On Mon, 30 Apr 2001, { brad brace } wrote:
> "I have come to see you," I said, "before visiting the Louvre."
> " You're quite right," she answered.
> I brought a small painting, carefully packed, which was called _The Girl
> of Grid._ She looked at it for at least fifteen minutes, and made no
> comment whatever. After which we went up to the next storey, where for two
> hours P showed me quantities of paintings. She kept going back and forth,
> dragging out great canvases which she placed against the easel. The she
> went to fetch others amongst an infinity of canvases which she placed
> against the easel. Then she went to fetch others amongst an infinity of
> canvases stacked in rows against the wall. I could see that she was going
> to enormous trouble. At each new canvas she cast me a glance filled with a
> vivacity and an intelligence so violent that it made me tremble. I left
> without in turn having made the slightest comment. At the end, on the
> landing of the stairs, just as I was about to leave we exchanged a
> glance which meant exactly, "You get the idea?" .. .:.:~:. :.:~ .. .: ~:
> "I get it!"
Early in this century Gorky met a Hindu yogi in the Caucasus who asked the
Russian author if he wanted to see something in his album. Maxim Gorky
said he wished to see a picture of India. The Hindu put the album on
the writer's knees and asked him to turn the pages. These polished copper
sheets depicted beautiful cities, temples, and landscapes of India which
Maxim Gorky thoroughly enjoyed. When he finished looking at the pictures,
Gorky returned the album to the Hindu. The yogi blew on it and smilingly
said: 'Now will you have another look?'
This is how Gorky himself related the end of the story: 'I opened the
album and found nothing but blank copper pages without a trace of any
pictures!'.. .. .:.:~:. :.:~ .. .: ~:
