Currently Reading In Our Time By Ernest Hemingway see related

Whenever I am reading Hemingway, the scenes he describes appear as bold paintings by Picasso in my mind. Hemingway's words and Picasso's images both have the same cutting effect on me; after I read The Sun Also Rises just as after I first saw "Guernica" I felt as if I had been flailed alive. Their art is confusing and disconcerting, and painful, mustn't forget painful. They take beauty and twist it to painful ugliness, and they take the hideous and horrifying and twist it into something excruciatingly beautiful. At some point it all becomes so indistinguishable that there is a moment of stabbing clarity. I don't like it at all.