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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s
Page 116
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It was definitely the admonition of a feverish period of painting. It was perhaps a pause for station identification; an omen at the end of a prayer; an exclamation point at the end of lively ejaculation and exciting existence. Moreover, most everyone would dramatize himself in one way or another if he may. he would play-act to an audience as a finishing touch; a last question; a first-nighter - a finish to an accomplishment. The actor, however, it would seem, must have a different approach than the painter. He practices his art towards a goal of perfection against the time when the curtain may go up on it. He practices his art towards forthright acclaim. The painter lives primarily in the present; in the idea he is evolving of the moment; in the problem that he's right now. This because his innate pressure commands him to do so; because he loves the doing and is finding himself reflected in his expression. a painter, moreover, would paint if he were on a desert island, not for estimation but to fulfill that harrassing need and torture within himself. An actor is no actor without his audience. The painter on the otherhand, if he may have a bearing is gratified, but his real act is to please himself - and others. My exhibits have been my art - to be sure. A vanity perhaps. An ego pushing forward that wanted the world to view the wonders it had accomplished. I think that it might better if an artist were not compelled to punctuate his work by exhibits, to hang his work before the public; to share the spotlight. Alas! It is so much energy gone with no recovery! It matters not whether he attains outside applause or reward. He himself knows whether he is putting in all he has or not - or whether he is selling short. The fierce unrelenting struggle within himself must be an incentive and a good to better things. I think the painter
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It was definitely the admonition of a feverish period of painting. It was perhaps a pause for station identification; an omen at the end of a prayer; an exclamation point at the end of lively ejaculation and exciting existence. Moreover, most everyone would dramatize himself in one way or another if he may. he would play-act to an audience as a finishing touch; a last question; a first-nighter - a finish to an accomplishment. The actor, however, it would seem, must have a different approach than the painter. He practices his art towards a goal of perfection against the time when the curtain may go up on it. He practices his art towards forthright acclaim. The painter lives primarily in the present; in the idea he is evolving of the moment; in the problem that he's right now. This because his innate pressure commands him to do so; because he loves the doing and is finding himself reflected in his expression. a painter, moreover, would paint if he were on a desert island, not for estimation but to fulfill that harrassing need and torture within himself. An actor is no actor without his audience. The painter on the otherhand, if he may have a bearing is gratified, but his real act is to please himself - and others. My exhibits have been my art - to be sure. A vanity perhaps. An ego pushing forward that wanted the world to view the wonders it had accomplished. I think that it might better if an artist were not compelled to punctuate his work by exhibits, to hang his work before the public; to share the spotlight. Alas! It is so much energy gone with no recovery! It matters not whether he attains outside applause or reward. He himself knows whether he is putting in all he has or not - or whether he is selling short. The fierce unrelenting struggle within himself must be an incentive and a good to better things. I think the painter
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
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