I was going to post a particular page from Art Spiegelman’s Maus but I thought better of putting it directly on the dash, since it’s such an intense one.  You can still see it here if you haven’t read it. (Content warning: black and white illustration of people being burned alive.)  I love it as a work of art/literature, beyond just the “social duty” feeling that a lot of works about the Shoah can take on.  The title in this picture is one of my favourites—and here my troubles began.  I love the characters and the flow of Vladek’s broken English.  The relationship between Art and Vladek reminds me of mine with my dad in a lot of ways (mostly the conflicts between love, pity, and intense frustration).    
The linked image is impossible to forget, and it goes beyond “this made me think” or something like that. It doesn’t make you think—it pushes way past thought.  The only thing you can wonder as you look at it is the usual: “how could anybody do it?” It’s barely even a question, just a throb.

I was going to post a particular page from Art Spiegelman’s Maus but I thought better of putting it directly on the dash, since it’s such an intense one.  You can still see it here if you haven’t read it. (Content warning: black and white illustration of people being burned alive.)  I love it as a work of art/literature, beyond just the “social duty” feeling that a lot of works about the Shoah can take on.  The title in this picture is one of my favourites—and here my troubles began.  I love the characters and the flow of Vladek’s broken English.  The relationship between Art and Vladek reminds me of mine with my dad in a lot of ways (mostly the conflicts between love, pity, and intense frustration).    

The linked image is impossible to forget, and it goes beyond “this made me think” or something like that. It doesn’t make you think—it pushes way past thought.  The only thing you can wonder as you look at it is the usual: “how could anybody do it?” It’s barely even a question, just a throb.

  1. drummingpartridge posted this