small beer iv

this is good timing.

flaubert was a compulsive wordsmith – each novel obsessively rewritten, a constant stream of words. the torture of language – consciousness. 

i read a wonderful interview (some time ago) with leonora carrington (a notorious liar) where she describes a meeting with george bataille in a caff. while they sat there talking he was having a cheeky barclays under the table.

maybe it’s that it is so obvious that it is so rarely pointed out that so much of art is a product of the artists compulsive behaviour.


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