Blank Doll

Finished reading Irving Stone's The Agony and the Ecstasy. It's about the life of Michelangelo and suddenly, I want to go back to Florence once more to see his all sculptures again. I want to go back to Rome to lie on the floor of the Basilica staring at his frescoes. I want to see his tomb for the Medici, his tomb for Pope Julius II, his carvings about Florence, his Captives, his Pietas.

How wonderful to be illuminated by this unquenchable desire to create, this supreme talent to liberate from the infinite transcience of thought an entity of such permanence. What glory is art!

What a pitiful world we live in. To have all the comforts that technology may bring but to lose the craft that gave the world such art. Who amongst the artists of today may carve marble as he did? Who may ascend heaven to fetch back once more the illumination of paradise? Who may capture in perpetuity the nobility of the human spirit in the flesh of the earth?

I hate modern art. I hate installation pieces. They neither provoke thought nor appeal to the aesthetics.

Damn those Cubists. Damn those Dadaists. Art is ruined. All that is left to do is to collect and to preserve.

C'est tout.