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There exists the snow, and under it are the trees, and under them lay the men and women by the thousands.
Having nothing to say you can nonetheless say something. Linguists call this open-endedness and I call it Impressionism in writing.
The French Impressionist painters used paint to capture light in its various forms, as it was found glimmering off clouds and trees and so on. For the Impressionists, the only reality to be painted from was that which they themselves perceived. A scene would imprint an impression upon the Impressionist's mind, and that subjective impression would be transferred onto canvas, still retaining its subjective nature in the process.
Finding yourself writing in this fashion, you would not question why light has come off this or that way from this or that object, you are not concerned about whether it is right or wrong for it to look yellow or green or blue. It is the way it looks to you; in other words it is the impression left in your mind by the thoughts going through it, and you transfer it onto paper.
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Like a train gone wizzing by...
Posted Sep 10, 2008
You were on the something, and it was starting to take form. Though it really should be, writing isn't often compared to visual art. I liked where this was going.
As Justin mentioned, too short. That was really the problem with it. I just couldn't grasp it, or dive into it because t... (
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