.This blog will intermittently vent the "sensations" I have "accumalted" during the gazings.
Here is the picture (which I surfed out from http://www013.upp.so-net.ne.jp/hongirai-san/yomou/meisou.htmll) and Dostoevsky's description.
The painter Kramsky has a remarkable painting called "the Contemplator": a road with a wintry forest in the background and on the road, wearing a ragged coat and felt shoes, stands a lonely, forlon peasent who has loft his way , and who seems to think hard about something, but actually not thinking at all, but just "contemplating." If you pushed him, hewould give a start and stare at you uncomprehendingly as if you had just awakened him. True he would collect his wits right away, but if you asked him what he'd been thinking about as he stood there, he would be quiet unable to remember. He certainly would remember, however, the inexpressible sensations he exprienced during his contemplation. And these sensation would be dear to him and he would treasure them without realising it himself, indeed, without knowing knowing why or what he would ever do with them. Perhaps, having accumulated in the course of the years a great many sensations he would suddnely leave everything behind and go off on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem to seek salvation, or he might just as likely to set fire to his own village, or possibly both. There are many contemplators among simple people.
