Chapter 161: CLXI. Pure Concentration
"Really boring, just a bunch of damaged paper, and it’s even an incomplete book."
Liszt lost interest, the first half was here, but who knows where the second half went.
But one must admit, the level of artistic skill on the Western Continent is impressively high.
Liszt knew a bit about appreciation.
Things considered as art all possess one of two mutually contradicting characteristics, and whichever characteristic they belong to must be taken to the extreme.
One extreme is valueless art, merely a pure natural object, macroscopic, intuitive, and soul-stirring.
In paintings, for example, a woman holding an umbrella, less common in novels, like The Old Man and the Sea.
Another extreme involves art that is crazily valued, what it plays with is reality.
Less common in paintings, like the barge haulers on the Volga River. But there are too many novels, valued to the point of suffocation, as if raping the reader, who are you? Ji Wuming? That’s a name, a code, you could be called Ji Wuming, I could too, anyone could. But remove this code, then who is it?
It’s all about promoting a formatted ideological heavy-armed system.
Until the end when it fast-forwards to, I killed myself!