“‘You should only read what is truly good or what is frankly bad.’ – Gertrude Stein” — Hemingway
Writing is a matter of taste, criticism a manner of penetration.
Criticism forces you to see outside the frame. It forces. You. To look.
And yet it’s in the writing. It’s in the frame. Behind it, in fact: “Between the lines.” Like so many dots making up a picture.
Many have said art is a beautiful lie. Kees van Dongen. Claude Debussy. Jared Leto. A critic for life, Godard famously said, “Photography is truth. The cinema is truth twenty-four times per second.” Infamously he said, “Every edit is a lie.”
But Rodin, who did not think much of photography nor of criticism, said, “It is the artist who is truthful and it is photography which lies, for in reality time does not stop, and if the artist succeeds in producing the impression of a movement which takes several moments for accomplishment, his work is certainly much less conventional than the scientific image, where time is abruptly suspended.”