Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
– Samuel Beckett
Is language a destructive force that taints? Is it one that must be reined in, a loose cannon in the night, a flock of birds in an empty field?
If this becomes our perspective, we must move with more caution than we care to have. The creative impulse is flattened, and language becomes a step, a mystic dance, and we are the outsiders.
Or, do we see language as a constructive force? Do we still use it — only when necessary — but move through it delicately? Do we approach language like a block of marble that hides a statue? Do we consider language as a grand removal, a process of creation that is only possible for those who know what not to include?
I see language as pre-existent, lurking behind every object, every event, every unseeable thing. When we use language properly, we approach an object, and we begin to draft it. We remove everything non-essential to it, we strip it down, and sometimes we take away its flesh by mistake. It’s a process that is only guided by practice, but a process that matures over time.
Beautiful language is in every word unspoken. It’s in every sentence not written.
And, then… it’s in the remainder.