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Re: motivations

I was eighteen or so, exposing myself to art at the Palace of the Legion of
Honor. They had Bach recitals  on Sundays in a room full of Rodin statues.
All of the seats were full, and teenagers are as comfortable on the floor
anyway. The organist went into some toccata, or fugue, or other, and the
people got quieter and quieter as they listened; the statues  seemed to
come alive in the reverberation of the organ's music.

The people became statues, and the statues became people.

No, I was not on drugs at the time.

I have never understood Rothko. I would like to spend those forty-five
minutes sometime.


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