8/8/2019 On the Art of Writing

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On the Art of Writing

To express the inexpressible. Does more need to be said? Its relatively easy to expressthe obvious, the linear, the literal, that which the eyes see, the ears hear, the mouthspeaks. This happens, then something else happens. There may or may not beconnections between the two. No matter, its straightforward to describe. And in much oflife, or at least in simple literature, you dont have to stretch to imagine what comes next.Man steps into street. Brakes screech. Bystanders run to help. There may be any numberof branches to this simple little story, and depending on what comes next, its easy tofollow them in your imagination. The man dies, his widow grieves, the evil landlord triesto evict, she finds help or a job and fights the noble fight to victory. Or not.

These may be the bare bones of narrative, but wheres the art? For that matter, whatmakes art art, and is it an important part of human expression, maybe even a necessaryone?

See, youre nodding, Yes, yes. Art is necessary. Art is important. We know this

instinctively, most of us. Is the air we breath important to us? Art sustains us in waysother experiences cant. More, the best of it seems to plant some kind of seed in ourminds and our imaginations that were not even aware of and which, often much later,grows into new perceptions, new values, new ways of experiencing, new eyes and ears.And we are transformed and inexpressibly enlivened by this growth.

Theres that word again inexpressible. That which cannot be expressed. Not directly,at least; one reason there seem as many definitions of art as there are people trying tograsp it.

Which suggests to me that trying to define it must be a fools mission at best adistraction from the more worthy task of creating it, or the more satisfying task ofexperiencing someone elses creation of it.

Successful creative writing, it seems to me, is finding a balance between the art and thecraft of written expression; using words to open doors in our minds, using our naturaltendency to parse, to make sense, to rationally understand experience, and once we standmentally and emotionally exposed, to slip through the invisible knife, the sliver of ice, theinfinitely small seed of explosive potential we call art. Imagine if you will a surgeon,using the finest tools of science and rational thought, of intellect, to open a small place inyour brain and place there a tiny seed that, years later, will sprout and infiltrate your mindand turn you into a magician, someone of exponentially greater intelligence andcompassion.

To be reflective for just a moment: this tiny essay is an exercise in rationality, in the craftof writing. It very briefly attempts to describe and to explicate. It also indulges in just abit of imaginative fantasy the surgeon, the scalpel, the seed, the magical outcome. But Iask you, does it contain, even to the smallest degree, any measure of Art?