beauty." It is a work of the imagination. It gives the feeling of completion by revealing the oneness of experience; it rouses rather than stupefies the intelligence by demonstrating the importance of personality, by showing the individual, depressed before it, that his life is valuable — when completed by the imagination. And then only. Such work elucidates —
Such a realization shows us the falseness of attempting to “copy” nature. The thing is equally silly when we try to “make” pictures —
But such a picture as that of Juan Gris, though I have not seen it in color, is important as marking more clearly than any I have seen what the modern trend is: the attempt is being made to separate things of the imagination from life, and obviously, by using the forms common to experience so as not to frighten the onlooker away but to invite him,
The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air — The edge
cuts without cutting
meets — nothing — renews
itself in metal or porcelain —
whither? It ends —
But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry —
Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica —
the broken plate
glazed with a rose
Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses —
The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end — of roses
If is at the edge of the
petal that love waits
Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness — fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching
What
The place between the petal’s
edge and the
From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact — lifting
from it — neither hanging
nor pushing —
The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates spaces
VIII
The sunlight in a
yellow plaque upon the
varnished floor
is full of a song
inflated to
fifty pounds pressure
at the faucet, of
June that rings
the triangle of the air
pulling at the
anemonies in
Persephone’s cow pasture —
When from among
the steel rocks leaps
J. P. M.
who enjoyed
extraordinary privileges
among virginity
to solve the core
of whirling flywheels
by cutting
the Gordian knot
with a Veronese or
perhaps a Rubens —
whose ears are about
the finest on
the market today —
And so it comes
to motor ears —
which is the son
leaving off the g
of sunlight and grass —
Impossible
to say, impossible
to underestimate —
wind, earthquakes in
Manehuria, a
partridge
from dry leaves
things with which he is familiar, simple things — at the same time to detach them from ordinary experience to the imagination. Thus they are still “real” they are the same things they would be it photographed or painted by Monet, they are recognizable as the things touched by the hands during the day, but in this painting they are seen to be in some peculiar way — detached
Here is a shutter, a bunch of grapes, a sheet of music, a picture of sea and mountains (particularly fine) which the onlooker is not for a moment permitted to witness as an “illusion." One thing laps over on the other, the cloud laps over on the shutter,the bunch of grapes is part of the handle of the guitar, the mountain and sea are obviously not “the mountain and sea”, but a picture of the mountain and the sea. All drawn with admirable simplicity and excellent design — all a unity —
This was not necessary where the subject of art was not “reality” but related to the “gods” — by force or otherwise. There was no need of the “illusion” in such a case since there was none possible where a picture or a work represented simply the imaginative reality which existed in the mind of the onlooker. No special effort was necessary to cleave where the cleavage already existed.
I don’t know what the Spanish see in their Velasquez and Goya but
Today where everything is being