It's about books and paintings and movies and stuff. Also, fruit. OK not really fruit...
This blog is dedicated to all things relating to the philosophy and history of art and aesthetics. Basically, it serves as a place to gather all of my favorites, looking for themes. Some of it's beautiful, and some is (arguably) not. None of it is my own.
"He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn’t need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear."
"To watch these things issuing from the otherwise mute pastoral morning is a man at the barn door. He is small, unclean, unshaven. He moves in the dry chaff among the dust and slats of sunlight with a constrained truculence. Saxon and Celtic bloods. A child of God…"
Child of God, Cormac McCarthy
In just a few, short days I’ll be on my way back to Achill Island (Ireland)… where I will spend two weeks digging holes in the mud in search of history. Feels like going home.
Original Photo Source :Linda Brown Lee
"He would pick up eggshells, a bird’s wing, a jawbone […] He would peer at them as if he could read them, and pocket them as if he could own them. This is death in my hand, this is ruin in my breast pocket, where I keep my reading glasses."
Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
“In theory, it seems like a good thing when a story we have really enjoyed carries on and on. It means we get more, and that’s what all readers want, mostly. We point at something we enjoyed a great deal and say more, please! Some artists are cranky and say “What? No, I already did that, now I want to do something else.” Others obligingly begin turning out more and more.
The problem with a lack of ending is that we can never form a completed opinion about the artwork we’re experiencing and enjoying. Without a final point, we can never say if it’s been any good or not. I think that’s partially why artists shy away from them.”
"He went back to his section and folded into a slouched position and settled one foot on a pipe that ran under the window. Eastrod filled his head and then went out beyond and filled the space that stretched from the train across the empty darkening fields."
Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood