Dwight_

  如果我所谓的创造力真的存在,今晚它一定和所有盘旋在空气里的孤魂碎片,和摇摆不定的怨恨、热爱与悲伤一并狂欢,就在我家的楼上,开着很大声但我听不清节拍的音乐,一群人又叫又闹,水蒸气那样融化进彼此,奶油那样由坚定变成香甜油腻地动摇着,我根本听不清他们在庆祝什么或者哀叹什么,也不好穿着睡衣上楼去敲敲门,问它们,哎,我能参加吗?于是隔着天花板和我的胸口,我像偷窥狂一样揣测它们,试图用我已知的语言追捕它们,但一无所获。

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A picture lives by companionship, expanding and quickening in the eyes of the sensitive observer. It dies by the same token. It is therefore risky to send it out into the world. How often it must be impaired by the eyes of the unfeeling and the cruelty of the impotent.
——Mark Rothko
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