#solidary

We shall overcome, We shall overcome, We shall overcome, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe We shall overcome, some day.

We'll walk hand in hand, We'll walk hand in hand, We'll walk hand in hand, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart,

We shall live in peace, We shall live in peace, We shall live in peace, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart,

We shall all be free, We shall all be free, We shall all be free, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart,

We are not afraid, We are not afraid, We are not afraid, TODAY

Oh, deep in my heart,

We shall overcome, We shall overcome, We shall overcome, some day.

“A beautiful day was beginning, but Jonas was not aware of it. He had turned the canvas against the wall. Exhausted, he was sitting there waiting,with his hands, palms up, on his knees. He told himself that now he would never again work, he was happy. He heard his children grumbling, water running, and the dishes clinking together. Louise was talking. The huge windows rattled as a truck passed on the boulevard. The world was still there, young and lovable. Jonas listened to the welcome murmur rising from mankind. From such a distance, it did not run counter to that joyful strength within him, his art, these forever silent thoughts he could not express but which set him above all things, in a free and crisp air. The children were running through the apartment, the little girl was laughing, Louise too now, and he hadn’t heard her laugh for so long. He loved them! How he loved them! He put out the lamp and, in the darkness that suddenly returned, right there! wasn’t that his star still shining? It was the star, he recognized it with his heart full of gratitude, and he was still watching it when he fell, without a sound.

“It’s nothing,” the doctor they had called declared a little later. “He is working too much. In a week he will be on his feet again.” “You are sure he will get well?” asked Louise with distorted face. “He will get well.” In the other room Rateau was looking at the canvas, completely blank, in the center of which Jonas had merely written in very small letters a word that could be made out, but without any certainty as to whether it should be read solitary or solidary.”

-Albert Camus, Jonas, or The Artist at Work

texture \ tex·ture  \ ˈteks-chər \

1 a: the visual or tactile surface characteristics and appearance of something - the texture of an oil painting b: the disposition or manner of union of the particles of a body or substance

2 a: a composite of the elements of prose or poetry - “all these words... meet violently to form a texture impressive and exciting” —John Berryman b: a pattern of musical sound created by tones or lines played or sung together

3 a: essential part: SUBSTANCE b :identifying quality: CHARACTER

4 a: something composed of closely interwoven elements; specifically :a woven cloth b: the structure formed by the threads of a fabric