I love landscapes almost as much as I love the close up. Though the two exist at such opposite ends of the compositional spectrum, they both hold the potential to express intense beauty and undeniable power. In filmmaking, we have the opportunity to experiment with their succession and juxtaposition. Paintings have a terribly difficult time portraying both without losing the power of either. My most favorite landscapes are landscapes just. Simply composed, looking out into the world, searching for what it holds. Albrecht Altdorfer's Danube Landscape performs this task beautifully.
Never had I seen this painting before, but when I did, it struck me so, I could not tear my eyes from it. It whispered softly to stay. To dance in the river Danube. To reach up and pick a little bit of cloud from the sky, hold it close, and never let it go.
Its forest, a mishmash of greens, leap forth from the canvas, each tree sort of muddled and indistinct, a little part of the greater whole. Each one painstakingly reaching for the sky, trying to hold on.
The sky stands high above looking down at the world. It reaches down to the trees for companionship. Outstretching its soft clouds to lightly graze the foliage's tip. The sun peaks through just to say farewell, to wish all the world a goodnight full of wonder and warmth. It slowly falls behind the far off mountains. Rays reach out to the castle at the mountains' base to caress it, to hold it and keep it well as it listens to the river rush past, down down down to the little lake below.
All this beauty. All these things. They sit simply, softly, smoothly between two great trees who've watched this valley grow from the very smallest shrub and the very tiniest stream. To now.
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