The colour of pomegranates

I bought a pomegranate down at the IGA (yes, the IGA- who'd have thought it?) There they were all conspiculously flushed and embarrassed by finding themselves in such a common place. I've known of them and eaten them, but you don't get them turning up at the supermarket any old day of the week. They are exotic here.

I'd heard a Radio National broadcast on the country viewpoint food on Friday segment -- an interview with a bunch of guys with a bit of an idea to cash in on the antioxidant magic of this fabulous "new" wonder fruit, so they were at the front of my brain and registered immediately.

With my beautiful pomegranate in hand, I picked up some snapper as well, thinking; pan fried in butter, pomegranate juice, a little salt and pepper, a splash of champagne - instant delicious. And it was. Delectable.

But even more delectable was that the explosion of flavour on G-Man's tongue prompted a memory. Not long after we met, he saw a film at a film festival in Sydney; The Taste of Pomegranates by Russian filmmaker Sergei Parajanov. I wasn't with him, we didn't know each other that well, and he certainly didn't know at that stage what was in my mind or what had formed my consciousness - we were still at the tits-and-arse stage of our relationship. But now almost 10 years later, with the knowledge of our common points of connection through art, books, music and shared aesthetic on board, he remembered the film.

What had been at the time an ephemeral moment, is now Googlable. He typed in The Colour of Pomegranates and there it was, the entire film, available, out there in the uber-consciousness of the web. I'd never seen it, and have to admit that I have never seen anything more gob-smacking beautiful in moving images. I sat there gasping, weeping, amazed, aware that the filmmaker's aesthetic had lived in my own mind and informed my imagination without my knowing his. Every image, every association, my whole aesthetic is encoded in this film. I think I could watch it over and over, forever. It is every dream I ever had, the synthesis of all things that I have taken in and kept as reminders of what I think beauty might be. The whole history of art, the expression of Western civilisation, all our race memories flash dreamlike, a fantastic portrait of my inner imaginary life.

What a revelation it must have been to see it on the big screen.

WARNING: This video contains poetic associative imagery and is not suitable for escapist entertainment audiences. If you are suss about art, don't go there.