The pursuit of art appreciation is one of unquenched dissatisfaction, even a tad masochistic. While one can be happy to have been gifted the joy of reading, knowing and loving the works of the great masters, one can scarcely ignore the fact that it is merely a lesser gift. The greatest gift is reserved for the artists themselves, who by fate or design, possess an immortal touch that can reach the depths of your soul. And here am I, forever loving the work of the greats, forever inadequate in emulating them, yet forever grateful for the opportunity to feel so.
After three hours of reading Orhan Pamuk, "My Name Is Red"
1 comments:
I stumbled upon your summary for Minds Brain and Sscience. you are a awesome writer, your poems are really good. my brain is also filled with so so so many thoughts and feelings that writing is really my only escape since a lot of people i try to talk to just don't really feed my hunger for a great discussion. Keep up the great work!
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