Words Words Words

On By Mick CanningIn Fiction, Painting, words, writing

Words are abstractions. The word ‘leaf’ can conjure up a million different images, but fails to describe any single one of them. One needs a hundred – a thousand – or more words to just come close to a perfect description, but even then it falls short.

In the well-known phrase, a picture paints a thousand words, but you would need many more than that to accurately describe said picture. We still think largely in pictures – naturally, we would have evolved that way. In the days before we had language our thoughts would inevitably have been composed of images. We may put words to these images as we think them, but they are still there. When we think through a plan of action, or instructions, for example, we tend to accompany those words with visual imagery. Even if we are engaged in mathematical reasoning or language learning, I think we tend to visualise those figures or words as we work. And when we dream, our dreams are overwhelmingly visual.

My copy of the Georgia O’Keeffe Painting Yellow Hickory Leaves with Daisy

But sometimes, even as a writer and compulsive note taker, I can get so absorbed into a landscape that I have no wish to try to describe it, no matter how many words I might use. I just want to observe it, to be in it. Words feel redundant. And I’ve said this before, but this sort of compulsion to record things, or photograph them, feels like a way to try to own them.

And words are noise. More than noise. They get in the way and distract from what they are representing. They are like the finger pointing at the moon in the Buddhist parable, where ironically attention is drawn to the finger, rather than the moon which the finger is attempting to draw our attention to. The famous painting by Rene Magritte The Treachery of images pictures a pipe with the writing: ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’ beneath. But it is this very caption which names it.

Conversely, though, a single word can suggest an entire world. Sometimes their power isn’t so much in their ability to define something, but their ability to conjure images and memories seemingly from nothing. Like an incantation. And each word contains maybe hundreds of meanings and nuances, different meanings to different people. I am reminded of two of Borges’ short stories: The Mirror and the Mask, and Undr. In the first story, a court poet reduces the literature of Ireland to a single line, and in the second a fictional Nordic people have a poetry that consists entirely of one seemingly mystical word, Undr (although, naturally, it’s not quite as simple as that…). And this makes me think of the importance of the spaces between the notes in music, and the rests – we need the spaces between the words to think. To listen properly.

Over the years I have been drawn to painting or photography, or to writing, depending on what I want to say. To draw attention to the way the dawn light strikes the tops of the trees, for example, undoubtedly the visual arts are best. But to describe the anguish experienced before taking an important decision then clearly words are required. But note that in each case, it would be possible to get results with the other forms. And poetry frequently straddles them all.

And then there is the myth that God has a name not known to anyone – His real name, from which all His power is derived, and which must remain secret. For once a name is known, it loses its power.

Words are illuminating, words are abstractions, words are dangerous, words are treacherous.

Words are overused, like this…

25 thoughts on “Words Words Words”

  2. What you have said here is interesting. I hadn’t thought about the use of words and the visual arts to achieve different goals but now that you’ve said this, it makes perfect sense. Visuals arts best describe visual sights. Emotions are secondary although they can be captured powerfully. Perhaps it’s those instances when emotion is captured as a photograph that the photograph is it’s most powerful

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  4. This is an interesting post, thank you. It is often difficult to find the word we are looking for to describe a visual image – and that image could mean different things to dfferent people. It also made me think about the way we choose our words can have a lasting impact – they can wound and destroy, but also build bridges, comfort and encourage. And we should choose our words carefully.

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    1. Powerful things, words, yes. They can start wars or love affairs, and they’re quite good for ordering a couple of beers. Where would we be without them? Thanks, Pauline. Hope all is well where you are and not a fire risk.

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  5. Your painting is beautiful, Mick. I may have missed the daisy if you hadn’t mentioned it or I hadn’t seen the name of the painting. You’re right about words sometimes feeling like noise. Especially, when you’re observing something beautiful
    and are absorbed by it then words do get in the way. But at times, words are all we have to describe a feeling or make others understand what we want to say because art or a photograph can mean different things to different people.
    About the name of the God, I was just reading Dawn Pisturino’s book on Ancient Egypt. There is a myth that talks about not knowing the God’s name lest He should lose his strength.

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  7. Thanks for this post, Mick. As both a photographer and a writer (and a would-be poet!) I understand the strange dichotomy you refer to. I’ve discovered that my daily walks in the forest that surrounds our home I am sometimes drawn to the visual and thus take photographs. But I am equally often drawn to the natural silence that allows my mind to dwell both on the current WIP and on other forming ideas for stories. So, that natural environment brings me a form of comfort for both the literary and the visual aspects of creativity.

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  8. Some time ago I watched a gardening program that explored [very briefly] Japanese ideas about how gardens should be created. In truth it was more about how /beauty/ is created, and the thing that struck me was that they have a word/concept for the spaces between. I can’t remember what they called this concept, but your ‘we need the spaces between the words to think. To listen properly’ really resonated.

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    1. The Japanese seem to have words for many things that we don’t. I’m going to have to read about that. I also think the spaces between the words can represent what remains unsaid, but maybe that’s going a little too deep.

      Yes, they call it Ma, representing negative space, meaningful absence. ‘A pregnant space filled with potential and meaning’. I love that!

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      1. Yes! That’s it. Isn’t it a glorious concept? I think we do use Ma in writing. I think it’s there when we trust that the Reader has the imagination to see all the things that we may hint at but never say. Actually ‘hint’ is possibly too strong. I think we suggest and hope the Reader can fill in the gaps. 🙂

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          1. Me too, Mick. It’s odd but having come to fiction via tech writing, I literally had to unlearn most of what I knew. Thank goodness I had such wonderful teachers in the classics. Was still a 9 year learning curve. lol

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