What one does in one’s life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.’ ‘What one does in one’s art, that is the breath of one’s being. ‘Yes, that is so, exactly,’ replied the sculptor. What one does in one’s life has PEU DE RAPPORT, it doesn’t signify much.’ ‘Of course,’ said Gudrun, ‘life doesn’t REALLY matter-it is one’s art which is central. Art and Life were to them the Reality and the Unreality. The suggestion of primitive art was their refuge, and the inner mysteries of sensation their object of worship.
He had no terms in which to think of their commerce, his terms were much too gross. From their verbal and physical nuances they got the highest satisfaction in the nerves, from a queer interchange of half-suggested ideas, looks, expressions and gestures, which were quite intolerable, though incomprehensible, to Gerald. The whole game was one of subtle inter-suggestivity, and they wanted to keep it on the plane of suggestion. Their whole correspondence was in a strange, barely comprehensible suggestivity, they kindled themselves at the subtle lust of the Egyptians or the Mexicans. They had a curious game with each other, Gudrun and Loerke, of infinite suggestivity, strange and leering, as if they had some esoteric understanding of life, that they alone were initiated into the fearful central secrets, that the world dared not know. He saw the grotesque, and a curious sort of mechanical motion intoxicated him, a confusion in nature. He hated Mestrovic, was not satisfied with the Futurists, he liked the West African wooden figures, the Aztec art, Mexican and Central American. They had an invariable topic, in their art. And often, when he went away, she talked to the little German sculptor. The he seemed to sweep out of life, to be a projectile into the beyond. He left her alone only when he went skiing, a sport he loved, and which she did not practise. But in the unnatural state of patience, and the unwillingness to harden himself against her, in which he found himself, he took no notice, although her soft kindliness to the other man, whom he hated as a noxious insect, made him shiver again with an access of the strange shuddering that came over him repeatedly. She had a curious sort of allegiance with Loerke, all the while, now, something insidious and traitorous.
0 kommentar(er)
