this ain't Tolstoy
I am thinking of Spain because I was reading about/ooking at paintings by Picasso because I was reading e.e. cummings', "Picasso." (My mind sometimes reminds me of the Laura Numeroff series, If you give a moose a muffin, et alia. Picasso is someone I have always admired--we met when I was a Spanish student in high school--because he always told the truth of what he was seeing. Picasso painted beautiful, breathtaking things: dancing, love, music, food, but also, and maybe more importantly, translated his concerns and frustrations with the world: war and destruction. It is easy to paint lovely things like dancing and love, which we can all enjoy; a real challenge can lie in painting what disgusts people, showing the ugly, naked horrors of life.
In my wanderings I learned of some paintings Picasso did in the early 1950s. According to this site, “He was painting a deconsecrated 14th-century chapel at Vallauris. Outraged by the Korean War, he had decided to make the chapel a temple of peace. From April to September 1952, in over 250 sketches, he designed two huge murals for the chapel, on the subject of war and peace. The murals (WAR and PEACE) were completed that December, though they were not installed till 1954..."
Picasso you give us Things which bulge:grunting lungs pumped full of sharp thick mind you make us shrill presents always shut in the sumptuous screech of simplicity (out of the black unbunged Something gushes vaguely a squeak of planes or between squeals of Nothing grabbed with circular shrieking tightness solid screams whisper.) Lumberman of The Distinct your brain's axe only chops hugest inherent Trees of Ego,from whose living and biggest bodies lopped of every prettiness you hew form truly
~ e.e. cummings