I wake up this morning and gaze at a lovely poster I've put up at the foot of my bed from the Met Museum of a painting by Jean Gerome of Pygmalion seizing his creation in a passionate kiss, Cupid hovering, and the masks of Tragedy and Tragedy resting on a table nearby. It is sentimental and shallow (the studio is nearly empty except for- a bronze shield??) but quite beautifully executed, especially the exquisitely realized figure of the sculpture- the only art in the studio that is not totally ridiculous. I really like the work, but why? It's only the figure and the theme. They are both perfect. Actually, the shield– no doubt rescued from a nobleman's trash– is sometimes more necessary than even a chisel. The masks (really more Tragedy and Disbelief) represent all that is ever likely going to be available for the artist (or could it be that some idiot collector commissioned them but never paid?) And there is no depiction of Cupid- accurateor no- that is not silly. Finally, in the face of living art all other can only be ridiculous. The image is perfect!
But why do I have it? Ironically, it was a present from Claudia, one of the few things I brought with me. It is not insignificant that this is what I choose. What I choose is not the Tragedy but the art. Which only comes to me in this form. As long as it is seen as a material or ego pursuit, it will remain ludicrous to others. Only if it is seen as a spiritual quest does the whole enterprise take on a strange and luminous transcendence!
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