Revelation No.2

Revelation No.2, Oil on canvas, 8"x10"

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind

Ode: Intimations of Immortality, X
William Wordsworth

Status: In a relationship with Virginia Woolf

...He heard her quick step above, heard her voice cheerful, then low; looked at the mats, tea caddies, glass shades; waited quite impatiently; looked forward eagerly to the walk home, determined to carry her bag; then heard her come out; shut a door; say they must keep the windows open and the door shut, ask at the house for anything they wanted (she must be talking to a child), when, suddenly, in she came, stood for a moment silent (as if she had been pretending up there, and for a moment let herself be now), stood quite motionless for a moment against a picture of Queen Victoria wearing the blue ribbon of Garter; and all at once he realised that it was this; it was this – she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf

It's just one of many very long lines (or rather flows of rhythmic narrative) in her writings like minutes of uncut cinematic shot coming to a revelatory end.

Considered to be Woolf's most autobiographical novel, words became floods of intense observation of human psychology and creative impetus that was so masterfully composed and orchestrated to the threshold of either to irrigate or to destroy. It's exhilarating. But at the same time you inevitably feel a bit disturbed and sympathize with the burden of her genius (she suffered depression through her life and in the end walked into a river near her home and drowned). You see a mind at work, a soul ventured, lamented and unfortunately despaired, some eighty years ago. It reaffirms my belief: Great art is transcendent, in the loosest possible sense of the word.