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 of man; for it is everywhere and nowhere, and every spot in space and time where man has set up his work is unsurpassable. And now I really cannot tell whether a portrait by Rembrandt is more perfect than a dancing mask from the Gold Coast; I have seen too much. We, too, must equal Rembrandt or mask from the Gold or Ivory Coast; there is no progress, there is no “above” or “below”; there is only an unendingly new creativeness. This is the only lesson to be learnt from the history, cultures, collections and treasures of the whole world: create like savages, create perpetually; at this spot, in this moment, the acme of perfection of human work is to be created; it is necessary to mount as high as fifty thousand years ago or as in the Gothic Madonna, or as in that stormy landscape by Constable. If there are ten thousand traditions, there is no tradition at all; nothing can be selected from all-abundance; the only thing that can be done is to add to it something previously nonexistent. Rh