i love what is left unsaid in poetry, story, dance, art.
my artist friends tell me that there is a culture of belief among traditional Asian artists that each piece of art must have an line that sweeps off the page, representing the eternal quality of art.
it is this sweeping line of eternity that we feel in the empty spaces between the lines of poetry or in what remains untold in a story.
i heard li-young lee speak a few years ago and he talked about how man needed to invent flying buttresses in order to capture the thrill of the height of heaven. that without the illusion of upward space, created by what wasn’t there, we didn’t feel the vastness of sky.
i have never forgotten that. i hope it permeates my stories – the loss and mystery of souls only partially revealed – like heaven not yet fully known.