All by Myself: The Eartha Kitt Story

You have to constantly be listening.

what a magical human being. To listen to Eartha sing—it’s almost supernatural, that trance she puts you in even through recordings. As though it’s not just her vocal prowess but something else not of the nature here on earth, otherworldly. I can’t help but feel an immense amount of jealousy towards anyone who had ever witnessed her live.

I’m always so endlessly fascinated by that idea of voyeurism and when or how we take part in it. I think that’s also partly as to why I adore documentaries like this, almost as though they serve as a quick opportunity to selfishly get a peek in on some sort of understanding or knowing of a human you didn’t know. There’s also the question of what that says about us as viewers but I guess ultimately as humans wanting to hitch a ride through glimpses into someone else’s life or eyes. There’s a moment when she’s in the kitchen talking about lyrics, we’re sort of hidden behind and peeking past some flowers in the frame and she says, you constantly have to be listening, and I couldn’t help but think of what it means to just witness someone but also the different ways we go about it. With or without cameras, with or without an audience of some form, are you prying, deliberately wanting an in to an answer to something. In my own mind it almost sets itself up like a firm declaration of: to do your best attempt at some sort of understanding of who a person actually is you constantly have to be listening just like we must do to ourselves. I think a lot of people would be a lot better off if they were to do that in the way it seems like she did!!!! To truly sit with yourself, be open and vulnerable, to be real, not just with others. To let that curiosity almost consume you.

You have to constantly be listening.

what a magical human being. To listen to Eartha sing—it’s almost supernatural, that trance she puts you in even through recordings. As though it’s not just her vocal prowess but something else not of the nature here on earth, otherworldly. I can’t help but feel an immense amount of jealousy towards anyone who had ever witnessed her live.

I’m always so endlessly fascinated by that idea of voyeurism and when or how we take part in it. I think that’s also partly as to why I adore documentaries like this, almost as though they serve as a quick opportunity to selfishly get a peek in on some sort of understanding or knowing of a human you didn’t know. There’s also the question of what that says about us as viewers but I guess ultimately as humans wanting to hitch a ride through glimpses into someone else’s life or eyes. There’s a moment when she’s in the kitchen talking about lyrics, we’re sort of hidden behind and peeking past some flowers in the frame and she says, you constantly have to be listening, and I couldn’t help but think of what it means to just witness someone but also the different ways we go about it. With or without cameras, with or without an audience of some form, are you prying, deliberately wanting an in to an answer to something. In my own mind it almost sets itself up like a firm declaration of: to do your best attempt at some sort of understanding of who a person actually is you constantly have to be listening just like we must do to ourselves. I think a lot of people would be a lot better off if they were to do that in the way it seems like she did!!!! To truly sit with yourself, be open and vulnerable, to be real, not just with others. To let that curiosity almost consume you.

Puta que pariu chorei quase tanto quanto chorei depois de ver aftersun pela segunda vez… do início ao fim com lágrimas nos olhos. Nem sei porque mas ela prende nos só por existir, ela chama por nos… não consigo escrever ainda estou a chorar

Puta que pariu chorei quase tanto quanto chorei depois de ver aftersun pela segunda vez… do início ao fim com lágrimas nos olhos. Nem sei porque mas ela prende nos só por existir, ela chama por nos… não consigo escrever ainda estou a chorar