that second stanza is stunning. not a goddamn word is out of place. i have a Proust quote for you, but my book's at home and i want to get it right. i'll post it later.
i brood therefore i artpearls_asideSeptember 29 2005, 02:30:56 UTC
here's that quote i was thinking of:
"...when a living creature is so faultily constituted (and perhaps, if such a creature exists in nature, it is man) that he cannot love without suffering, and that he has to suffer in order to apprehend truths, the life of such a creature becomes in the end extremely wearisome." (p. 319, Vol. VI)
Proust believes that one only cares for what makes one miserable, that one can only discover truth through being miserable, and that truth is the only thing worthwhile because it is the stuff that great art springs from. sort of a downer, ay?
Re: i brood therefore i artpearls_asideSeptember 29 2005, 15:39:40 UTC
taken out of context, the reference to "truths" in the quote could seem a bit schmoltzy, but in the book, he doesn't mean the golden glowing ultimate truth. he means the truths that each artist reveals about his or her life by depicting the world from his or her viewpoint. though the beholder may interpret it wrongly, and has every right to do so, art bears the only truth (which is and should be multiple) because it is not just what someone says or does, it is what someone cultivates from their experience in the world. art is truth in the sense that a plant undeniably grows from a seed.
but a plant DOESN'T always grow from a seed, and what is a plant but a bogus grouping of things that are remotely similar so we can make generalizations and predictions. A plant isn't a thing, it is our view of a thing.
if this seems irrelevant or doesn't make sense, I will try to write it so it does... or i will just say fuck it and eat a sandwich.
if you don't reply to my comment, i have no way of knowing you wrote back to me until i have added a new friend and happen to be perusing old discussions. i'm totally over this argument. read the damn book someday. you'll get it.
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"...when a living creature is so faultily constituted (and perhaps, if such a creature exists in nature, it is man) that he cannot love without suffering, and that he has to suffer in order to apprehend truths, the life of such a creature becomes in the end extremely wearisome." (p. 319, Vol. VI)
Proust believes that one only cares for what makes one miserable, that one can only discover truth through being miserable, and that truth is the only thing worthwhile because it is the stuff that great art springs from. sort of a downer, ay?
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if this seems irrelevant or doesn't make sense, I will try to write it so it does... or i will just say fuck it and eat a sandwich.
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p.s. quit bogartin' on my fury.
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