I can’t imagine our world without fog in it. Much less the works of art that are full of clarity. Maybe that’s because fog is ever ambigious, unclear and touching. In our overstimulated lifes it’s a nature’s way of letting us have some peace of mind, separating us from the excess of the objects in the background. Imagination as well as Goya’s demons come into play, the scene is set just for them.
[We try to discover in things, endeared to us on that account, the spiritual glamour which we ourselves have cast upon them; we are disillusioned, and learn that they are in themselves barren and devoid of the charm which they owed, in our minds, to the association of certain ideas; sometimes we mobilise all our spiritual forces in a glittering array so as to influence and subjugate other human beings who, as we very well know, are situated outside ourselves, where we can never reach them. On cherche à retrouver dans les choses, devenues par là précieuses, le reflet que notre âme a projeté sur elles; on est déçu en constatant qu’elles semblent dépourvues dans la nature, du charme qu’elles devaient, dans notre pensée, au voisinage de certaines idées; parfois on convertit toutes les forces de cette âme en habileté, en splendeur pour agir sur des êtres dont nous sentons bien qu’ils sont situés en dehors de nous et que nous ne les atteindrons jamais.]
M. Proust – Swann’s Way
I put that in brackets as I had to contain these thoughts in something. Every chapter on Proust’s novel is what he found inside, in his head, in his very own associations. You can see how deep he descended as he mourned that people really differ from how we imagine them. He only dreamed of ‘mentally eating’ everyone, taking everything in, dismantling all the phisical outlines. He was a romantic genius yearning for the power to play with the world as if it was clay. Or his imagined clay, even more flexible.
You might even say that he had an obssesion of doing what only the time itself was able to do; that is to effortlessly reshape all things on earth, from tiniest grains of sand to the highest, never unfrozen mountains.
As I mentioned previously the Refined Quotes blog got to a place of a stagnation. Of course there are new meterial, new visits and new followers. Yet it all became too routine. It was meant to be a hunt for new ideas , however the creativity deminished slowly but steadily. In the end I’m only happy with the content and form of the ‘about’ page, which is also a manifesto that I try to follow.
The beginning of this year was great, people started comming in, I’ve added the paintings, movie frames and later the songs. Eventually I got to a point where there was a standard alogrithm for me to use, with better or worse results in attention catching, nevertheless it became an effort, a fixed procedure. The very thing hated so much by people like Burroughs or Wallace, who I openly admire from post to post.
Ok, I’ve came to a conclusion that this blog calls for rethinking of its’ concept. I got to much used to the form, stuck in it. Every day a quote + a painting, a frame, a quote + a painting, a song. We need an evolution here. I realised that after making the last post on Kafka. It was a bit unusal, colorfully multilingual. It brightened things up somewhat. So that I declare from the next post to introduce more creativity in exchange for my robotic movement so far. The old form is exhausted, let’s have a little experiment and found something new, yet not disconnected from the past. Refined quotes will live on! Thank you for stopping by at times. See you in the post above ^^