Jean Dutourd From "Pluche or the Love of Art"

For me the following passage rings very true. It's is from the opening page of the book - Pluche or the Love of Art by Jean Dutourd. It's funny to me that sometimes I find the best books in the oddest of places for next to nothing; this was one of those times. It's a superb philosophical novel about a painter living in Paris, and also a general story of every type of artist, musician, writer, etc., whether they be French, American, or whatever.

"The smells of linseed oil and turpentine were stirring my blood, like those of moist earth or horse dung. I had lighted my pipe. I still needed some aroma. I made coffee. In short, all the conditions proper for a good day's work. Result: I never applied one stroke of color. My drawing wasn't worth two pins. I had believed myself to be filled with inspiration, but inspiration, as it came out of me, went up in smoke."

(Jean Dutourd, Pluche or The Love of Art, trans. Robin Chancellor)

To me, the book is a statement on what it means to be an artist in a classical but also more modern sense. The struggle to stay true to one's own self in the creation of your art, especially in the wake of a more modern age. Truly a treasure; I found the book in one of those pay $5 and fill up your box with books, super-sales.