248. I don’t know, I just do not know what possessed me to
suddenly attack my sculpture instructor that Saturday afternoon, after she said
the word ‘twombly.’
249. The word somehow set me off, and an entire disjointed,
frustrated diatribe burst out of me, ostensibly in defense of her husband, and
his intention to write a limerick instead of an epic poem.
250. I had become sick of pretending to appreciate various
works of art presented to us as worthy of consideration, that seemed to me to
be entirely without merit of any kind.
251. And why, you ask, would I pretend to appreciate a work
of art that I felt was pointless?
No comments:
Post a Comment