Better left for imagination. Avoid the richer texture leaving little to refine.
Better eliminate the extra context that unnecessarily deviates cognition.
Cannot coalesce the already decomposed. Spare me the detail. Spare the instructions. Leave for the posterior, pastoral labor. Let sear.
Which might corroborate my slight preference for Schoenberg and Ligeti over Stravinsky and Prokofiev; the heavy for Stravinsky and Prokofiev over Khachaturian or Myaskovsky; Sun Ra and Pharoah Sanders over Archie Shepp (whom I appreciate more than Sanders) and Ornette Coleman (otherwise as good as my favourite); any of the former over Davis and Coltrane; and the latter over most.
Micro-polyphony, microtonal, harmelodics, frippetronics over highly distinguished polyphony and harmonics. Atonal over diatonic. Less chords, more abrupt tempo changes.
Black and white photography leaves more for ambiguity than color photography. As does French symbolism over romantic pastiche.
Leonora Carrington paintings bewitch me. The obscure folklore tread hopelessly beyond my comprehension. Carrington rises over the dense and the denser Pieter Bruegel the Elder or Hieronymus Bosch debaucheries. However busy, the Flemish Renaissance school feels more familiar. And that being such, the Carrington obliqueness does nothing but appeal.
In the same wise Ezra Pound better reconciles than Walt Whitman, Мандельштам than Бальмонт, and Маяковский by some imprecise superlative measure than Бунин.
I rather read a play than see a play; and hear a ballet than see one.
But the best dialogue is no dialogue; little dialogue triumphs over heavy dialogue; though good heavy dialogue quells awkward and superfluous dialogue.
Questions, comments? Connect.