Читать книгу You Teach Me Light - Melaney Poli - Страница 10

Of course it sucks. I didn’t come a thousand miles and bucks

to get disappointed this much. I expected crême brulée, got

a mouthful of baking powder. Scrubbed out my expectations.

Some mistake.

I like to think art has an answer to everything; it’s an artist’s sin.

Maybe I just wanted to get smashed on beauty, stoned on lovely

adjectives. Or maybe the hope that beholding will make me

able to see.

Should I say (I who have learned, something) God you are my

best illumination, it’s by your being that I see? Should I rather say

I now go out and see people like illuminations, walking? Perhaps

I don’t know my power

or perhaps I don’t desire. And I know nothing would ever be

enough, and yet I will go on craving. I have an artist’s most

irrational faith in what can be made from what seems to be

nothing. See,

I could say Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker, or

that it brings me to my senses, or strips me of illusion, or

that there is every possibility that what I don’t see can still

illuminate me.