Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.
In each studio there is a human being dressed in the full regalia of his myth fearing to expore a vulnerable opening, spreading not his charms but his defences, plotting to disrobe, somewhere along the night-- his body without the aperture of the heart or his heart with a door closed to his body. thus keeping one compartment for refuge, one uninvaded cell.
myself ... is merely an instrument to connect life and a myth
Nothing endures unless it has first been transposed into a myth, and the great advantage of myths is that they are ladies with portable roots.
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