Irfan Horozovic

Every moment in such circumstances means something. As we try to understand, we find ourselves in the vicinity of both message and inspiration. I thought, of course, about the manuscripts I was working on before the hand of destiny started to drag me from the hospital ward to the operating theater and back again. I saw in those things nothing but sorrow, because I would have to part from them with such difficulty. There is no deceit or surprise at such moments. The picture of life is clear. At least, it was in my case. You don’t learn anything that you didn’t know already: you just become aware of it in a different way; if “awareness” is the right word.

There are writers who do their research and who achieve self-knowledge in a world that is familiar to them, in terms of their own style or in the context of one of the literary “isms”. Those who mechanically or opportunistically follow the “isms” belong to the most crowded field in the arts – mannerism.
Since I was young, I’ve always thought in pictures when I write. I continue to believe that a literary picture – for example, a picture of a remembered event – can contain within it an entire philosophy, an entire view of the cosmos. Conveying how this event is seen may be a precious literary moment, something that connects us with the very roots of spirituality.