Art is not exactly a celebration; quite the contrary. It emerges from restlessness, disconnection, the inversion of reality—or its appearance… from that eternal anguish of understanding existence. This state of mind, the engine of creation, is a demanding, solitary pain; even dangerous for mental sanity.
A festival, in this case literary, is a moment of collective celebration, as it shows the small exterior world the infinite magnitude of the interior world. The Script Road, which has been illuminating Macau—and each of us—for 14 editions, is a vital part of this illusion that we have art to be more than life dictates to us. It therefore deserves—like others—far more than applause as proof of life. What truly matters is to feel it, let it seep into our bloodstream—live it.
Carlos Morais José, the Festival’s deputy director, says: “Celebrating literature is, therefore, also celebrating our imperfection, inconsistency, and emptiness; in other words, what makes us dare to create new worlds in the interstices of millions of existences and grants us some traces of tragic beauty.”
Ricardo Pinto has consistently added visual and performative arts to literature to communicate a multifaceted, multicultural, and multidimensional Macau. With emotion and clarity, João Miguel Barros comments in a WhatsApp group: “Only a hero creates a Festival like this, in Macau, in current times!” This is true, and for the worst reasons.
I bet Ricardo would much prefer to have gained another momentum, made its enjoyment more widespread, conquered the illusion of normalcy. The insane and quixotic ego of being the beacon of impossibility aches in the soul, weighs on the wallet, and depletes the energy to act.
“Only a hero creates a Festival like this, in Macau, in current times!”
After the pandemic drama, with budget restrictions still in place, I repeat what I’ve always said, fearing I might forget myself: courage, strategic vision, and a sense of mission deserve applause. But it is far more useful to set life into production, spread the habit of consumption, and give the Festival collective maturity. Otherwise, crocodile tears mean nothing when the hero grows weary; when he says he’s leaving, abandoning us orphaned from what, deep down, we never knew how to adopt.
This applies to the Government—and casinos—sponsors of such endeavors, who do not always grasp the true dimension that the Script Road deserves—and should have. But it also applies to everyone, to each of us, to reflect on the city we demand from others—and from ourselves. Many people still do this—let it be acknowledged—in contexts as difficult as, or more difficult than, the Script Road. But it is not through the Gordian knot of stubbornness that we unfurl the sails of the soul.
It is human nature to undervalue what is at hand, what seems easy and guaranteed, just as it is our culture to mourn only after the spilled milk, allowing the souring of what could have lifted us. I firmly believe that artistic manifestations, like public debate, are greater goods than the production/exhibition processes.
That’s why I say this space where I express myself is not the stage of those who use it, but rather the universe of those who read it—and think within it. As I deeply feel that very few understand this, I want to share with Ricardo here: I feel the light he gave us as part of the universe that is ours. So, I say thank you.
*Director-General of PLATAFORMA.
