I started my day thinking I would write about the film, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. The adapted memoir of Jean-Dominique Beauby, former editor of Elle. It was the most visually interesting film I have seen in a long time. It is shot from Beauby’s perspective, literally seen through his eyes, as he struggles to write his memoirs after suffering a stroke, falling into a coma for 20 days only to emerge with locked-in syndrome. Beauby was only able to move his left eye and this became his window to the world, communicating by blinking, and our window into his imagination.
So here I am, writing about this movie, a little misty-eyed as I think it all over. I thought I should do a little research, read some reviews of the film and the book, try to get a little better perspective on the real story. Apparently this is something that needed to be done for The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Although the film is innovative and evocative it is not entirely accurate. You can read a little about the real story at salon.com
So what should I do? Last night I was in tears over the heartbreaking portrait of Beauby’s struggle to communicate the very story I was watching, and this morning I feel hung-over on Hollywood glitz. They toyed with my emotions and I feel slighted. Don’t get me wrong, I still think it was an amazing story and I will be reading the book as soon as I can get my hands on a copy, but Holly Wood has been tugging on my heart strings, and for what? To line their pockets?
This is what Hollywood does and I don’t really begrudge them for it. In fact another film, one of my all time favorites, effectively does the same thing. The Fountain tells the story of a man’s struggle to understand death, or at least come to terms with it. The Fountain is a little harder to summarize, so I recommend you see it rather than struggle through my poorly phrased explanation. What I can say, with out confusing the reader too much, is that the main character in both films is trapped in his current state of existence. In this existence they struggle to achieve, sometimes succeeding but ultimately failing. No I did not just give away any endings. In the end, we all die, we know this and each of us deals with it in our own way. Some have religion, others have careers, I have art. I have films, music, theater, painting, sculpture and … printmaking.
I have joked that I worship at the temple of the fine arts, but maybe its true. I know that one day I will die, I live the best life I can, struggling everyday to leave something behind for future generations. In the museum I preserve, as a print maker I promote, and as an artist I create. My struggle pales in comparison to that of Beauby, but we are not all meant to be great and I am ok with that. I will leave my small fingerprint on the world and others will leave larger marks, but I know that when I leave the tomb of my body that I have spent my life leaving something beautiful behind.