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249

Create Dangerously

2
terms
3
notes

a beautiful lecture given in 1957 about the (social, political) responsibilities of writers

Camus, A. (1995). Create Dangerously. In Camus, A. Resistance, Rebellion and Death: Essays. Vintage, pp. 249-287

(noun) any of a genus (Camellia) of shrubs or trees of the tea family / (noun) an ornamental greenhouse shrub (C. japonica) with glossy leaves and roselike flowers

251

the artist with a camellia in his buttonhole

so basically a type of flower

—p.251 by Albert Camus
uncertain
3 years, 4 months ago

the artist with a camellia in his buttonhole

so basically a type of flower

—p.251 by Albert Camus
uncertain
3 years, 4 months ago
255

[...] The greatest renown today consists in being admired ot hrated without having been read. Any artist who goes in for being famous in our society must know that it is not he who will become famous, but someone else under his name, someone who will eventually escape him and perhaps someday will kill the true artist in him.

not especially notable except insofar as it echoes the moral of his story Jonas

also a bit of Jonathan Franzen's essay Why Bother

—p.255 by Albert Camus 3 years, 4 months ago

[...] The greatest renown today consists in being admired ot hrated without having been read. Any artist who goes in for being famous in our society must know that it is not he who will become famous, but someone else under his name, someone who will eventually escape him and perhaps someday will kill the true artist in him.

not especially notable except insofar as it echoes the moral of his story Jonas

also a bit of Jonathan Franzen's essay Why Bother

—p.255 by Albert Camus 3 years, 4 months ago
264

[...] Art, in a sense, is a revolt against everything fleeting and unfinished in the world. Consequently, its only own is to give another form to a reality that it is nevertheless forced to preserve as the source of its emotion. In this regard, we are all realistic and no one is. Art is neither complete rejection or complete acceptance of what it is. It is simultaneously rejection and acceptance, and this is why it must be a perpetually renewed wrenching apart. The artist constantly lives in such a state of ambiguity, incapable of negating the real and yet eternally bound to question it in its eternally unfinished aspects. [...]

—p.264 by Albert Camus 3 years, 4 months ago

[...] Art, in a sense, is a revolt against everything fleeting and unfinished in the world. Consequently, its only own is to give another form to a reality that it is nevertheless forced to preserve as the source of its emotion. In this regard, we are all realistic and no one is. Art is neither complete rejection or complete acceptance of what it is. It is simultaneously rejection and acceptance, and this is why it must be a perpetually renewed wrenching apart. The artist constantly lives in such a state of ambiguity, incapable of negating the real and yet eternally bound to question it in its eternally unfinished aspects. [...]

—p.264 by Albert Camus 3 years, 4 months ago

(adjective) dear treasured / (adjective) ; discreetly cautious; as / (adjective) hesitant and vigilant about dangers and risks / (adjective) slow to grant, accept, or expend

266

The prophet [...] can judge absolutely and [...] is not chary of doing so

—p.266 by Albert Camus
uncertain
3 years, 4 months ago

The prophet [...] can judge absolutely and [...] is not chary of doing so

—p.266 by Albert Camus
uncertain
3 years, 4 months ago
267

[...] The lesson he finds in beauty, if he draws it fairly, is a lesson not of selfishness but rather of hard brotherhood. Looked upon thus, beauty has never enslaved anyone. And for thousands of years, every day, at every second, it has instead assuaged the servitude of millions of men and, occasionally, liberated some of them once and for all. After all, perhaps the greatness of art lies in the perpetual tension between beauty and pain, the love of men and the madness of creation, unbearable solitude and the exhausting crowd, rejection and consent. Art advances between two chasms, which are frivolity and propaganda. On the ridge where the great artist moves forward, every step is an adventure, an extreme risk. In that risk, however, and only there lies the freedom of art. [...] Like all freedom, it is a perpetual risk, an exhausting adventure, and this is why people avoid the risk today, as they avoid liberty with its exhausting demands, in order to accept any kind of bondage and achieve at least comfort of the soul. But if art is not an adventure, what is it and where is its justification? [...] Art lives only on the constraints it imposes on itself; it dies of all others. Conversely, if it does not constrain itself, it indulges in ravings and becomes a slave to mere shadows. [...]

on the surface it's about art and its purpose but really it's about balance

—p.267 by Albert Camus 3 years, 4 months ago

[...] The lesson he finds in beauty, if he draws it fairly, is a lesson not of selfishness but rather of hard brotherhood. Looked upon thus, beauty has never enslaved anyone. And for thousands of years, every day, at every second, it has instead assuaged the servitude of millions of men and, occasionally, liberated some of them once and for all. After all, perhaps the greatness of art lies in the perpetual tension between beauty and pain, the love of men and the madness of creation, unbearable solitude and the exhausting crowd, rejection and consent. Art advances between two chasms, which are frivolity and propaganda. On the ridge where the great artist moves forward, every step is an adventure, an extreme risk. In that risk, however, and only there lies the freedom of art. [...] Like all freedom, it is a perpetual risk, an exhausting adventure, and this is why people avoid the risk today, as they avoid liberty with its exhausting demands, in order to accept any kind of bondage and achieve at least comfort of the soul. But if art is not an adventure, what is it and where is its justification? [...] Art lives only on the constraints it imposes on itself; it dies of all others. Conversely, if it does not constrain itself, it indulges in ravings and becomes a slave to mere shadows. [...]

on the surface it's about art and its purpose but really it's about balance

—p.267 by Albert Camus 3 years, 4 months ago