The question for today is, "What do you consider yourself to be, a hedgehog or a fox?" I've been thinking about this since reading about the essay on Tolstoy's view of history of the same name, by Isaiah Berlin mentioned on Milton Glaser's website. Hmm, I'm a fox wishing to be a hedgehog. The hedgehog knows the big picture of life and always has. He just goes about his business never being bothered by anything, even the fox who is always running to-and-fro from place to place, idea-to-idea, trying to get at the hedgehog and his secret.  
 
Driving in this morning I considered another recent mental query, those who respond to Morandi's paintings and those who think they are insignificant. Morandi is an Italian national treasure. All his life spent in Bologna with his sisters, in the same house, he painted hundreds of small still life arrangements of jars and some landscapes. I love his work; they are exquisite; thoughtful; peaceful; and somehow when I view them; everything is right about the world. So why do I respond so favorably, whilst others think these tiny paintings practically useless? What is the deep essence that defines and sometimes so dramatically divides us?  
 
Did everyone write their 3 pages today? I did. Are we really meant to tear them up after?

-Posted by Celeste