Showing posts with label Sculpture by Edgar Duvivier. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sculpture by Edgar Duvivier. Show all posts

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Disney and Disney



I've received messages from people from different countries saying that no matter how much they liked Disney, they became "followers", after reading Walt Disney's life. I had that experience myself. I used to think that the person of Walt Disney is the completing half of his creativity, but the more I think about his life (as told by different biographers) the more I find the beauty of his personality and example surpasses even that of his immense creativity and legacy. The person of Walt Disney is passionate and even more passionable (here I invent a word, that in Portuguese reads "apaixonante") than his legacy. It is more or less what I said, when talking of the Mouse: "The world recognition won by Mickey is not greater than the integrity of Disney, at every step of the fight he survived, to bring this character to the eye of the public". Disney entertainment is fun and healing, but the person of Walt Disney is utterly inspirational, especially at this day and age, when one thirsts for faith. The making of the WDF Museum is, more than timely, blissful. How can one thank the WDF Foundation enough?

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Essence and "Illusion of Life"


Disney’s “illusion of life” was life regardless of, or above reality. Its believability, like that of all art, was its supremacy over the real world. The immediacy Disney gave fiction meant, in the end, this establishing of life over everything, like a consecration of it. That is why it was sheer reassurance. With repetition, formulation and dilution of fantasy to different fiction medium in different types of entertainment, it became taken for granted. Today, with virtual reality, fiction is more immediate, more sensory invasive than life itself. But those that had it revealed by Disney, that experienced it as his original and unique screening, purifying of life, experienced life as essence. In them a seed, that forgotten or not through adulthood, was planted and could never stop taking roots. Writing about it, realizing these roots, is a rebirth.
(From the Introduction of "From Mars to Marceline")