... From the dark opening of the worn inside of the shoes the toilsome tread of the worker stares forth. In the stiffly rugged heaviness of the shoes there is the accumulated tenacity of her slow trudge through the far-spreading ever-uniform furrows of the field swept by a raw wind. On the leather lie the dampness and richness of the soil. Under the soles slides the loneliness of the field-path as evening falls... Martin Heidegger, The Origin of the Work of Art
“There is no progress in art, any more than there is progress in making love. There are simply different ways of doing it.” Man Ray
Monday, January 24, 2011
in Van Gogh's Shoes
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