I love a fine glass of wine: the better the wine, the better my appreciation. I also believe having a really fine glass of wine enhances my spirit. I’ve consumed lesser wine, but when I do it causes me to appreciate fine wine all the more.
For me, it’s the same with art. I appreciate art that is beautiful. The very personal and almost indefinable factors of beauty I enjoy—based upon my personal taste, education and experience—cause me to want to pause, reflect, and consume fine art with my consciousness in much the same way that I enjoy fine wine with my palate. And I believe that beautiful art—in the same way as fine wine—enhances my spirit.
Do I enjoy less beautiful art? (After all, I am a defender of the idea that anything can be art.) The answer is yes and no. I enjoy less beautiful art when the idea behind the art is interesting, beautifully expressed or the art is well made. I don’t enjoy ugly art, art based upon poor or under developed ideas, or art that is not well made.
Insofar as this is so, I can appreciate Duchamp while at the same time appreciating Rembrandt. The only redeeming quality poor art possesses so far as I’m concerned is that it causes me to appreciate better art (faster and with great haste so as to cleanse my intellectual palate, like eating something to rid my mouth of the taste of bad wine).
When I say these things aloud it causes a lot of my artist friends and art acquaintances to cringe. I’ve been told I’m an art snob. Really? None of us are all that different. We can eat at McDonalds or dine at Brennan’s. We can listen to music composed for the video game Mario Brothers (dink dink dink dinkly dink dink until I think my brain will bleed) or experience Mozart and Beethoven. We can watch a Monster Truck Rally or Midnight in Paris. Some might prefer one over the other, but I think we all know the difference—some things are just finer than others. So, I suppose there’s some justification to me being called a snob.
Nevertheless, I merely appreciate finer things even if I also regularly consume more mundane fare. After all, the wine I prefer to drink or the restaurants at which I’d like to dine are prohibitively expensive. Beauty is certainly a matter of taste, or of individual preference, but it is, to me, preferable to ugliness, cheapness, or shoddiness. Beauty, quite simply, is cause for celebration and a source of personal enjoyment. I do not at all mean to imply that all art must be beautiful. I only say that, for me, the experience of beauty in a work of art is refreshment for my soul.
For me, it’s the same with art. I appreciate art that is beautiful. The very personal and almost indefinable factors of beauty I enjoy—based upon my personal taste, education and experience—cause me to want to pause, reflect, and consume fine art with my consciousness in much the same way that I enjoy fine wine with my palate. And I believe that beautiful art—in the same way as fine wine—enhances my spirit.
Do I enjoy less beautiful art? (After all, I am a defender of the idea that anything can be art.) The answer is yes and no. I enjoy less beautiful art when the idea behind the art is interesting, beautifully expressed or the art is well made. I don’t enjoy ugly art, art based upon poor or under developed ideas, or art that is not well made.
Insofar as this is so, I can appreciate Duchamp while at the same time appreciating Rembrandt. The only redeeming quality poor art possesses so far as I’m concerned is that it causes me to appreciate better art (faster and with great haste so as to cleanse my intellectual palate, like eating something to rid my mouth of the taste of bad wine).
When I say these things aloud it causes a lot of my artist friends and art acquaintances to cringe. I’ve been told I’m an art snob. Really? None of us are all that different. We can eat at McDonalds or dine at Brennan’s. We can listen to music composed for the video game Mario Brothers (dink dink dink dinkly dink dink until I think my brain will bleed) or experience Mozart and Beethoven. We can watch a Monster Truck Rally or Midnight in Paris. Some might prefer one over the other, but I think we all know the difference—some things are just finer than others. So, I suppose there’s some justification to me being called a snob.
Nevertheless, I merely appreciate finer things even if I also regularly consume more mundane fare. After all, the wine I prefer to drink or the restaurants at which I’d like to dine are prohibitively expensive. Beauty is certainly a matter of taste, or of individual preference, but it is, to me, preferable to ugliness, cheapness, or shoddiness. Beauty, quite simply, is cause for celebration and a source of personal enjoyment. I do not at all mean to imply that all art must be beautiful. I only say that, for me, the experience of beauty in a work of art is refreshment for my soul.