“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”…
Tag: literature
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.
400 Days Without Dostoevsky
I exercise my tare for numbers. I am now 400 days without reading a page of Dostoevsky. Everything indicates that I will chase the record of 635 days of abstinence since the first contact. I seem to have fun looking elsewhere for what I already know I will not find. Dostoevsky’s work is a rare stage where the true and greatest problems of human existence are represented. But that is not what I wanted to say… I have a habit of evoking in mind my idols and making comparisons. I notice my mediocre problems and twists and turns, so I visualize, for example, the genius orphaned by his mother at fifteen, with his father murdered at seventeen and sentenced to death ten years later. But that is not all. I also compare the bitterness of these lines with the light emanating from those of the genius. All this even though I am not in physical contact with his books. Then I reflect. It is good to synthesize a work by exposing the problems it deals with and, when they exist, the solutions it offers. But beyond this: one does it well by delineating the various nuances that compose it. And in Dostoevsky, good humor abounds, even if the blind man cannot see it. His biography is summarized in a succession of difficulties of the most varied natures, and his work, synthesized, represents a hopeful and optimistic outlook that prevails over all of them. It is interesting to note the contrast, i.e., the apparent contrast that we see when we use the myopic and materialistic viewpoint that summarizes the experience in “good” and “bad” situations, “successes” and “misfortunes”, and compare the life and work of great personalities. If we consider that a work largely reflects experience, the mind points us to impressive conclusions.
Paul Valéry’s Prose
It is incredible how Paul Valéry’s prose is contagious! Especially in the essays, I find an enormous vivacity, unprecedented, in lines that expose great curiosity, erudition in various areas, lightness in the handling of language, precision in the observations and, above all, a completely new way of looking. I am surprised, for example, with some adjectives. Talking about intellectual or literary experiences, there we find the captivating délicieux, even if in adverbial form. Unless I am mistaken, this adjective has never once been evoked by these morbid fingers, neither in prose, nor in verse, nor in anything. Incredible! And, analyzing Valéry’s descriptions, the intellectual assimilation of his experiences, I suspect my perception to be flawed—or is it my experience? Whatever. Let’s work! And let’s start on this note: Valéry’s prose is deliciously exciting!