Fun stuff, ladies. It left me hungry. But I must stick to the different gruel of words, filling in their way, but nothing like a good croissant!
Do I find bad art exhausting. Not for long. I'm no doubt more impatient than the two of you, for I'm prone to withdraw at once in the face of stuff that makes me tired. Chronic Fatigue has its own designs. But even as I make this observation, I realize that it's changing. That I'm in past tense thinking it was present.
I like to see one thing at a time, be it a painting, a person, a subject. Except when I don't. Not every tree in the forest need speak to me: I love the forest itself.
It just struck me that this is parallel to the rhythm of deduction and induction, which I thoroughly enjoy. I like to go from particular instances to general notions, and back again. It allows both the empircally valuable observation of singular examples, and the great reach of large generalizations. I think most good writers do this automatically. An interesting exercise for a writing class: to examine some "geat" literature, and see if this general notion applies.
But I'm teaching myself to give up the futile effort at multi-tasking--impossible neurologically speaking, in any case--in the service of depth. The down side of such impatience is that I sometimes miss the wealth of something that demands a longer look than I've been willing to give it. The upside is that I avoid most bad art and plain nonsense.
It's been one of thef more recent delights of my life to overcome, at times, such impatience and stick with, say a book, long enough to let its richness begin to manifest. So it's been that after spending my life in academia, I feel as though I'm beginning to learn to read again. When I begin to grow impatient with a text, I try, rather than putting it down, to slow myself down, and often enough, the text enlivens again. It turns out that I was in a hurry to finish the thing: a kind of ego-driven attempt at comprehensiveness. Very American, I guess: more, more, more. Also, I've also been a slow reader, so I find myself trying to speed up. But guess what!
So I am becoming a slower reader. Nietzche wrote about being a teacher of slow reading. A crawl along the ground kind of reader. Just as I like to "saunter" in the woods, after Thoreau's definition in an essay called "Walking." He compares a walk in the woods to something holy, more like a pilgrimage.
Now, coming to the end of this post, which I didn't expect would take so long, I wonder what the next example of slowing will be. Perhaps learning how to write these comments. The quicker I try to get one done, the more time it can take to complete. So, looking, reading, writing, walking: a list of some of the basics. A new credo? Take it slow and easy, you'll see more that way.