During all these years and I am sure that in the company of countless soul mates, I have visited galleries on Madison Street, in Soho, (...) and I've been in all kinds of museums: the Modern, the Whitney, the Guggenheim, (...); in order, from the humblest tasks of modernism to his temples catedraclicios (.. .). During All these years I have stopped, like many others, against a thousand, two thousand, God knows how many pictures of Pollock, Newman, de Kooning, Noland, Rothko, (...), squinting sometimes, others with eyes open as plates, approaching, moving away, waiting, waiting, always esperendo that ... something ... something that suddenly appears, in short, the visual reward for much effort, the prize has to wait there, that every one know it is ... (...) In short, all these years I believed that in art, more than anything else, seeing is believing. Well, how much myopia ! Now, finally, the April 28, 1974, I could see. Suddenly I regained my vision. No "seeing is believing", silly me: "believing is seeing" because Modern Art has become completely literary: the paintings and other works exist only to illustrate the text .
Wolfe, Tom (1976 (!!!); 9-11) "The Painted Word" Anagram.
0 comments:
Post a Comment