Walking through the Art Institute of Chicago I was struck by something. The gallery, which concentrates on European painting, is arranged in chronological order; the flat two dimensional early religious works give way to the renaissance experiments with depth and perspective, which in turn give way to the overblown work of nineteenth century genre paintings - ugly gaudy canvasses with observation and subject matter taken entirely from convention.
And then comes the Impressionists. The breath of
fresh air is palpable. No more sylphs dancing in fake
ancient settings. Now we get Manet's girl friends -
dressed and undressed as they are, not some paying
patron or king. We see Van Gogh's bare room - the
place he actually lived. The lily pond in Monet's
back yard. The light fairly shines from these
canvasses - the real light, as it might fall on a
haystack at different times of the day.
This is the heart of the digital revolution. Most
people are not constantly back-lit in real life. At
night the 'moonlight' does not come from a high crane
with powerful arc lights that cast a blue glare as
bright as any baseball stadium. Women do not wake up
in bed with perfect hair and make-up. Industrial
Cinema is a legitimate form - but it is stuck in rigid
conventions, hamstrung by money, and like traditional
oil painting, has entered its decadent phase.
In digital cinema your girl friend is the star. Your
back yard is the set. Your life is the script.
