The River Review
The River,
though not set in any one particular place, is very locational, not least
because Alessandro Sanna would never have done it had he not been inspired by
his time spent living beside the River Po. A river is a wonderful metaphor for
a great many things, of life and of change, hazards and help, of seasons,
animals, traditions- all the good stuff. And to his credit, Sanna manages to
capture all of this with a passion that visibly bleeds through his canvas.
It is a master-class in watercolours- of the use of
colour in general- and the themes he picks to follow through each season blend
seamlessly with the tone; Autumn, dour and fearful, Spring dynamic and racing. It
would be difficult to over-emphasize how well Sanna chose his tools for the job
here, you will not find fog rendered in the lines of a pencil so cloying, or a
dawn as strikingly portrayed in digital brushes- The River is water, and it's the perfect element to portray it. The
seasons run together very naturally, with Winter ending with the promise of
life amidst the cold and Summer beginning with a storm after the spring
showers.
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| Oooo. |
Make no mistake, this is a story told by its images.
Other than a brief paragraph at the beginning of each season to set up the
seasons events it's all told through long strips, four panels a page, wall to
wall (except when broken with well-timed exceptions). Decompression is rife but deliberate, as
without words to slow the action the images must do that for you in the their
length and progression, giving it a sedate, ponderous gait during the colder
months and a gathering roar in the latter. It gives you an opportunity to
indulge in the details hidden within, rabbits lending movement to panels that
threaten stillness, stabs of trees that shift into cages and break apart from
breathless wind. These details- unlike the lustrous sky and river which
constantly dominate the landscape- are often stark binary black and white, which
adds surprising vitality to the piece not just in movement but in the
fundamental themes you can feel clashing within it, of life running its course,
whether in birth, joy or sadness. You can be moved, if you're in the mood.
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| Aaaaa. |
In a way it's annoying. It straddles the strange
territory between a graphic novel and an exhibition; the panels are rough and
unbordered, wanting to push out of their confines, and you feel there's more
that you want to see- something full-sized, something you want to touch behind
the glossy paper it's printed on. It'd take a big gallery to display though, so
a graphic novel remains the only sensible medium for it...and yet I still find
myself putting my face desperately close to every page to try and grasp it all.
Obviously, the lack of words doesn't help this impression that you're missing
out on a real spectacle.
The afterword also adds to this pleasurable
frustration. It follows on excellently from the parting scenes tonally and it's
well placed from a critical perspective; normally if an author's going to talk
about his work it's as a foreword, but by putting it at the end Sanna allows
you to shape your own ideas about the piece before giving you a new lens to
look through. It invites a re-read, a closer examination and a greater
appreciation of the piece...you don't really need an excuse for that, but the
fresh perspective makes it much more satisfying.
Having said this though, the way the afterword
written is telling in respect to what kind of person is typically drawn to
appreciate a work like this: it's slightly too flighty for the layman. This is
very much a work to be enjoyed most by artists, those appreciative of the craft
of art, or of Sanna's particular art, or who otherwise aspire to be 'arty'.
There isn't much here for those who aren't willing syringing their own meaning
out of a work beyond some pretty pictures; the paragraph of 'this happens' at
the start of each season is equals parts not enough and too much of a spoiler
for what will happen next for those used to being told what to feel. As such, there's
a distinct risk of boredom if one wants to do more than glance at it but less
than think about it.
It has lasted with me though, which is more than I
can say for a lot of more traditional comics, possibly because I wonder if
Alessandro Sanna had drawn this in Britain and not Northern Italy if he'd have
ever finished it at all. Not that he'd give up because there's only so many
ways he could make clouds and rain interesting (though that'd certainly be a
struggle) but because of the place of rivers in modern British culture. Rivers
are natural, but 'natural' is not useful past a certain point- a river doesn't
go where we want it to go or do all the things we want it to do; if it did, we
wouldn't have built canals and railways. Our heritage is industrial, towns and
businesses are what we take pride in- not universally, obviously, but there was
a reason the green and pleasant hills were replaced with steel towers in the
olympic opening ceremony. Rivers by contrast are an agricultural heritage, nature as a solution as much as a problem,
with traditions that follow. It's an engine that drove a simpler time and something
that Alessandro Sanna, through his passion and his paint, has managed to
capture.
The River
deserves to be read, because it makes you nostalgic for something you've never
had.
Summary: A great artistic endeavour with love, care and attention paid to every panel. If you've ever not been bored at an art gallery, don't miss out on this.
