Frank Corcoran

Narcissus is THE patron saint of all artists.
( I love, now in this clear mythic water, mythic me. But who then is , then, me, is myself ? Who would be this” I ” ? Then why do ” I ” love ” me ” as self-perceived in “my” mind´s very “I” ? )
Not true.
Great art, the very highest composed music does travel much farther; it aims at timeless constructs, for atemporality, wrought tougher than steel. The best climb farther and they then kick away their autobiographical ladder, swinging serene from that higher arboreal position.
“Me” – sodden art is never enough. High art, the best, conceals with Horace ALL of its author´s origins: ” I love me, Narcissus, me kisses I, I – WHO? – these watery lips”.