The hard part is how to plan a picture so as to give to others what has happened to you. To render in paint an experience, to suggest the sense of light and color, of air and space.

The gap between feeling and showing

There's something deceptively simple about what Parrish is describing—and it's something anyone who's tried to explain a feeling to someone else has run up against. You have this vivid, complete experience locked in your head: the exact quality of afternoon light through a window, how a place made you feel, the specific texture of a moment. Then you try to share it, and words feel flimsy. A photo doesn't quite capture it. Even if you're a painter, the technical challenge of translating sensation into something someone else can actually feel becomes the real work.

The sneaky part is that this applies way beyond visual art. Writers struggle with it constantly—how do you make someone understand loneliness or joy through text? Musicians chase it when they're trying to capture a mood. Even in everyday life, we're constantly failing to convey our inner weather to the people around us. We say "you had to be there," which is just admitting the gap between experience and communication is almost impossible to close.

But here's what Parrish understood: the effort to bridge that gap—even though it's hard, even though it's never perfect—is the whole point. The struggle to render something true from your interior life and make it visible to others is what connects us.