8
I repeat: To everything by modest roads. I shall need that
gray light of the mornings, that light which accuses the misery
of the complexions, and that of the thoughts, to ask myself,—
but does she not mistake round-about ways for modest roads? A
singer’s life, is that a modest life for a woman, that everything
attracts? If she learns to despise others she does not get to love
herself a little more or less. She always accepts the false value
of words. And how would she organize herself, without finding
the boundaries of her disease.
She lives with others, goes to others, to all others, to all. And
going to all is not going to everything but on the contrary it is
going to nothing.
RENE CREVEL
From a book “My Body and Me” published by
Simon Kra, Editions du Sagittaire.
JOAN MIRO
A FINGER, AN eyelash, a sexual organ shaped like a
spider, a sinuous line or the echo of a glance, the flax
of thought, the warm savannas of a damp-contoured
1 V mouth, animals or vegetables at nurse, composite
monsters with newspapers for limbs, trees which bear
eyes, crevices in the stone where insects swarm, bark eaten with
mildew in an infinite variety of patterns and colors, numbers
and letters from a copybook, persons reduced to a moustache, the
sharp point of a breast, a pipe’s glow or perhaps the ashes of a
cigar:—in this country of surprising candor the horns of the
moon are a snail’s horns and extravagant tubercles sprout in the
meteoric sky.
The creator of this country has gathered, in the obscure
byways of Reality, the few particles toward which his instincts
drive him as if to the feet of idols. Often a straight line repre
sents a human being, for in this being he loved only the straight
line; in the same way the bird is represented by a feather, the
swift arrow of his flight or the mark of his talons. Sometimes
of mankind there remains only the mark of a foot on the wet
sand; the sea mingles its waves with the undulations of a bathing
girl; and the spermatic fusion of the sexes is translated only by
a thread.
