I managed to find time to sit through a movie after long. And I chose Robert Redford’s ‘A river runs through it’ more out of compulsion actually but oh well it inspired this post.
The movie was nominated for 3 Oscars and picked one up, for its excellent excellent cinematography. But I did not quite like the movie. Primarily because it relied too heavily on the narrator’s recounting, accompanied by still photographs to construct the story of a family of fly-fishers. I am unfortunately prejudiced. A movie should flow and move and unravel through the emotions, the words, the language of the actors.
But one line stuck on in my head.
When Craig Sheffer remarked without missing a beat about the perfection of form and of style of Brad Pitt’s fly-fishing endeavours. He affected an affectionate definition. Art.
And really what is art? Grace in language, refinement in advance, poise in stance, colour in view. And sometimes you can find it all around you if you just look a little harder.
When she eats with a rare gratification every meal, and every morsel on the plate.
When he describes with a singular passion and a personal erudition.
When she writes in her calligraphy and tilts back a tad to appreciate.
When he narrates with energy and seamless analogies.
When she sweeps vivid strokes and bright hues and tells not one.
‘Art stares back at itself in the mirror, but truly shines in other’s eyes’*
Yes, art craves the attention of an audience to truly thrive and flourish. To become a means of windfall and thus, complete satisfaction. So we search for art in galleries and auditoriums and museums. When sometimes it stares us in the face. If we only shed our insecurities of a collective approval, the next time he pulls on the cigarette with a pleasant effort to expel it in a streamlined form, maybe art will assume newer definitions.
And I leave you with this:
’This idea of a talking stick (Pinocchio) becoming a boy, it’s like a metaphor for art, and it’s the ultimate alchemical transformation.’