Imagining those moments of fury. Of creational rage. The
spontaneous combustion of a mind and paper, of brush and canvas, of fingers and keys. Coleridge and Kublai Khan. Johnny adding the mariachi to June's song. Freddie
in Rhapsody. The Yin and Yang of Charlotte and Jane. The mysterious J and her
words reshaping old stories. Michelangelo paying the bills with a brush, biding
his time until he could get back to his true love in Carrara.
To my mind, each of these describes the same world: de Chirico, Brancusi, Gaudi, the 1973 Czech film Fantastic Planet, Borges' “Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” Satie ’ s Trois Gymnopédies, Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights, Gulliver's Travels , Cirque du Soleil , Brian Quinette’s Invisible Library, both the Codex Seraphianus and the Voynich Manuscript, the library at Alexandria, the game of chess and the numbered (but not the titled) chapters of Calvino's If, on a Winter's Night, a Traveler . And Barcelona.
Comments
Post a Comment