Nothin is dead, except in the imagination. Miller y la silla de Brassai

"I think of a Chair, because among all the objects which Brassai has photographed his chair with the wire legs stands out with a majesty that is singular and disquieting. It is a chair of the lowest denomination, a chair which has been sat on by beggars and by royalty, by little trot-about whores, and by queenly opera divas. It is a chair with the municipality rents daily to any and every one twho whishes to pay fifty centimes for sitting down on the open air. A chair with littles holes in the seat and wired legs which come to a loop at the button. The most unostentatious, the most inexpensive, the most ridiculous, if a chair can be ridiculous, which could be devised. Brassai chose precisely this insignificant chair and, snapping it where he founded, unearthed what there was in it of dignitiy and veracity. This is a CHAIR. Nothing More. No sentimentalist about the lovely backside which once graced it, no romanticism about the lunatics who fabricated it, no statistic about the hours of sweat and anguish that when went into the creation of it, no sarcasm about the era which produced it, no odious comparisons with chairs of other days, no humbug about the dreams of the idlers who monopolize it, no scorn for the nakedness of it, no gratitude either. (...)
On such a day there is visible in the stalest object a promised, a hope, a possibility. Nothin is dead, except in the imagination. Animated or inanimated all bodies under the sun give expressions to their vitality.  Especially on a fine day in Spring!(...)"

Henry Miller, The Wisdom of the Heart