What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
Willa CatherRead
Writing ought either to be the manufacture of stories for which there is a market demand - a business as safe and commendable as making soap or breakfast foods - or it should be an art, which is always a search for something for which there is no market demand, something new and untried, where the values are intrinsic and have nothing to do with standardized values.
Interpretation
Writing can either be a commercially driven activity or an artistic pursuit focused on creativity and intrinsic value.
Willa Cather's quote emphasizes the dual nature of writing: it can be a pragmatic endeavor aimed at fulfilling market demands, akin to producing common goods like soap or breakfast foods, or it can be a profound artistic expression driven by the quest for innovation and originality, independent of commercial considerations. This highlights the tension between commercial viability and artistic integrity in the literary world.
In practice
In a writing workshop discussing the balance between commercial writing and creative projects.
What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
That is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great.
Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches.
The air and the earth interpenetrated in the warm gusts of spring; the soil was full of sunlight, and the sunlight full of red dust. The air one breathed was saturated with earthy smells, and the grass under foot had a reflection of the blue sky in it.
This is reality, whether you like it or not--all those frivolities of summer, the light and shadow, the living mask of green that trembled over everything, they were lies, and this is what was underneath. This is the truth.
Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.
Humans like stories. Humans need stories. Stories are good. Stories work. Story clarifies and captures the essence of the human spirit. Story, in all its forms—of life, of love, of knowledge—has traced the upward surge of mankind. And story, you mark my words, will be with the last human to draw breath.
This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy.
To paint is the most terrific thing that there is, but to do it well is very difficult.
I think one of the reasons that I like fiction versus nonfiction is that I myself can kind of disappear from the story.
When I look at a body it gives me choice of what to put in a painting, what will suit me and what won't. There is a distinction between fact and truth. Truth has an element of revelation about it. If something is true, it does more than strike one as merely being so.
When I'm writing a book, you can't think about your audience. You're going to be in big trouble if you think about it. You're got to write from deep inside.
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