M. Proust on art.
“…..On the other hand, the greatness of real art lies, as I ended up to believe, elsewhere. It is the need to discover from the beginning, to possess this reality which lies far from the reality we experience everyday and from which our distance grows bigger. Since the conventional knowledge with which we substitute reality becomes thicker and impenetrable the possibility of dying without ever knowing this reality which is actually our own life.
In a few words this complex art is the only living art. The same thing happens with emotions: until one examines them in the light of reason one does not understand them. And only when reasons light is shed upon them can one distinguish, with great effort, the shape of what he has really felt. And then another light was born in me: without a doubt less bright than the one which made me realize that the work of art is the only way to regain the time lost. And I understood that all these material of literary work were my past life.
Anyway the only thing that comes from us is what we take out from the darkness of our soul. I came up to the conclusion that we are not free before a work of art, we don’t do anything that crosses our mind but what we must reveal, like we would for a law of nature since it is useful and hidden”.