Pleasure

No matter how old I get, I always feel that eventually I will have to decide what I should do with my life. I am envious of those who have a calling, because no matter how hard I try to find my vocation, I am pulled hither and thither by the curse of great potential. This puts to mind a quote by Marcel Proust, who said,"People can have many different kinds of pleasure. The real one is that for which they will forsake the others." Unfortunately, this still does not help me choose between the figurative arts and the literary ones. Those desert island puzzles keep me amused for hours and still I can not choose between my Shakespeare and my Beethoven, between my Arbus and my Mann. Perhaps the beauty of different media is the breadth of expression one can produce in trying to evoke the same emotion or concept.

How different are these media dealing essentially with the same topic and yet each quite poignant in its effect:


O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings.


John Keats



Which pleasure would I forsake for the other, the painting or the poem? My response can only be that I am unrepentently thankful that I do not have to make such a choice.