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has also spoken of "this mad abstract dark"

In a sense this isolation, in fact, as well as in spirit, makes our task really difficult. For we don't have the benefit of a strong group consciousness and contribution on lower levels that many great artists of former years enjoyed. Don't imply that I'm advancing some sort of Marxian, or distorted Marxian, art of the people concept. Here's what I mean.

Recently, I chanced across a book of Elizabetian [[Elizabethan]] broadside poetry. This was a collection of poems taken from broadsides of Shakespeare's day, that were sold much as the tabloids of this day to tell of murders, and other such notorious events. The similitude of the broadsides to our tabloids, however, was only one of intent, because the old ballads were clear, full of vivid imaginative language, and in some cases the poetry was of the first order. So the Elizabetian [[Elizabethan]] dramatists had [[strikethrough]] some [[/strikethrough]] strong roots, and deep, from which to draw water to the top branches of their creative efforts. Conversely, the average Elizabetian [[Elizabethan]] had some basis, some particular level, where he could appreciate a Webster, a Johnson, or a Marlowe.

Now the artist is a kind of specialist, working on a particular, and individual