I’d come to believe that so much of life was fiction and artifice that you never really got past representation. It was all material, and so, to do something “for the material” was merely to do something because it was valuable, and worthy of attention. That’s what made it art. But another part of me wondered if this was only sophistry. I’d gotten so used to looking for narratives in the world—for signs and wonders—that maybe I’d deluded myself into believing they were really there. Noticing every little thing, writing them down and believing them significant, was only a step away from the
...more
