That Certain Quality
When you read a good story, or watch a good movie, or, heck, listen to a good song, what do you read, watch, hear?
The main character? The main plot line? The lyrics?
That big sheet of pure whiteness is ever-so-important. You need skillful hands to decorate it, to make it absolutely beautiful, enticing.
But that's only a giant painting, isn't it?
That's your picture. That's a flat artwork many might be drawn to, but might not be as great, as breath-taking, as imposing as, let's say, the Sistine Chapel ceiling. A 2-D painting, no matter how gorgeous, how life-like, I don't think could ever compare to the cathedral ceiling. Not as much as who painted it, 'cause that's just a matter of opinion.
But rather, the faraway quality of it.
Just like how every single race of humans had been awed by the sun and moon, a beautiful drawing way above you just as a different quality as something you can simply reach out and touch. You can hold up your fingers and pretend to hold the moon. You can close your fists to capture the sun. But you can never really, truly hold the celestial greatness within your hands.
Being human, we all desire what we can have. I think that's what ultimately separates the portrait of Pope Julius II and the Chigi Chapel.
What separates a flat story, to one so astoundingly amazing.
It's the little side stories that always get to me. It's what makes the main character who he is, it's the tales of the devoted sidekicks around him. It's the reason behind the devotion in the purest sense of the world, the confused feelings, the absolute hate. They are the pillars, the cement that holds the magnificent piece up. The ones that have their own stories, but mostly left untold, for the sake of the ultimate artwork.
If told though, how saddening they would be. How much more they would be loved...
The main character? The main plot line? The lyrics?
That big sheet of pure whiteness is ever-so-important. You need skillful hands to decorate it, to make it absolutely beautiful, enticing.
But that's only a giant painting, isn't it?
That's your picture. That's a flat artwork many might be drawn to, but might not be as great, as breath-taking, as imposing as, let's say, the Sistine Chapel ceiling. A 2-D painting, no matter how gorgeous, how life-like, I don't think could ever compare to the cathedral ceiling. Not as much as who painted it, 'cause that's just a matter of opinion.
But rather, the faraway quality of it.
Just like how every single race of humans had been awed by the sun and moon, a beautiful drawing way above you just as a different quality as something you can simply reach out and touch. You can hold up your fingers and pretend to hold the moon. You can close your fists to capture the sun. But you can never really, truly hold the celestial greatness within your hands.
Being human, we all desire what we can have. I think that's what ultimately separates the portrait of Pope Julius II and the Chigi Chapel.
What separates a flat story, to one so astoundingly amazing.
It's the little side stories that always get to me. It's what makes the main character who he is, it's the tales of the devoted sidekicks around him. It's the reason behind the devotion in the purest sense of the world, the confused feelings, the absolute hate. They are the pillars, the cement that holds the magnificent piece up. The ones that have their own stories, but mostly left untold, for the sake of the ultimate artwork.
If told though, how saddening they would be. How much more they would be loved...