I was reading Letters on Cézanne, and two pages later realized that I hadn't absorbed a single word. Where did those words go? Did they flow into my brain and out again? Or straight into some nameless word receptacle that the Doctors of Science haven't discovered yet? Poor lost words. I have to go in and find them.
[Production notes: I ran the painting through a Photoshop filter (I like that splattery look!), then added the words in Illustrator.]
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Full text (I've used a portion of this) in the graphic is from Rilke's Letters on Cézanne: "He... lays his apples on bed covers which Madame Brémond will surely miss some day, and places a wine bottle among them or whatever happens to be handy. And (like van Gogh) he makes his "saints" out of such things; and forces them--forces them--to be beautiful, to stand for the whole world and all joy and all glory, and he doesn’t know whether he has succeeded in making them do it for him."
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