Those centrimetres between my ears are MINE.

I hereby declare a self-imposed ban on whining, complaining, and wallowing in self pity (on the blog) and can only do so if at least one of the three pre-requisites are satisfied:
1. The blogpost is thought-provoking. The feelings unique to myself, are felt universally, to an extent such that readers identify. Readers leave not bemoaning the complexities of this world and the painful depth of the human emotional experience.
2. The blogpost (or rant) breathes new insight into old recurring situations.
3. The situation inspires poetry and prose. The placement of those here will not expose dirty linen in public, and subtleties are not lost on those who know me well enough.

Whee. Okay now shifting from the now-condemened self-centeredness (which has been ongoing, I apologize dear reader) to art history.
Yes art history.
It's exploring knowledge for the sake of it, just because. I delight in this knowledge. No more pseudo understanding of art, or at least lesser.

I have learnt that the world of art is boundless. The progress of art entails a gain, but also the loss of a quality from the past, very unlike the progress of science if one subscribes to Popper's notion of falsification (Implication being that science progresses linearly towards the truth, whereas in art, there is no objective truth, just an evolution of styles)
Of course, I still am a layman in the artworld but now I'm a layman who has read (or am reading) The Story of Art by E.H Gombrich so that counts for something. *smiles*

(More updates on new insights to come, I promise)

Books:
Want to read: Room by Emma Donoghue (Shortlisted for Man Booker prize)

(Oh my, they're doing trailers for novels now. My sentiments? Nice)
I like novels that tell an unconventional story, and usually appreciate a view of the world that is encountered from a childlike perspective.
Materially on my shelves:
Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
Schopenhauer's Telescope by Gerard Donovan (The reference to Bernhard Schlink put me off, to be honest, but I'm getting through)

Reality knocks on the door, as always and as always, we find ways to cope, somehow.