“L’œuvre de l’esprit n’existe qu’en acte”—thus Valéry begins one of the most lucid passages I have ever had the opportunity to read about art. Art is the act of artistic creation, which survives as the record of a momentary illumination, a response of the spirit to specific circumstances. Taken out of context, it is innocuous. It can only be assimilated if analyzed as a whole and is destroyed when its elements are dissected. A beautiful lesson for the “experts”…
Category: Notes
Success Is the Ruin of the Artist
Cioran summarized: “Mourir inconnu, c’est peut-être cela la grâce”. Voltaire had already concluded: “Vivre et mourir inconnu”. Valéry, in the same vein, notes that “peut-être, si les grands hommes étaient aussi conscients qu’ils sont grands, il n’y aurait pas des grands hommes pour soi-même”. What to say? Success is a burier. It is perhaps the greatest misfortune that can befall an artist; it is the harbinger of ruin. Success takes away from him the fruitful bitter nights, the terrible and wonderful questioning about his own talent. Success robs him of loneliness and deludes, throwing sand in the inner fire that incites him to study, to continuous evolution, to the improvement of technique, to the need for a fuller expression. Worse, much worse. Success opens up “possibilities” and imposes a “new function” on the artist. This, in fact, is death to him.
There Is Only Humility in Silence
There is humility only in silence, in abstention, in the refusal of potentialities. A conviction, when externalized, is also a judgment of one’s own mental faculty. Only seeks to convince the one who holds himself in high esteem. A human being confesses a crime, but is unable to admit, by silence, the weakness of the intellect. Therefore, loquacity is the most evident sign of little wisdom.
The Guy Reads the Newspaper and Wants to Tell the World His Opinions
I am impressed by the individual’s interest—and I do not know if I should say attrition—in that which is totally outside his field of action. The guy reads the newspaper and wants to tell the world his opinions. He argues with his neighbor, rebels at disagreement, clashes with whoever contests him. Then he buys more newspapers, tries to become more informed so that, on the next occasion, he can annihilate his opponents in a debate that will never lead anywhere. He spends time and nerves on the useless. For every page of the newspaper, he reads one less page of Shakespeare. He does not understand his insignificance, he ignores the harmful character of his posture. But he goes on, of course, in the name of his greatest virtue: vanity.