What foolishness, to deny history.
Sounds ringing in the ears were born in reeds and wind, blood and thunder. In the artist's tradition, who we are is who we were. There is no definition, no leave of authority, no stamp of approval or opprobrium in time present that endows or renews the life of an artist, but only this: the primal gesture of expression, brought forth in time out of mind, to be cast always into futurity.
Sounds ringing in the ears were born in reeds and wind, blood and thunder. In the artist's tradition, who we are is who we were. There is no definition, no leave of authority, no stamp of approval or opprobrium in time present that endows or renews the life of an artist, but only this: the primal gesture of expression, brought forth in time out of mind, to be cast always into futurity.
