It’s a bit like writing a play, it occurs to me, the stuff I’m doing at the moment. An idea for a character presents itself, semi-formed, and the act of drawing it into the light defines it. Herein lies both Art and craft. You push it back into the shadows; you draw it out again into the light.
And over time scenes form around it.
As in story, character and event are not separate. Character suggests event and event suggests character. They require one another and cannot exist alone. And they are defined by the subtlest and most complex of codes. When a work is successful, minute acts of precision (marks; words) comprise to make a whole that is at once their sum and bigger than it.
Art can be described satisfactorily through no external language, with no external lexicon. It is its own justification. Its truth exists within the mechanics of its telling.
For this reason Art towers like a giant above its critics who can barely see its feet.