This is a term I’ve heard often, as one of the goals of art, without really understanding it. I think I’ve figured out at least some of it now. Stay with me.
I think I was 22 or so when my daughter, Carolyn, became seriously ill (and thank you Dr. Edlavitch!). My wife and I were terrified. I remember sitting in the waiting room, as frightened as I had ever been. I put my hand up the back of my wife’s shirt, and she glared at me, and told me this wasn’t the time to get sexual.
Of course, I wasn’t getting sexual; I was scared and needed human contact, especially hers.
But here’s the thing: I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that. Looking back now, it seems so silly, the words were easy. “It’s not about sex. I’m scared and I need touch.” She’d have understood that. But at the time, the words just weren’t anywhere to be found.
How did I come to find them later, so that I could look back, remember the incident, and express what I was then feeling? Because I read a lot. Because, over the years, I had come across these feelings that brilliant writers had been able to find the words for. I think the more we read, and especially the more we read good stuff, the more we are able to draw on those shared experiences that artists have found ways to express.
That is one thing that good art can do: it can give us insights to complex emotions and help us find ways to express them. I think that is one of the highest goals of art.
(Originally posted on my patreon)