I have always craved for Truth in my life,
I always looked for it and I have always fulfilled myself in finding it ( even in those times when it came with sacks of violent paint attached...)
But now I feel I really understand its crucial importance, in its full scale
in the quest for all of what is on the top of GOODNESS we can achieve in this life as human beings...
Now I fully believe how without it, we cannot really begin to aspire to manifest art, or beauty...
Truth does not always bring peace, joy or contentment, but it will always brings BEAUTY and FULFILLMENT - for me at least...
Looking at William Faulkner Literature nobel prize accepting speech, where he stands up for his belief that true art will not start from any other place apart from the old truth of the human heart, and that anything else not originating from this pure place of human truth cannot be anything more that entertaining - somehow I can so fully understand him in his belief ( because it is my own).
And how BEAUTIFUL the GENEROSITY of this man, at the time of his highest artistic recognition he chooses to be humble and give still some more to all of us ...
I finish this post - with this mans beautiful, truthfull words....
" ....Our tragedy today is a general and universal fear so long sustained by now that we CAN even BEAR IT.
There are NO LONGER PROBLEMS of THE SPIRIT.
There is only the question: when will I be blown up? Because of this the young man writing today has forgotten the problems of the HUMAN HEART in CONFLICT with ITSELF , which alone can make good writing about, worth the agony and the sweat.
HE MUST LEARN THAT AGAIN. He must teach himself that THE BASEST OF ALL THINGS is TO BE AFRAID.
And , teaching himself that, forget it forever ( the FEAR), leaving no room in his workshop (in his creative mind) for anything but THE OLD VERITIES of the HEART, the old UNIVERSAL TRUTHS in which lacking any story ( and creative work) is ephemeral and doomed - love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice.
Until he does so, he works under a curse.
He writes ( creates) not of LOVE but of LUST, of defeats in which NOBODY loses anything of VALUE, of victories without hope and, WORST of ALL WITOUTH PITY or COMPASSION.
His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars.
He writes ( creates) not of the heart but of the glands.
Until he learns this things, he will write as if he stood among and watched the end of man.
I DECLINE to ACEPT the END of MAN.
It is easy enough to say that MAN is IMMORTAL simply BECAUSE HE WILL ENDURE ( his truthful creation will endure): that when the last "ding-dong" of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tidelesss in the last red and dying evening ( how beautiful this image is!!), that even then there will still be one more sound: that os his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking.
I refuse to accept this. I believe that MAN will NOT MERELY ENDURE: he will PREVAIL.
He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has a inexhaustible voice, but BECAUSE he HAS A SOUL, a SPIRIT CAPABLE of COMPASSION and SACRIFICE and ENDURANCE.
The poet, the writter ( the artist) duty is to write ( create) about this things. It is his privilege to HELP MAN ENDURE by LIFTING his HEART, by reminding him of the COURAGE and HONOR and HOPE and PRIDE and COMPASSION and PITY and SACRIFICE which have been THE GLORY of HIS PAST.
The poets ( artist) voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.
( William Faulkner - from is Literature Nobel Prize Accepting Speech)
