"By means of art we learn not to take present reality with final seriousness. We must not try to view our world as a solemnly serious cooperation with God. Instead we forever play in the peace of our Father's house that is waiting for us...because the perfect has still to come. beyond that all we do here and now...we cannot be more grimly in earnest about life than when we resign ourselves to the fact that we can only play."
Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley Road, swiftly in slim sandals, along the brightening footpath. Runs, she runs to meet me, a girl with gold hair on the wind. Two letters and a card lay on the hall floor. He stopped and gathered them. Mrs. Marion Bloom. His quick heart slowed at once. Bold hand. Mrs. Marion. ----Poldy! entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes and walked through warm yellow twilight towards her touseled head.
[he] was fanatically devoted to the fight against realism and to all avant-garde movements. Very typically---and like many of his contemporaries---he hardly distinguished between Expressionism, Cubism, Futurism and abstract art; in fact, he was inclined to call them all Expressionism. What mattered to him was that works of art should be "the expression of a vision", or "the realization of an emotion by the means of painting", and he attached great importance to the "autonomous life of the picture".
~about Herwarth Walden
Movements in MOdern Art
"What did each do at the door of egress?
Bloom set the candlestick on the floor. Stephen put the hat on his head.
For what creature was the door of egress a door of ingress? For a cat.
What spectacle confronted them when they, first the host, then the guest emerged silently, doubly dark, from obscurity by a passage from the rere of the house into the penumbra of the garden?
The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit."
I am a wind of the sea
I am a wave of the sea
I am a stag of seven tines,
I am a griffon on a cliff,
I am a tear of the sun,
I am fair among flowers,
I am a ruthless boar,
I am a salmon in a pool,
I am a lake on a plain,
I am a hill of poetry,
I am a battle-waging spear,
I am a threatening noise of the sea,
I am a god who forms smoke from sacred fire for a head.
Who makes clear the ruggedness of the mountains?
Who but myself knows the assemblies of the dolmen-house on the mountain of Slieve Mis?
Who but myself knows where the sun shall set?
Who foretells the ages of the moon?
Who brings the cattle from the House of Tethra ?
On whom do the cattle of Tethra smile?
For whom but me will the fish of the laughing ocean be making welcome?