I think that films or indeed any art work should be made in a way

Hear the words of Peter Greenaway, painter of moving images and seeker of depth, who declared: “I think that films, or indeed any art work, should be made in a way that they are infinitely viewable; so that you could go back to it time and time again, not necessarily immediately but over a space of time, and see new things in it, or new ways of looking at it.” These words are not only about cinema, but about the very soul of art. For what is true art if not inexhaustible, a well that never runs dry, a mystery that unfolds in endless layers?

The origin of this thought lies in Greenaway’s own approach to creation. He was not satisfied with art that dazzled once and then faded, like fireworks against the night. He sought to craft works that lived like rivers, always flowing, always new, offering fresh insight to those who returned again and again. In his vision, art is not a fleeting pleasure but a living companion, growing alongside the viewer, revealing new truths as the years pass.

This idea echoes the wisdom of the ancients. Consider the epics of Homer, recited across centuries. Each time they were told, they revealed something different—sometimes the courage of Achilles, sometimes the cunning of Odysseus, sometimes the suffering of the ordinary men caught between gods and kings. The art was the same, yet the eyes of the hearer had changed, and so new meanings were drawn forth. This is what Greenaway calls infinitely viewable: the ability of great works to renew themselves, to converse with every generation in a different voice.

History too bears witness in the works of Leonardo da Vinci. His painting of the Mona Lisa has hung for centuries, and yet scholars, artists, and simple passersby still argue about her smile, her gaze, the mysteries of her presence. She is not exhausted, though millions of eyes have rested upon her. Each generation finds in her something new, for true art is a mirror that reflects not only itself, but the heart of the one who beholds it.

The meaning of Greenaway’s words is deeply motivational: if we are to create, let us not aim for mere distraction, but for depth. Let us craft works—whether of image, of word, or of music—that endure, that invite the soul back for another encounter, another revelation. The goal is not to be consumed and forgotten, but to be lived with over time, like a wise elder whose counsel deepens as one grows older.

The lesson for us is plain: seek out art, and even life itself, not for the shallow thrill but for the inexhaustible mystery. When you read a book, do not say, “I have finished it.” Return years later, and see what it shows you anew. When you behold a film, a poem, a painting, let it be a companion through different seasons of life, for your eyes will change, and so will your understanding. This is the way to live richly, drawing water again and again from the wells of meaning.

Practical actions follow. Choose to engage with art that challenges, not only entertains. Do not discard works that feel difficult, but return to them after time, and see what they now reveal. When you create, craft with layers—symbols, textures, truths—that invite the viewer or reader to come back again. In your own life, build moments that are not mere spectacles, but memories worth revisiting, stories worth retelling, friendships worth deepening over the years.

Thus, Peter Greenaway’s words must be remembered: true art work is not consumed in a single moment but reveals itself across a space of time. Let us then be seekers of depth, not speed; of endurance, not novelty. And let us live our own lives in the same way—not as fireworks to be burned and forgotten, but as flames that continue to glow, revealing warmth and light each time someone returns to stand beside us.