If I close my eyes and imagine a filmmaker, a figure appears with a tool in its hands. It’s a long stick, with a mesh at its end. And with it, he tries to catch the right shape, the butterfly, the image to say what it means, to share the idea, the story, the emotion that hit him. This tool could also be called writing. A writing that is many writings and that appears, disappears and reappears throughout the creative process, constantly reinventing itself. A writing that comes and goes between intuition and intention, that loses and gets lost, that gives and is given. That concentrates on the search rather than on what it finds, that relies on what it knows, but prefers the unknown and the elusive. A living writing, complicit, made to transform and be transformed.
The point is understanding its nature, measuring its limits, seeing where to go through it, surrounding it, understanding how to give it time and power, learning to shape it, listening to it and even betraying it when necessary.
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