After dinner, Proust got into his taxi with his hosts, Violet and Sydney Schiff, and without asking, Joyce followed them in. His first gesture was to open the window and his second to light a cigarette, both of which were life-threatening acts as far as Proust was concerned. During the journey, Joyce watched Proust without saying a word, while Proust talked continuously and failed to address a word to Joyce. When they arrived at Proust’s flat at the Rue Hamelin, Proust took Sydney Schiff aside and said: ‘Please ask Monsieur Joyce to let my taxi drive him home.’ The taxi did so. The two men were never to meet again.
…so that he could plunge back into his chaos and drag out of it, with all its wet stars, his cosmos.
V. Nabokov – The Pale Fire
What can we say about creativity and about the process of creation? Let’s see. Nabokov here, comes up with a plan, which sounds to be rather simple. First you jump into your chaos and then, you bring back a cosmos. Probably the Greeks would agree. Maybe ha has a point, we shouldn’t rule it out just like that becasue it’s a story as old as the world itself. You know. Take a look on how Harris saw Pollock creating:
<as I’m going away for a few days I don’t know if there will be many updates so in change for inactivity here’s something to read on our beloved topic that is on writing>
How to write? How to write? How to write? The more you are into writing the more often and more desperately you keep repeating this question. What I mean here is the process of pondering about the method and about the approach to creating. The more elaborate version is: what kind of experience am I supposed to transform into writing and then, the most dangerous is to ask how should I live to get the most sought-after experience?
<read on –>
Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.
We are all right, including the cat who is wounded in a catfight.
As this blog is supposed to be mainly about literature and becouse calendar says it’s the 8th of march I’d like to remind you of some female figures that I’d met along the way in the imaginary world, the one between the covers. <read on>
For a long time today I thought of spending the last money I have on a revolver and using it on the scoundrels who have tortured my mind with false hopes for so many years. I will say no more.