Wyeth, Hoffman's Barn, 1959
Birches, snow, firewood, sky, road, fire, smoke, frost— I
repeated the words that I remembered for only a slightly shorter time than I
remembered myself. Birches, snow, firewood, sky, road, fire, smoke, frost— the
words grew, as if they were material, had material energy; the words sounded
symphonically, one through another, without blending, the frost was frosty, the
fire fiery, the smoke smoky; the words became translucent, melting slightly,
like pure flame, their phonetic casings lost their hardened precision, and the
eye perceived the pure essence of meaning— like a bubble of air in a precious
stone, refracting the light differently.
Sergei Lebedev
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