It’s necessary to transform pain into art. To give form to suffering.
Even if it’s just a common “wringing one’s hands in despair”. This
is also a convention of pain. Without convention there is no art.
At the same time it’s humiliating not to be able to speak
directly, to scream, to weep. It’s not enough.
Anna Kamieńska, from The Notebook (1968), in Astonishments, translated by Grazyna Drabik and David Curzon (via growing-orbits)