A translator who says they merely carried a text across is either being modest or was not paying attention. Translation is a column of choices, and every choice is simultaneously an assertion: this word, here, means this.
You see it most clearly where the original is ambiguous. Ambiguity is often the most valuable part of a text — and it is precisely the part translation cannot hold. The translator has to decide. The reader then inherits that decision as though it had been in the text all along.
Two bad exits
The first is the literal translation, which keeps the form and loses the sense. It defends itself on grounds of fidelity, but it is faithful only to the surface.
The second is the free translation, which keeps the sense as the translator understood it. It usually reads better. It is also usually a different text.
In both cases the translator is making a claim. The difference is only whether they admit it.
What we do here
At tan, pieces are written in both languages rather than translated between them. This is not a more honest method — only a different one. It replaces the question what does this word mean in the other language? with how is this thought said here?
The answers often diverge. The Georgian version is sometimes shorter, sometimes reaches for a different example, sometimes opens on an entirely different paragraph. That is not an error and not carelessness. It is an admission that a language is not a vessel you pour meaning into.
There is an old view that a good translation is invisible. I believe the opposite: a good translation is transparent. You can see that somebody worked, and you can see where it was hard.