Art is usually but a plaything; a distraction. We turn the box on or open a book of an evening purely to be distracted. I, however, have the good fortune to be a student of art – I produce it n my writing, and I study it’s filmic incarnation. Yet art – be it painting, literature, film or whatever – is more than a distraction. Reitz’s Heimat means something, Moby-dick means something, and that which I saw on Monday evening at half past seven meant something.
My friends were in a play; a short piece, written by Vikki, directed by rocky, about three friends who are involved in a car crash en route to a festival. The piece was commissioned by the council, and they are currently doing a tour, performing it in schools, encouraging kids to wear seat belts. By god, it is powerful – the pen can truly cut to the quick like no other tool or weapon I know. This is why we are here; this is what art is for. That play can save lives, and, as such, it is profoundly noble.
What my friends are doing will save lives, and I salute them all.