Went to the bauhaus exhibition at the Barbican this morning. There was a magnificent Paul Klee sketch there which I wish I’d got the name of. Alas, it shall only be an ideal fixation of a memory in my mind henceforth.
What a beautiful thought, that something happens and we attach such devotion, such admiration, to it, that it warps and shapes itself into a new ideal.
Francis Bacon only saw images of Velazquez’s Pope Innocent X for years. When he got the chance to see it, he didn’t, in case it didn’t live up to the ideal his mind had created. The presence it creates.
it’s better to burn out than to fade away
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