When Orhan Pamuk met Anselm Kiefer

That evening, Ropac hosted a dinner in his home on the banks of the Seine. He sat Kiefer and me next to each other before turning to the assembled guests to announce: “One of them wanted to be a writer and became a painter. The other wanted to be a painter and became a writer.” We all laughed. But in truth, for me there was nothing to laugh about, since I still felt this way.

Man Under a Pyramid, 1996. Emulsion, acrylic, shellac and ash on burlap


From Spurious

[Beckett’s] late plays and fictions move […] from repetition as compulsion to repetition as release, testing out the ground, no longer concerned to separate the one firmly from the other. As we ourselves are lapped in the rhythm of repetition we sense that the work only exists, that we only exist, within the folds of that repetition, within the rhythm of that rocking.

Josipovici, On Trust

The mysterious Elena Ferrante on sincerity

As far as I’m concerned, it’s the torment and, at the same time, the engine of every literary project. The most urgent question for a writer may seem to be, What experiences do I have as my material, what experiences do I feel able to narrate? But that’s not right. The more pressing question is, What is the word, what is the rhythm of the sentence, what tone best suits the things I know? Without the right words, without long practice in putting them together, nothing comes out alive and true. It’s not enough to say, as we increasingly do, These events truly happened, it’s my real life, the names are the real ones, I’m describing the real places where the events occurred. If the writing is inadequate, it can falsify the most honest biographical truths. Literary truth is not the truth of the biographer or the reporter, it’s not a police report or a sentence handed down by a court. It’s not even the plausibility of a well-constructed narrative. Literary truth is entirely a matter of wording and is directly proportional to the energy that one is able to impress on the sentence. And when it works, there is no stereotype or cliché of popular literature that resists it. It reanimates, revives, subjects everything to its needs.

Watched right now: time-lapse video of Cape Town  brightening after load-shedding


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