human
You remember those reproductions, I showed you, of Felicien Rops, the Belgium etcher. You didn’t like them. I don’t either. He’s wonderfully clever—My God! I wish I could draw like that man—but I don’t think it’s art. I don’t think he ever looked upward—lifted up his eyes to the hills. I guess my religion is just that indescribable something which changes craftsmanship into art. I want to draw well, I want my color to be right, I want technique—all I can get of it. But even if I was perfect in all these, I would have to lift up my eyes unto the hills for help before I could do the real thing—the thing I want to do.
gpt
And when you lift up your eyes, Billy, I asked,