea that you know something is coming into your life, but you can't name it. It's a sort of love affair with yourself, and so very few people have such a love affair for fear of being self-indulgent.

I'm also intrigued by the idea that love has a colour. When did we decide that red is love? There seems to be a whole cultural history to be explored with that concept alone. Kieslowski isn't afraid of love and that's part of the reason why he's my favourite director.

The lake, phosphorescent, held little stars. Ah, floating. Conversely, the sky was liquid and deep, its moon in a drifting and dissolving suspension, its heavenly bodies held in watery shadow, its aspect one of inundation. He lay on his back, noting this derangement in the order of things. This - what was it - this sweet fluidity.

The body of his lover appeared pale, almost white, in the wash of the moonlight. He was tempted to begin again, to flow at her so that he might confirm again his good fortune; but instead, and oh so gently, he lay his head on her chest, found the cushion of her bosom, its wave shape, its crest, and put his ear there, attentively. Auscultation. Unstethoscopic auscultation. He had never felt less like a doctor and never less Russian. Yet her body shivered: brr! She seemed, for an instant, robbed of her own tropic, injected, as it were, with a dose of his snow.

Gail Jones, "Snow," in Fetish Lives, page 9.

It's been a wonderful day for reading in the garden. And a lovely day to answer some questions. I've been tagged by a red lipstick to answer the following, with only one word each. Merci :)

Where is your phone?
bag

Your hair?
long

Your Mother?
gentle

Your Father?
intelligent

Your favourite food?
fresh

Your dream last night?
poetry

Your favourite drink?
coffee

Your dream/goal?
pending

What room are you in?
kitchen

Your hobby?
ballet

Your fear?
loneliness

Where do you want to be in six years?
older

Where were you last night?
movies

Something that you're not?
disloyal

Muffins?
rich

Wish list item?
books

Where did you grow up?
Israel

Last thing you did?
read

What are you wearing?
leotard

Your TV?
old

Your pets?
sweet

Friends?
family

Your life?
changeable

Your mood?
calm

Missing someone?
many

Vehicle?
bother

Something you're not wearing?
shoes

Your favourite store?
bookstore

Your favourite colour?
icy

When was the last time you laughed?
Today

The last time you cried?
awhile

Your best friend?
esoteric

One place that I go to over and over?
bed

Facebook?
often

Favourite place to eat?
outdoors

I never know who to tag with these things, so you're all tagged, if you'd like to be of course.

let me introduce you to a small film. it had a quiet birth in cinemas in the 1980s and an even more sedate reception when it was finally re-released a few years ago. Jacques Rivette's Hurlevent is perhaps my favourite film from my thesis. In honour of me becoming a doctor this week, I want to offer an intimate and personal review of the baby of my thesis.

This is a French adaptation of Wuthering Heights by a director who was one of the founding members of French New Wave cinema. When I first heard of it four years ago, I was expecting a typical French New Wave film. It is not. It is quite apart from any other French New Wave film I've seen, and every other adaptation of Wuthering Heights.

This is the Wuthering Heights of my mind. Stark, uncomfortable, uncompromisingly honest, ascetic, and beautiful in its own violent way. I still remember the first time I saw it. Rivette doesn't need to invest in grandeur to depict beauty. Instead, he focuses on the contradictions of intimacy. The first thing you notice is the silence. There is hardly any dialogue or music. And when the music does come, it is all gypsy wailing. But perhaps what I love most about it, is that it is kind. Rivette painstakingly tries to depict women in ways that are not reductive or sweeping generalisations. This is indeed a rarity among New wave directors.

I hope I've convinced you to see the film, if you haven't already done so ...

This image graces the cover of my thesis. Today I can let out my big secret. I am officially a Doctor!!! After four months of waiting for my thesis to be examined, today I received that much-anticipated letter in the mail informing me that the two letters "d" and "r" will now go before my name.

I'm not someone who accepts compliments easily. I often think I can do better. But today, I think I'm going to give myself some credit and enjoy the achievement. Being a doctor at the age of 26 is not bad!

Thank you all for your ongoing support, especially in the last few months before I submitted my thesis. It's now all over and to be honest, I'm a bit in shock.

xxx

I have a big secret. everytime I bump into someone, I'm afraid the words will spill out of my mouth. I can't sleep because all I do is think about how great it would be to tell people. But it's not really up to me, and it's a secret that I wasn't allowed to know myself just yet. I am so frustrated I feel like screaming. But I promise, cross my heart, that I will let you know my secret soon.

Thanks for everyone's suggestions regarding my last post, I do appreciate it. And apologies for the lack of posting and commenting. I've had a rather hectic week and anticipate an even busier one next week, so I shall be absent from this space.

Image by julie morstad.

I'm trying to convince myself that I like the onset of summer by wearing my pretty white summer dress. But it's only one of three summer dresses I have. One of the reasons why I dislike summer is not just the heat and humidity, but also the fact that I find it very hard to find nice summer clothes that fit me. I'm rather small and always have been: a small size 6 in Australian clothing and a size 0 in american sizes. I have to admit, I'm getting rather tired of hearing about how clothes are made for people my size, as this is total crap.

It's impossible to find nice clothing in such small sizes where I live unless you're willing to buy clothes for teenage girls or spend mountains of money on designer labels that actually make small sizes. If you're counting on mainstream clothing stores, my size simply doesn't exist, and if it does, it is a vanity small size which is much larger than what is actually stated on the label. I refuse to resort to buying clothes made specifically for teenagers as it's starting to feel a bit ridiculous at the age of 26, and as the current teenage-clothes are of a particular 80s aesthetic which I loathe.

So I'm on the hunt to fill up my rather meagre summer wardrobe, and I thought I'd elicit the help of anyone who happens to know of any shops that a) sell nice and pretty summer clothing with a classic style, b) are reasonably priced, and c) have an actual size 6 (australian) or 0 (american). Any help would be much appreciated! I know so many ladies out there who find the best clothes and I often wonder where they buy them. I'm open to both online and regular stores. Merci.