Elizabeth Archers
condensation
Clarity is a grand thing and I love it, but it’s so unforgiving. What it gives in precision, it loses in nuance. Clarity is all blade and no brush; all logic, no romance.
Give me a bit of friendly blur. Let the hard lines dissolve, let the rough surfaces go smooth, let the lucid become ambiguous. There is room in the wooly vagueness of blur, room for interpretation and guessing, room for approximation. Room for error. Let’s not underestimate the importance of error in art and life. In clarity there is one correct answer and no tolerance for mistakes; in ambiguity there are no correct answers, and sometimes mistakes can lead you in unexpected directions.
What we have here is mystery, and mystery is the enemy of clarity. What we have here is soft, spoon-fed light and dim suggestions of form. What we have here is very literally nebulous, a cloudy patch in the night sky, ill-defined but full of stars.
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