In 1850, Gustave Courbet provoked scandal with his Burial at Ornans, when he depicted the inhabitants of his village in life-size, in a huge scale, and made every-day life people enter the realm of History. In his monumental Comédie Humaine, the saga of 2000 characters in ninety books, Honoré de Balzac wanted to represent the society of his time, and thereby celebrate modern times. In 1964, Andy Warhol changed a Soup Campbell can into an icon of modern culture and the society of consumerism. In the 1990s, the aesthetic principles of Dogma pushed the Realism in cinema to its highest degree.
I could carry on listing innumerable examples of the never ending interest of artists for the realities of their times. I am no genius, and even less artist.I have no pretensions of ever reaching the level of their message. But in their enterprises, I recognize the impetus of considering reality, the perfect exception of an instant. Every minute, a new miracle happens in the world, a new birth announced by the screaming noise of a newborn. Every minute, someone dies, very often making no more noise than a quiet sigh…Every time a mother looks at her smiling child, she can experience the exaltation of perfect bliss… A stranger smiling in the train can highlight your day, just as a grumpy comment from someone you quickly pass in the street can shadow your mood.
These are the little rituals of life, the little ‘nothings’ of the everyday, the insignificant reaching the significance of the essential, the heroism in the ordinary and the futility of the exceptional, the unique character of each instant, the volatile of experiences, the exception in the routine, the happiness of that one can encounter in the banality. These are what I want to consider in my modest way, all with the imperfection of my awkward turns of phrase, clumsy expressions and childlike words… And endeavour to perfect little by little the simple fact of living, and maybe, eventually, find a meaning – my meaning - to the big mystery of life. Peut-être enfin reconnaître la perfection de chaque instant, dans ses imperfections même, puisqu’il n’y a rien d’extraordinaire, si ce n’est le quotidien.
I could carry on listing innumerable examples of the never ending interest of artists for the realities of their times. I am no genius, and even less artist.I have no pretensions of ever reaching the level of their message. But in their enterprises, I recognize the impetus of considering reality, the perfect exception of an instant. Every minute, a new miracle happens in the world, a new birth announced by the screaming noise of a newborn. Every minute, someone dies, very often making no more noise than a quiet sigh…Every time a mother looks at her smiling child, she can experience the exaltation of perfect bliss… A stranger smiling in the train can highlight your day, just as a grumpy comment from someone you quickly pass in the street can shadow your mood.
These are the little rituals of life, the little ‘nothings’ of the everyday, the insignificant reaching the significance of the essential, the heroism in the ordinary and the futility of the exceptional, the unique character of each instant, the volatile of experiences, the exception in the routine, the happiness of that one can encounter in the banality. These are what I want to consider in my modest way, all with the imperfection of my awkward turns of phrase, clumsy expressions and childlike words… And endeavour to perfect little by little the simple fact of living, and maybe, eventually, find a meaning – my meaning - to the big mystery of life. Peut-être enfin reconnaître la perfection de chaque instant, dans ses imperfections même, puisqu’il n’y a rien d’extraordinaire, si ce n’est le quotidien.
1 comment:
Fabulous. Just like you. Give me more, i am hungry for more!
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