The Artist
“If life has a base that it stands upon, if it is a bowl that one fills
and fills and fills—then my bowl without a doubt stands upon this memory.
It is of lying half asleep, half awake, in bed in the nursery at St. Ives.
It is of hearing the waves breaking, one, two, one two, and sending a
splash of water over the beach; and then breaking, one, two, one, two,
behind a yellow blind. It is of hearing the blind draw its little acorn
across the floor as the wind blow the blind out. It is of lying and
hearing this splash and seeing this light, and feeling, it is almost
impossible that I should be here; of feeling the purest ecstasy I can
conceive.” (64-65)