Metaphors or on language’s window to the soul

A friend of mine was recounting an anecdote she heard before, and mentioned how it was the metaphor of a deep well inside that really made her connect her own story to the one being told. It was such a sweet moment to witness, and of course I took it way out of context and starting thinking about style vs art in film, and the rigidity and fluidity of language.

What Dreams May Come, 1998

My filmschool tutor said on our first day ‘structure is a step towards freedom‘.

Sometimes, when you get really good at structure, you become a “sell-out”. Nobody wants to be a sell-out because if you did people would instead call you a success story.

When do we stay true to our vision as artists and when do we adapt our work to be more accessible to the world? And those life visions will ultimately have to be translated into words and character limits.

Learning French grammar back in high school taught me that rules are meant to be broken. And still, we knew that its was pointless to try and learn all of the irregular conjugations.

Sometimes, you just have to live somewhere to understand its figures of speech, and keep track of its language and slangs too.

Whenever I worry about whether a writing or editing decision is too much inspired by someone, not academic enough, too late, too fast, too flowery, I remember that it’s those little flecks that make me pass the Turing test.

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