Inspiration, Silence and Films
by Mike Moignard-Howarth
I am not an artist, an author or any of those things, which would give me a weighty opinion on inspiration, enjoyed by those who chatter on Radio 4’s Front Row. I am a mere observer of art and therefore like all consumers am longing for that great ‘research interview’ in the sky during which I could pontificate long and hard on my own very personal preferences.
As introductions go – that was acceptably short but lacking in punch. After all, what DO I find inspiring? The answer dear reader, before you aim this timid treatise at the waste bin, is ‘silence’. I’m sorry, didn’t you hear? The answer is ‘silence’. Now that leaves you with several options – one of which is to assume that I am mildly off my rocker but interesting enough to slip between the morning coffee and ‘Woman’ Hour’.
The truth is that I am an avid watcher of motion pictures. They can be gory or poetic, lusty or poignant. Each one is measured by that inner virtue some of us call a soul, and whatever dram of art exists within the performance is sifted and panned for gold dust by yours truly. There have been high points and – no, I never get to low points because Film is an art form you can walk away from.
Each film must be such an exciting act of creativity. The initial choice is that faced by any artist. Do I make a million or be true to myself? It just doesn’t matter. The fact is that either path can be trod provided virtue is a companion. Thus, we have films that have warmed a multitude of seats and others that have been an almost personal experience for their cast.
So, how do we recognise true silence in a film, or any other art form? Let me re-introduce you to some famous lines from Charles Dickens. You must be patient and remember that this extract is well over 100 years old:
“Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green aits and meadows. Fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of the colliers-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ……………..” etc. etc.
Do not be concerned if you did not recognise ‘Bleak House’; the joy of Dickens’ act of literary silence is that nothing happens. The reader is given the luxury of laying in a warm bath of experience without the plot moving forward at all. This is my definition of artistic silence and – yes; it is this that I find inspirational.
In what way can we see this throughout art? My inspiration has nought to do with minimalism. I do not expect composers to produce blank CDs or painters to affront us with a white canvas.
I find most organ music fails in its ploy to amuse or inspire me. Why, for goodness sake, when some of the greatest minds have cast their art before me. Too many notes say I. The business of those who would impress us. I know that playing music with both feet and hands, which have a choice of tens of valves and several keyboards, is indeed a performance of distinction – but it simply does not inspire me. Think of music that the composer has left hanging in a void of delectable silence for perhaps a fraction of a second – Gershwin’ Rhapsody in Blue. Then recall how those moments of peace allow you as the consumer to luxuriate in the composer’s art. That’s inspiration, folks.
Film devotees will return to their genre and so will I. Picture a film (unintentional pun), which has torn you apart, thrust you into a mincer of emotion and cast you out in a froth of response. Three Colours Blue or Cinema Paradiso come to my mind, but Doctor Zhivago or Alien might fit your mood. Each of these films has wondrous and inspirational moments of silence. Fingers tap noiselessly on a table, corridors are explored with throat gripping stillness or panoramas are thrown in our face with only our own breathing for sound accompaniment.
Where can the sculptor or painter find inspiration in silence? Tread carefully for you could be judged naïve. Walk around ‘The Kiss’ and then retread your steps. It pours forth a frightening energy with a peace and devotion that is artistically silent. Watch a Constable painting and let your eye chase the clouds, only to rest on the peace he places below. Now, listen to a humble devotee as he struggles to stop in his enthusiasm and lead you to a moment’s silence. Listen …… pause with a face in your mind and let that face tumble with you into a joyous void of mutual knowing. Dream your stories and your figurines, but give me the blessing of a moments respite as I bathe with you. Listen ………listen again ……. see what I mean?