They brought a woman from the street And made her sit in the stalls By threats By bribes By flattery Obliging her to share a little of her life with actors
But I don't understand art
Sit still, they said
But I don't want to see sad things
Sit still, they said
And she listened to everything Understanding some things But not others Laughing rarely, and always without knowing why Sometimes suffering disgust Sometimes thoroughly amazed And in the light again, said
If that's art I think it is hard work It was beyond me So much beyond my actual life
But something troubled her Something gnawed her peace And she came a second time, armoured with friends
Sit still, she said
And again, she listened to everything This time understanding different things This time untroubled that some things Could not be understood Laughing rarely but now without shame Sometimes suffering disgust Sometimes thoroughly amazed And in the light again said
This is art, it is hard work And one friend said, too hard for me And the other said, if you will I will come again Because I found it hard I felt honoured
I will say, from my own belief and experience, that imagination
thrives on contact, on tangible connection. For humans to have a
responsible relationship to the world, they must imagine their places in
it. To have a place, to live and belong in a place, to live from a
place without destroying it, we must imagine it. By imagination we see
it illuminated by its own unique character and by our love for it. By
imagination we recognize with sympathy the fellow members, human and
nonhuman, with whom we share our place. By that local experience we see
the need to grant a sort of preemptive sympathy to all the fellow
members, the neighbors, with whom we share the world. As imagination
enables sympathy, sympathy enables affection. And it is in affection
that we find the possibility of a neighborly, kind, and conserving
economy.
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