Day 0053

I realised shortly after writing yesterday's post that the quotation from Moby-Dick about enjoying the warmth of a bed all the more when you can feel the cold outside also has a bearing on the feelings I had yesterday about the inadequacy of art to express the vitality of life. Perhaps it is a function of art to make us notice, appreciate, relish and delight in life all the more by virtue of its contrast to the unreality of art. Perhaps I was primed to love the life moving before me because it stood out in such vivid relief from the dead work behind it. Art is the contrast we need to see life in its richest colours.

I read Candide today, and have started Stendhal's The Red and the Black whilst drawing today's sketch (another Parmigianino, this time a life drawing).

Candide was a surprise for me. It is short, fast, thinks itself very funny, and has an agreeable dose of philosophical musings. I agree with the conclusion.

“Let us work,” said Martin, “without disputing; it is the only way to render life tolerable.”Voltaire, Candide

In this case, work is tending a garden. Whatever it is, it is absolutely critical to strive after an occupation of some sort, some activity that blossoms to fill your time and fill your mind. You have to keep busy, even artificially busy. You have to have projects demanding you exist into the future. Otherwise there is the drag of ennui, the fall into depression, the threat of thinking, of realisation. No good! Distract yourself! Turn away! Go about your business!