To see the Ouroboros eating its tail, perhaps it represents the creative process feeding on memory. No accident perhaps, the Ouroboros is seen eating the part furthest from its head (self), or the earliest memories. No accident again, the Ouroboros is never seen at any stage further than the first devouring of itself, a representation of…
To see the Ouroboros eating its tail, perhaps it represents the creative process feeding on memory. No accident perhaps, the Ouroboros is seen eating the part furthest from its head (self), or the earliest memories. No accident again, the Ouroboros is never seen at any stage further than the first devouring of itself, a representation of sustained creativity. Writing a novel requires stamina, first to get it out, then to revise it again and again, over and over until you can't see it any more, to put it away, and do something else for a while, coming back to it with a little objectivity, revising again and again, finally finishing it, sending it out, hearing nothing or something back, starting on a new novel, repeating the process, always your own method, but mostly in common with everyone who writes or composes or paints, or simply sits and thinks, with imagination harnessed to memory, descending, mining the seam of gold, the seam of silver, perhaps an opal or rarer the uncut diamond, bringing it to the surface, working there to bring out its lustre. Ouroboros may not be eating its tail, rather it may be sucking on it for comfort in the hard world where it's been placed.
To see the Ouroboros eating its tail, perhaps it represents the creative process feeding on memory. No accident perhaps, the Ouroboros is seen eating the part furthest from its head (self), or the earliest memories. No accident again, the Ouroboros is never seen at any stage further than the first devouring of itself, a representation of sustained creativity. Writing a novel requires stamina, first to get it out, then to revise it again and again, over and over until you can't see it any more, to put it away, and do something else for a while, coming back to it with a little objectivity, revising again and again, finally finishing it, sending it out, hearing nothing or something back, starting on a new novel, repeating the process, always your own method, but mostly in common with everyone who writes or composes or paints, or simply sits and thinks, with imagination harnessed to memory, descending, mining the seam of gold, the seam of silver, perhaps an opal or rarer the uncut diamond, bringing it to the surface, working there to bring out its lustre. Ouroboros may not be eating its tail, rather it may be sucking on it for comfort in the hard world where it's been placed.
Enjoy these different perspectives, thanks for sharing!