🔒 Art Against Stereotype

England with its baby rivers and little towns, each with its abbey or its cathedral, with voices—one voice perhaps, echoing through the transept—the criterion of suitability and convenience: and Italy with its equal shores—contriving an epicureanism from which the grossness has been extracted: and Greece with its goats and its gourds, the nest of modified illusions: and France, the “chrysalis of the nocturnal butterfly,” in whose products, mystery of construction diverts one from what was originally one’s object—substance at the core: and the East with its snails, its emotional shorthand and jade cockroaches, its rock crystal and its imperturbability, all of museum quality: and America where there is the little old ramshackle victoria in the south, where cigars are smoked on the street in the north; where there are no proofreaders, no silkworms, no digressions; the wild man’s land; grass-less, links-less, language-less country in which letters are written not in

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