On my desk in my office, I keep a small clay pot that I made in college. It's raku, which is a kind of pottery that began in Japan centuries ago as a way of making bowls for the Japanese tea ceremony. This one is more than 400 years old. Each one was pinched or carved out of a ball of clay, and it was the imperfections that people cherished.
Na svom stolu u kancelariji držim malu glinenu posudu koju sam napravila na koledžu. Radi se o rakuu, vrsti grnčarije nastaloj u Japanu pre mnogo vekova kao način pravljenja činija za obred japanskog čaja. Ova je stara više od 400 godina. Svaka je oblikovana ili izvajana od komada gline i ljudi su cenili male nesavršenosti.
Everyday pots like this cup take eight to 10 hours to fire. I just took this out of the kiln last week, and the kiln itself takes another day or two to cool down, but raku is really fast. You do it outside, and you take the kiln up to temperature. In 15 minutes, it goes to 1,500 degrees, and as soon as you see that the glaze has melted inside, you can see that faint sheen, you turn the kiln off, and you reach in with these long metal tongs, you grab the pot, and in Japan, this red-hot pot would be immediately immersed in a solution of green tea, and you can imagine what that steam would smell like. But here in the United States, we ramp up the drama a little bit, and we drop our pots into sawdust, which catches on fire, and you take a garbage pail, and you put it on top, and smoke starts pouring out. I would come home with my clothes reeking of woodsmoke.
Ćupovima kao što je ovaj, treba od 8 do 10 sati da se ispeku. Ovaj sam izvadila prošle nedelje iz peći, a samoj peći treba još dan ili dva da se ohladi, dok je raku zaista brz. Sve ovo radite napolju i zagrejete peć. Za 15 minuta temperatura poraste do 1500 stepeni i čim vidite da se glazura istopila iznutra, možete da vidite bledunjavi sjaj i tada isključite peć. Tada uđete ovim dugačkim, metalnim kleštima, zgrabite ćup i u Japanu ovaj crveni, vreo ćup bi odmah bio uronjen u rastvor zelenog čaja i možete da zamislite kako bi para mirisala. Ali u SAD-u, zakuvamo malo stvar, spustimo ćupove u piljevinu, koja počne da gori, onda uzmete kofu za smeće, stavite je na vrh i tada dim počne da izlazi. Dolazila sam kući sa odećom koja se osećala na paljevinu.
I love raku because it allows me to play with the elements. I can shape a pot out of clay and choose a glaze, but then I have to let it go to the fire and the smoke, and what's wonderful is the surprises that happen, like this crackle pattern, because it's really stressful on these pots. They go from 1,500 degrees to room temperature in the space of just a minute.
Volim raku jer mi dozvoljava da se poigravam sa elementima. Mogu da oblikujem ćup od gline i da odaberem glazuru, ali onda moram da ga prepustim vatri i dimu, a najdivnija su iznenađenja, kao što je ova naprsla šara, jer ćupovi trpe mnogo stresa. Temperatura se menja od 1500 stepeni do sobne temperature za samo jedan minut.
Raku is a wonderful metaphor for the process of creativity. I find in so many things that tension between what I can control and what I have to let go happens all the time, whether I'm creating a new radio show or just at home negotiating with my teenage sons.
Raku je divna metafora za proces kreativnosti. Smatram da se tenzija između onoga što mogu i ne mogu da kontrolišem dešava stalno, bilo da pravim novi radio program ili raspravljam kod kuće sa svojim sinovima tinejdžerima.
When I sat down to write a book about creativity, I realized that the steps were reversed. I had to let go at the very beginning, and I had to immerse myself in the stories of hundreds of artists and writers and musicians and filmmakers, and as I listened to these stories, I realized that creativity grows out of everyday experiences more often than you might think, including letting go. It was supposed to break, but that's okay. (Laughter) (Laughs) That's part of the letting go, is sometimes it happens and sometimes it doesn't, because creativity also grows from the broken places.
Kada sam sela da napišem knjigu o kreativnosti, shvatila sam da su koraci bili obrnuti. Morala sam se odreći nekih stvari na samom početku i morala sam da se udubim u priče stotina umetnika i pisaca i muzičara i režisera i dok sam slušala ove priče, shvatila sam da kreativnost raste iz svakodnevnih iskustava, češće nego što možete da zamislite, uključujući i prepuštanje. Trebalo je da se polomi, ali nema veze. (Smeh) To je deo procesa puštanja, nekada se dogodi, a nekada se ne dogodi. Sama kreativnost raste iz polomljenih mesta.
The best way to learn about anything is through stories, and so I want to tell you a story about work and play and about four aspects of life that we need to embrace in order for our own creativity to flourish. The first embrace is something that we think, "Oh, this is very easy," but it's actually getting harder, and that's paying attention to the world around us. So many artists speak about needing to be open, to embrace experience, and that's hard to do when you have a lighted rectangle in your pocket that takes all of your focus.
Najbolji način učenja o bilo čemu je kroz priče, tako da želim da vam ispričam priču o poslu i igri i o četiri aspekta života, koje moramo da prihvatimo da bi naša kreativnost bujala. Prvo prihvatanje je nešto što mislimo: "Ovo je veoma lako", ali zapravo postaje teže, a to je obraćanje pažnje na svet oko nas. Mnogo umetnika govori o tome da je potrebno biti otvoren, da se prihvati iskustvo, a to je teško uraditi kada imate u džepu nešto što vam oduzima svu pažnju.
The filmmaker Mira Nair speaks about growing up in a small town in India. Its name is Bhubaneswar, and here's a picture of one of the temples in her town.
Režiser Mira Nair govori o odrastanju u malom gradu u Indiji. Zove se Bubanesvar, a evo i slike jednog hrama u njenom gradu.
Mira Nair: In this little town, there were like 2,000 temples. We played cricket all the time. We kind of grew up in the rubble. The major thing that inspired me, that led me on this path, that made me a filmmaker eventually, was traveling folk theater that would come through the town and I would go off and see these great battles of good and evil by two people in a school field with no props but with a lot of, you know, passion, and hashish as well, and it was amazing. You know, the folk tales of Mahabharata and Ramayana, the two holy books, the epics that everything comes out of in India, they say. After seeing that Jatra, the folk theater, I knew I wanted to get on, you know, and perform.
Mira Nair: U ovom malom gradu, bilo je oko 2 000 hramova. Igrali smo kriket stalno. Odrastali smo donekle na šljunku. Najveća stvar koja me je inspirisala, koja me je vodila na ovom putu, ono zbog čega sam postala režiser, bilo je putujuće pozorište, koje je dolazilo u gradić i ja bih odlazila i gledala te sjajne bitke dobra i zla dvoje ljudi na školskom terenu bez rekvizita, ali sa mnogo strasti i hašiša. BIlo je sjajno. Narodne priče Mahabharata i Ramajana, dve svete knjige, epovi iz kojih sve proizlazi iz Indije, barem tako kažu. Nakon što sam videla Džatru, narodno pozorište, znala sam da želim da se popnem na binu i nastupam.
Julie Burstein: Isn't that a wonderful story? You can see the sort of break in the everyday. There they are in the school fields, but it's good and evil, and passion and hashish. And Mira Nair was a young girl with thousands of other people watching this performance, but she was ready. She was ready to open up to what it sparked in her, and it led her, as she said, down this path to become an award-winning filmmaker. So being open for that experience that might change you is the first thing we need to embrace.
Džuli Burstajn: Zar ovo nije predivna priča? Možete videti prekid u kolotečini svakodnevice. Na poljima su u školi, ali u isto vreme je dobro i zlo i strast i hašiš. Mira Nair je bila mlada devojka sa hiljadama drugih ljudi koji gledaju ovaj nastup, ali ona je bila spremna. Bila je spremna da se otvori za varnice u njoj i to ju je vodilo, kao sto je i ona rekla, ovim putem da postane nagrađeni režiser. Prva stvar koju treba da prihvatimo je da treba da budemo otvoreni za to iskustvo koje bi moglo da nas promeni.
Artists also speak about how some of their most powerful work comes out of the parts of life that are most difficult. The novelist Richard Ford speaks about a childhood challenge that continues to be something he wrestles with today. He's severely dyslexic.
Umetnici takođe govore o tome kako neki od njihovih najsnažnijih radova proizlaze iz delova života koji su bili najteži. Romanopisac Ričard Ford govori o izazovu iz detinjstva sa kojim se uporno bori čak i sada. Ima ozbiljnu disleksiju.
Richard Ford: I was slow to learn to read, went all the way through school not really reading more than the minimum, and still to this day can't read silently much faster than I can read aloud, but there were a lot of benefits to being dyslexic for me because when I finally did reconcile myself to how slow I was going to have to do it, then I think I came very slowly into an appreciation of all of those qualities of language and of sentences that are not just the cognitive aspects of language: the syncopations, the sounds of words, what words look like, where paragraphs break, where lines break. I mean, I wasn't so badly dyslexic that I was disabled from reading. I just had to do it really slowly, and as I did, lingering on those sentences as I had to linger, I fell heir to language's other qualities, which I think has helped me write sentences.
Ričard Ford: Sporo sam učio da čitam, prošao sam kroz celo školovanje minimalno čitajući Čak ni danas ne mogu da čitam u sebi mnogo brže nego što čitam naglas, ali postojalo je mnogo pogodnosti za mene sa disleksijom jer kada sam se konačno pomirio sa tim koliko ću sporo morati da čitam, počeo sam da cenim sve one vrline jezika i rečenica koje nisu samo kognitivni aspekti jezika: sinkopacija, zvuci reči, kako reči izgledaju, de se pasusi završavaju, gde se redovi završavaju. Nisam bio toliko dislektičan da nisam mogao uopšte da čitam. Samo sam morao da čitam veoma sporo. I dok sam otezao sa rečenicama, počeo sam ceniti ostale kvalitete jezika, što mi je pomoglo da pišem rečenice.
JB: It's so powerful. Richard Ford, who's won the Pulitzer Prize, says that dyslexia helped him write sentences. He had to embrace this challenge, and I use that word intentionally. He didn't have to overcome dyslexia. He had to learn from it. He had to learn to hear the music in language.
DžB: Ovo je toliko snažno. Ričard Ford, koji je osvojio Pulicerovu nagradu, kaže da mu je disleksija pomogla da piše rečenice. Morao je da prihvati ovaj izazov i namerno koristim ovu reč. Nije morao da pobedi disleksiju. Morao je da od nje uči. Morao je da uči da čuje muziku u jeziku.
Artists also speak about how pushing up against the limits of what they can do, sometimes pushing into what they can't do, helps them focus on finding their own voice. The sculptor Richard Serra talks about how, as a young artist, he thought he was a painter, and he lived in Florence after graduate school. While he was there, he traveled to Madrid, where he went to the Prado to see this picture by the Spanish painter Diego Velázquez. It's from 1656, and it's called "Las Meninas," and it's the picture of a little princess and her ladies-in-waiting, and if you look over that little blonde princess's shoulder, you'll see a mirror, and reflected in it are her parents, the King and Queen of Spain, who would be standing where you might stand to look at the picture. As he often did, Velázquez put himself in this painting too. He's standing on the left with his paintbrush in one hand and his palette in the other.
Umetnici takođe govore kako im prevazilaženje sopstvenih mogućnosti, ponekad izvan svojih granica, pomaže da se usredsrede na pronalazak sopstvenog glasa. Skulptor Ričard Sera govori o tome kako je, kao mladi umetnik, mislio da je slikar. Živeo je u Firenci nakon studija. Dok je bio tamo, otputovao je u Madrid, gde je otišao u Prado da vidi ovu sliku španskog slikara Diega Velaskeza. Slika je iz 1656. i zove se "Las Meninas". Radi se o slici male princeze i njenih dvorskih dama i ako pogledate preko ramena te male, plave princeze, videćete ogledalo i u njemu su odrazi njenih roditelja, kralja i kraljice Španije, koji možda stoje gde vi stojite da gledate u sliku. Kao što je obično činio, Velaskez je i sebe stavio u sliku. Stoji sa leve strane sa četkicom u jednoj ruci i paletom u drugoj.
Richard Serra: I was standing there looking at it, and I realized that Velázquez was looking at me, and I thought, "Oh. I'm the subject of the painting." And I thought, "I'm not going to be able to do that painting." I was to the point where I was using a stopwatch and painting squares out of randomness, and I wasn't getting anywhere. So I went back and dumped all my paintings in the Arno, and I thought, I'm going to just start playing around.
Ričard Sara: Stajao sam tamo i gledao u nju, kada sam shvatio da Velaskez gleda u mene i tada sam pomislio: "Ja sam subjekat slike." Pomislio sam: "Neću moći da naslikam tu sliku." Došlo je do toga da sam koristio štopericu, slikao nasumično kvadrate i nisam ništa postizao. Vratio sam se i bacio sam sve svoje slike u Arno i došao na ideju da jednostavno počnem da se igram.
JB: Richard Serra says that so nonchalantly, you might have missed it. He went and saw this painting by a guy who'd been dead for 300 years, and realized, "I can't do that," and so Richard Serra went back to his studio in Florence, picked up all of his work up to that point, and threw it in a river. Richard Serra let go of painting at that moment, but he didn't let go of art. He moved to New York City, and he put together a list of verbs — to roll, to crease, to fold — more than a hundred of them, and as he said, he just started playing around. He did these things to all kinds of material. He would take a huge sheet of lead and roll it up and unroll it. He would do the same thing to rubber, and when he got to the direction "to lift," he created this, which is in the Museum of Modern Art. Richard Serra had to let go of painting in order to embark on this playful exploration that led him to the work that he's known for today: huge curves of steel that require our time and motion to experience. In sculpture, Richard Serra is able to do what he couldn't do in painting. He makes us the subject of his art. So experience and challenge and limitations are all things we need to embrace for creativity to flourish.
DžB: Ričard Sara kaže to tako nonšalantno, možda ste propustili nešto. Otišao je da vidi ovu sliku čoveka, koji je mrtav već 300 godina i shvatio: "Ne mogu ja ovo", tako da se Ričard Sera vratio u svoj studio u Firenci, pokupio sav svoj rad do tog trenutka i sve bacio u reku. Ričard Sera je u tom trenutku odustao od slikarstva, ali nije odustao od umetnosti. Preselio se u Njujork, gde je sastavio listu glagola - prevrtati, nabrati, saviti - više od stotinu glagola i kako je rekao, počeo je da se igra sa njima. Radio je ovo svim materijalima. Uzeo bi ogromnu tablu olova i uvio bi ga i odvio. Isto bi uradio sa gumom i kada je došao do uputstva "podići", napravio je ovo, što se nalazi u Muzeju moderne umetnosti. Ričard Sera je morao da odustane od slikarstva da bi se ukrcao na ovo veselo istraživanje, koje ga je dovelo do dela po kome je danas poznat: ogrome krive čelika, koje zahtevaju naše vreme i kretanje da bi se iskusile. Ričard Sera je u stanju da uradi sa skulpturom ono što nije mogao u slikarstvu. On nas čini subjektima svoje umetnosti. Iskustvo i izazov i ograničenja su sve što treba da prihvatimo da bi naša kreativnost procvetala.
There's a fourth embrace, and it's the hardest. It's the embrace of loss, the oldest and most constant of human experiences. In order to create, we have to stand in that space between what we see in the world and what we hope for, looking squarely at rejection, at heartbreak, at war, at death. That's a tough space to stand in. The educator Parker Palmer calls it "the tragic gap," tragic not because it's sad but because it's inevitable, and my friend Dick Nodel likes to say, "You can hold that tension like a violin string and make something beautiful."
Postoji četvrta stvar koju treba da prihvatimo i najteža je. Prihvatanje gubitka, najstarije i najpostojanije ljudsko iskustvo. Da bismo stvarali, moramo da stojimo u tom prostoru između onoga što vidimo u svetu i onoga čemu se nadamo i da jasno posmatramo odbijanje, slamanje srca, rat, smrt. Vrlo je teško stajati u tom prostoru. Nastavnik Parker Palmer to naziva "tragičnom provalijom", tragičnom ne zato što je tužna, već zato što je neizbežna, a moj prijatelj Dik Nodel voli da kaže: "Možeš da održavaš tu tenziju kao žicu violine i da napraviš nešto prelepo."
That tension resonates in the work of the photographer Joel Meyerowitz, who at the beginning of his career was known for his street photography, for capturing a moment on the street, and also for his beautiful photographs of landscapes -- of Tuscany, of Cape Cod, of light. Joel is a New Yorker, and his studio for many years was in Chelsea, with a straight view downtown to the World Trade Center, and he photographed those buildings in every sort of light. You know where this story goes. On 9/11, Joel wasn't in New York. He was out of town, but he raced back to the city, and raced down to the site of the destruction.
Ta tenzija rezonira u radu fotografa Džoela Majerovica, koji je na početku svoje karijere bio poznat po uličnoj fotografiji, po hvatanju trenutka na ulici, a isto tako i po prelepim fotografijama pejzaža - Toskane, Kejp Koda, svetlosti. Džoel je Njujorčanin i njegov studio se godinama nalazio u Čelsiju, sa pogledom pravo na centar grada, na Svetski trgovinski centar i fotografisao je te zgrade pod svakim mogućim svetlom. Znate u kom se pravcu ova priča kreće. 9.11. Džoel nije bio u Njujorku. Bio je van grada, ali je požurio nazad u grad i požurio je do lokacije uništenja.
Joel Meyerowitz: And like all the other passersby, I stood outside the chain link fence on Chambers and Greenwich, and all I could see was the smoke and a little bit of rubble, and I raised my camera to take a peek, just to see if there was something to see, and some cop, a lady cop, hit me on my shoulder, and said, "Hey, no pictures!" And it was such a blow that it woke me up, in the way that it was meant to be, I guess. And when I asked her why no pictures, she said, "It's a crime scene. No photographs allowed." And I asked her, "What would happen if I was a member of the press?" And she told me, "Oh, look back there," and back a block was the press corps tied up in a little penned-in area, and I said, "Well, when do they go in?" and she said, "Probably never." And as I walked away from that, I had this crystallization, probably from the blow, because it was an insult in a way. I thought, "Oh, if there's no pictures, then there'll be no record. We need a record." And I thought, "I'm gonna make that record. I'll find a way to get in, because I don't want to see this history disappear."
Džoel Mejerovic: Kao i ostali prolaznici, stajao sam izvan ograde od lanaca na uglu ulica Čejmbers i Grinič i mogao sam da vidim samo dim i malo šljunka. Podigao sam kameru da provirim, samo da vidim da li je bilo ičega, kada me je neka policajka udarila po ramenu i rekla: "Hej! Nema fotografisanja!" Bio je to tako jak udarac, da me je probudio, pretpostavljam da je bilo suđeno da se to tako desi. Kada sam je pitao zašto nema fotografisanja, rekla je: "Ovo je mesto zločina. Fotografisanje nije dozvoljeno." Tada sam je pitao: "Šta bi se desilo da sam član novinara?" Rekla mi je: "Pogledaj tamo", iza se nalazila grupa novinara, zatvorena u malom ograničenom prostoru i rekao sam: "Kada oni ulaze?", odgovorila je: "Verovatno nikada." Dok sam se udaljavao, jasno sam shvatio, verovatno od udarca jer to je na neki način bila uvreda. Pomislio sam: "Ako nema fotografisanja, onda neće biti ni zabeleške. Potrebna nam je zabeleška." Pomislio sam: "Ja ću to zabeležiti. Naći ću način da uđem jer ne želim da vidim kako istorija nestaje."
JB: He did. He pulled in every favor he could, and got a pass into the World Trade Center site, where he photographed for nine months almost every day. Looking at these photographs today brings back the smell of smoke that lingered on my clothes when I went home to my family at night. My office was just a few blocks away. But some of these photographs are beautiful, and we wondered, was it difficult for Joel Meyerowitz to make such beauty out of such devastation?
DžB: To je i uradio. Potegao je sve veze koje je mogao i nabavio propusnicu za lokaciju Svetskog trgovinskog centra, gde je devet meseci fotografisao skoro svaki dan. Dok gledam ove fotografije danas, vraća mi se miris dima koji je bio svuda po mojoj odeći kada sam uveče odlazila kući porodici. Moja kancelarija je bila samo nekoliko ulica udaljena. Međutim, neke od ovih fotografija su prelepe i zapitali smo se, da li je bilo teško Džoelu Mejerovicu da napravi takvu lepotu od takvog razaranja?
JM: Well, you know, ugly, I mean, powerful and tragic and horrific and everything, but it was also as, in nature, an enormous event that was transformed after the fact into this residue, and like many other ruins — you go to the ruins of the Colosseum or the ruins of a cathedral someplace — and they take on a new meaning when you watch the weather. I mean, there were afternoons I was down there, and the light goes pink and there's a mist in the air and you're standing in the rubble, and I found myself recognizing both the inherent beauty of nature and the fact that nature, as time, is erasing this wound. Time is unstoppable, and it transforms the event. It gets further and further away from the day, and light and seasons temper it in some way, and it's not that I'm a romantic. I'm really a realist. The reality is, there's the Woolworth Building in a veil of smoke from the site, but it's now like a scrim across a theater, and it's turning pink, you know, and down below there are hoses spraying, and the lights have come on for the evening, and the water is turning acid green because the sodium lamps are on, and I'm thinking, "My God, who could dream this up?" But the fact is, I'm there, it looks like that, you have to take a picture.
DžM: Znate, ružno, mislim, moćno i tragično i strašno i sve, ali je u isto vreme, kao u prirodi, ogroman događaj koji je pretvoren nakon tog čina u ovaj ostatak. Kao i mnoge druge ruševine - odete do ruševina Koloseuma ili do ruševina neke katedrale - i one dobiju novo značenje kada posmatrate vreme. Bilo je poslepodneva kada sam bio tamo i kada bi svetlo postalo roze, kada bi bilo magle u vazduhu i stajao bih na šutu i tada sam shvatao da prepoznajem urođenu lepotu prirode i činjenicu da priroda, kao i vreme, briše ovu ranu. Vreme se ne može zaustaviti i ono transformiše događaj. Dok dan prolazi, svetlost i godišnja doba smiruju sve ovo na neki način. Nije da sam romantičar, zapravo sam vrlo realističan. Realnost je da je Vulvort zgrada u velu dima sa ruševina, samo što je sada kao vrisak koji se razleže preko pozorišta i pretvara se u roze, niže dole gumena creva prskaju, noćna svetla su se pojavila i voda postaje zelena jer su se upalile sodijumske lampe. Tada sam pomislio: "O moj bože! Ko je mogao ovo i da zamisli?" Međutim, činjenica je da sam tamo, izgleda tako da morate da slikate.
JB: You have to take a picture. That sense of urgency, of the need to get to work, is so powerful in Joel's story. When I saw Joel Meyerowitz recently, I told him how much I admired his passionate obstinacy, his determination to push through all the bureaucratic red tape to get to work, and he laughed, and he said, "I'm stubborn, but I think what's more important is my passionate optimism."
DžB: Morate da slikate. Osećaj nužde, potrebe da počnete da radite, toliko je moćna u Džoelovoj priči. Kada sam nedavno videla Džoela Mejerovica, rekla sam mu koliko se divim njegovoj strasnoj upornosti, njegovoj odlučnosti da se suprotstavi birokratskim procedurama da bi radio, a on se nasmejao i rekao: "Tvrdoglav sam, ali mislim da je moj strastveni optimizam važniji."
The first time I told these stories, a man in the audience raised his hand and said, "All these artists talk about their work, not their art, which has got me thinking about my work and where the creativity is there, and I'm not an artist." He's right. We all wrestle with experience and challenge, limits and loss. Creativity is essential to all of us, whether we're scientists or teachers, parents or entrepreneurs.
Prvi put kada sam ispričala ove priče, jedan čovek iz publike je podigao ruku i rekao: "Svi ovi umetnici govore o svom poslu, ne o svojoj umetnosti, što me je navelo da razmišljam o mom poslu i gde je kreativnost u tome, a nisam umetnik." U pravu je. Svi se borimo sa iskustvom i izazovima, ograničenjima i gubicima. Kreativnost je ključna za sve nas, bilo da smo naučnici ili profesori, roditelji ili preduzetnici.
I want to leave you with another image of a Japanese tea bowl. This one is at the Freer Gallery in Washington, D.C. It's more than a hundred years old and you can still see the fingermarks where the potter pinched it. But as you can also see, this one did break at some point in its hundred years. But the person who put it back together, instead of hiding the cracks, decided to emphasize them, using gold lacquer to repair it. This bowl is more beautiful now, having been broken, than it was when it was first made, and we can look at those cracks, because they tell the story that we all live, of the cycle of creation and destruction, of control and letting go, of picking up the pieces and making something new. Thank you. (Applause)
Želim da vas ostavim sa još jednom slikom japanske činije za čaj. Ova je u Frir Galeriji u Vašingtonu. Stara je više od sto godina i dalje možete da vidite utisnute otiske prstiju grnčara. Ali isto tako možete da vidite da je naprsla u nekom trenutku u toku tih sto godina. Osoba koja ju je ponovo sastavila, umesto da je sakrila naprsline, odlučila je da ih naglasi koristeći zlatni lak da je popravi. Ova činija, nakon što je bila polomljena, sada je lepša nego što je bila kada je bila napravljena i možemo da gledamo te naprsline jer one pričaju priču koju svi proživljavamo, priču ciklusa stvaranja i rušenja, kontrolisanja i prepuštanja, skupljanja delova i pravljenja nečeg novog. Hvala vam. (Aplauz)