“And if we pass from the world of talent to spheres which the mediocre exploit, there, in a pell-mell of confusion, we see those who think that we are in the world to talk and hear others talk — the great and hopeless rout of babblers, of everything that prates, bawls, and perorates and, after all, finds that there isn’t talking enough. They all forget that those who make the least noise do the most work. An engine that expends all its steam in whistling, has nothing left with which to turn wheels. Then let us cultivate silence. All that we can save in noise we gain in power.”

Adriel Hampton´s last blog post..People Who Can’t Self-Censor: Bashing the Boss

Mary H Ruth´s last blog post..Tribes

Seems we are missing something…

I share some of the art historians theories in that regard. They speculate–and I believe they are on target–that medieval iconography were the books of the people of the time. That the peasantry, utterly illiterate for the most part, were able to “read” the art produced by the artists of their era, the same way we today read books. All that iconography, chock full of symbols and almost alien and obscure to our contemporary eyes, were brimful with meaning. Their world was a giant castle furnished with metaphors. Their mind was trained to seek, find and interpret metaphorical symbols. This capacity for symbolic interpretation was gradually lost–and will continue its decline–as “writing” was popularized and democratized. Human brains are lazy and economic and in seek of shortcuts. The quest for “written meaning” has led us to a stage where “more is just more” and metaphors are lost in the sidewalk of that path.

Which brings me to your comment about late 19th century folks with little “culture” writing some amazing works: their world was still surrounded with metaphorical meaning and, in zen-like fashion, were able to provide more meaning with less verbiage. It is that economy of words we acknowledge as striking when we cross paths.

L

Luis Andrade´s last blog post..Extruded Ice

As for books, my garage and basement look like something taken out of the Ninth Gate movie (based on “The Club Dumas” by Arturo Pérez Reverte) full with books I bought at auctions for selling on eBay. You find some great treasures, like a slip cased, 1949, illustrated “Rubaiyat” by Omar Khayyam with three different translations. I posted the first four verses in Twitter the other day:

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan’s Turret in a Noose of Light.

I’ve also found poetry books by late 19th to early 20th century poets that are, for the most part, unknown in our days. Little gems of feelings and command of the language.

I wish I had more time to spend writing and photographing. This “working for a living” thingy is a time black hole (and having your own biz doesn’t help that one bit…)

Cheers

Luis

Luis Andrade´s last blog post..Extruded Ice