I've been following this thread, rather like Theseus in the labyrinth. I tied one end to the doorpost and set off, sword in hand, but I'm still unravelling it and I haven't got to the middle yet. No whiff of the minotaur and, so far, not even much bullshit.
I wonder if there is a single answer. There are probably as many "freshes" as there are people pondering them. You mentioned me as an example at the very beginning. I was touched by that and I feel I owe you a contribution to the argument.
Once pushed for a self-definition (at which I now cringe a little) I described myself as a "subjective realist". On reflection, it seems to me that subjectivity might be the clue to freshness. A singular eye, sending its observation to a self-oriented brain, producing work that seeks to convince others of the sudden rightness of its interpretation. That shared suddenness might startle, offend or amuse, all of which might be forms of freshness.
Or, to put it another way, the degree of freshness might perhaps depend on how far up oneself the "inspiration" is to be found.
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Last edited by Ann Drysdale; 06-07-2021 at 03:25 AM.
Reason: reinstated an "of" between "forms" and "freshness", which had slipped out unnoticed and fallen on the floor.
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