While Elstir, at my request, went on painting, I wandered about in the half~light, stopping to examine first one picture, then another.
Most of those that covered the walls were not what I should chiefly have liked to see of his work, paintings in what an English art journal which lay about on the reading~room table in the Grand Hotel called his first and second manners, the mythological manner and the manner in which he shewed signs of Japanese influence, both admirably exemplified, the article said, in the collection of Mme. de Guermantes. Naturally enough, what he had in his studio were almost all seascapes done here, at Balbec. But I was able to discern from these that the charm of each of them lay in a sort of metamorphosis of the things represented in it, analogous to what in poetry we call metaphor, and that, if God the Father had created things by naming them, it was by taking away their names or giving them other names that Elstir created them anew.
~ Marcel Proust, In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower
You must feel the colours that are necessary for you to mix your desired hue and value. (Robert Wade)
I am Charles Mingus. Half~black man. Yellow man. Half~yellow. Not even yellow, nor white enough to pass for nothing but black and not too light enough to be called white. (Charles Mingus)
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