Those socialist realist paintings looked down at me in their stark black and stark white. They implored me to sit up straight. To act right. To do hard work. Toil! they said. Toil and know that the product of your work will be wheat that would grow up out of the black fields. But what work? My hands were idle. That doesn’t matter! those figures wanted to tell me. Work! That’s the right response to tragedy, pain and joy alike. Be a man. Leave a message. Go to a funeral. Do your work. Respond to work with more work, death with more death, anger with more anger, and know that’s the way the world works.
Welcome to the world.
(via The Sensualist)