The Ephemerality of Gingerbread Houses
One of the things I love about stories – particularly myths – is that they can grow inside you. They’re expansive and engulfing, leaping off the page and turning into something full and exciting as you put them into your mind. Writing lets me take that experience and leave behind a record can reawaken that story if ever it goes dormant.
But there are lots of experiences for which this isn’t so easy. You can’t really capture the experience of a live performance in a recording. You’ll watch it later or look at photos and it won’t be the same. You can remember the ephemeral experience of a particular dance, the delivery of a line, or a moment of harmonization, but you’ll be grasping after a fading image, elated for a while, but eventually, mourning its loss. It’s not impossible to keep a hold on it, but it’s harder.
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