There is a big message in this little film, way bigger than its title, Reframe the Familiar. The visuals seem somehow of another time and act, with the words and odd voice, like hunks of poetry.
Creativity is not magic. It’s perceiving real life as such. And there is an art to noticing it. It hides in the blindingly familiar. It’s overlooked, small things.
Magic lives in the ordinary. It’s in the patterns made by swaying tree shadows… It’s a rainy day bus ride. It’s everywhere if you really pause and look.
Magic is the joy of the risk you took.
It made us think of the most ordinary of things, the lemon, and of Pablo Neruda’s poem that described just what a miracle it could be, if we could only see.
Out of lemon flowers
loosed
on the moonlight, love’s
lashed and insatiable
essences,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree’s yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree’s planetarium
Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation’s
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.
Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.
So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a nipple
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.
It reminded us of all that is to be found in the present…and what a balm it can be from worries of past and future.
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