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300 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2019
Despite the anguish and torment of life, we carry on. It's like a soap bubble, which we blow out as long and as large as we can, even though we know it must burst. Is anything more perfect than a soap bubble, anything that so combines unity, variety and harmony, as great art is supposed to do? Each soap bubble is perfect, yet each one entirely unique. And do they not delight us? Who does not smile as the bubble grows, and sigh a little when it pops? So maybe that's it. We want those who behold — we want them to smile and then to sigh.
'In the novel, Of Human Bondage, by Somerset Maugham there's a point when the hero, Philip Carey, an aspiring artist, is in Paris. A friend gives him an old Persian rug, telling him that it contains the meaning of life. He carries it around with him through the years, never really knowing what the friend, or the carpet, meant. He never quite achieves his aims in life, never quite finds happiness. His love affairs are unsatisfactory at best, tragic at worst. He settles for a career that he never really wanted. Finally, understanding dawns, and he sees what the friend meant by the gift of the rug. The meaning of life is the pattern we weave.'
Huh?
The pattern doesn't point to anything beyond itself. It isn't a sign, or an index or an icon, it's just a play of geometric shapes and colours. Those shapes and colours might be complex and intricate, or might be simple and direct. But we weave it for the joy of weaving, and at the end we find that we've created something beautiful, in the life lived, in the warp and the weft.'