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
Whatever is felt upon the page without being specifically named there β that, one might say, is created.
Interpretation
The unexpressed emotions in writing contribute to its creative power.
Willa Cather suggests that the essence of creativity lies not just in explicit descriptions but also in the emotions and feelings that resonate through the text. When a reader can sense what is felt on the page, even if it is not directly stated, the work becomes alive with artistic expression, enabling a deeper connection between the writer and the reader.
In practice
In a workshop on creative writing, you might say this quote to emphasize the importance of emotional resonance in storytelling.
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.
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.
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.
Great art picks up where nature ends.
The trap into which all writers have, will, or should fall into, of writing The Great American Watchamacallit, is such an uncluttered and inviting one that from time to time I'm sure even the greatest have to pull themselves up short by the Shift key to remind themselves that it is story first that they should write.
Classical - perhaps I should say 'orchestral' - music is so digital, so cut up, rhythmically, pitchwise and in terms of the roles of the musicians. It's all in little boxes. The reason you get child prodigies in chess, arithmetic, and classical composition is that they are all worlds of discontinuous, parceled-up possibilities.
I make pictures and someone comes in and calls it art.
No - Kajol can never go anywhere. Kajol is absolutely hearts and minds and memories and silloys for ever and ever. I think if I was to, I wouldn't be exaggerating I if say in our times of film-making she's a beautiful living legend.
Every authentic work of art is a gift offered to the future.
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