Oliver Onions,
Widdershins — Hic Jacet
(1911)
“ Flashing and life-like as was the presentation on the canvas (mind you, I was not looking at it, but all the time at my own hand) , it was dead paint by comparison with that mental image which I saw (if I may so use a term of which custom has restricted the meaning to one kind of seeing) as plainly as I ever saw Andriaovsky in his life. I know now that it was by virtue of that essential essence that bound us heart and brain and soul together that I so saw him, eyes glittering, head sardonically wagging, fine mouth shaping phrases of insight and irony. ”
