Луна и грош

Chapter XXI

           Ihadthefeelingthatheworkedonacanvaswithalltheforceofhisviolentpersonality,obliviousofeverythinginhisefforttogetwhathesawwiththemind’seye;andthen,havingfinished,notthepictureperhaps,forIhadanideathatheseldombroughtanythingtocompletion,butthepassionthatfiredhim,helostallcareforit.Hewasneversatisfiedwithwhathehaddone;itseemedtohimofnoconsequencecomparedwiththevisionthatobsessedhismind.

           "Whydon’tyoueversendyourworktoexhibitions?"Iasked."Ishouldhavethoughtyou’dliketoknowwhatpeoplethoughtaboutit."

           "Wouldyou?"

           Icannotdescribetheunmeasurablecontemptheputintothetwowords.

           "Don’tyouwantfame?It’ssomethingthatmostartistshaven’tbeenindifferentto."

           "Children.Howcanyoucarefortheopinionofthecrowd,whenyoudon’tcaretwopencefortheopinionoftheindividual?"

           "We’renotallreasonablebeings,"Ilaughed.

           "Whomakesfame?Critics,writers,stockbrokers,women."

           "Wouldn’titgiveyouaratherpleasingsensationtothinkofpeopleyoudidn’tknowandhadneverseenreceivingemotions,subtleandpassionate,fromtheworkofyourhands?Everyonelikespower.Ican’timagineamorewonderfulexerciseofitthantomovethesoulsofmentopityorterror."

           "Melodrama."

           "Whydoyoumindifyoupaintwellorbadly?"

           "Idon’t.IonlywanttopaintwhatIsee."

           "IwonderifIcouldwriteonadesertisland,withthecertaintythatnoeyesbutminewouldeverseewhatIhadwritten.

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