Saturday, May 9, 2009


Have been thinking more or less on art and what it means to be an artist. The artist who creates with words, rather. Imaginative writing. Whether it stands solidly up there with the other arts, and the infinite different nuances we evoke with language. The trials of the master artificer, the unfathomable hours of ingesting new words and new ideas, piecing them together randomly, ever so patiently, always one step behind an epiphany.

With all this in mind, I've begun to entertain a suspicion that the greatest writing--the very best collections of words--is not really writing, per se, but art. Intricate patterns pressed into words. And just as there can be no living person free of prejudices and biases, no piece of imaginative writing is free of style. Perhaps no writing is free of style. This makes all the more a marvel a great work of fiction. It also leaves me to ponder whether or not language was actually the first form of art, instead of music or drawings. Certainly a few neanderthal men uttered a last poetic plea before being pounced upon by a saber-tooth tiger.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home