Perhaps first a bit on my current concept of beauty and reality; we will see how this changes over the course of this review!
It is impossible to achieve objectivity. Truly, the world is only what we want it to be. Our visions are plagued and blessed by selection to the extent that our blindspots are innumerable. Alas, our perceptions are sculpted by the hands of literature and of media and our worldviews are but the produced brainchild of an amalgamation of selected beams that we have allowed to structure the house of our minds. Since this is so, I endeavor to make my worldview as beautiful as possible through literature! For beauty only exists because we have decided so; everything is a social construct built by decades, centuries, and millennia of selective human thought. Nature is beautiful because we feel overwhelmed by the dynamic clouds of the sunset and the precision of the streams which run like veins through the mountains. Beauty exists because we appreciate it.
Ok lol done
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and art exists solely because we as humans see and create. In the case, is the world itself art?
> Art…keeps between herself and reality the impenetrable barrier of beautiful style, of decorative or ideal treatment.
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> Truth is entirely and absolutely a matter of style.
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> The Nihilist, that strange martyr who has no faith, who goes to the stake for something he does not believe in, is a purely literary product.
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the critic as an artist
> To give an accurate description of what has never occurred is not merely the proper occupation of the historian, but the inalienable privilege of any of parts and culture.
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> Literature [is] the perfect expression of life
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> By its curiosity Sin increases the experience of the race. Through its intensified assertion of individualism, it saves us from the monotony of type.
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> What is action? It dies at the moment of its energy.
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> The statue is concentrated to one moment of perfection. The image stained upon the canvas possesses no spiritual element of growth or change. If they know nothing of death, it is because they know little of life, for the secrets of life and death belong to those, and those only, whom the sequence of time affects, who who posses s not merely the present but the future, and can rise or fall from a past of glory or of shame. Movement, the problem of the visible arts, can be truly realized by Literature alone.
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> [on the critic[: His sole aim is to chronicle his own impressions. It is for him that pictures are painted, books written, and marble hewn into form… For the Highest Criticism deals with art not as expressive but as impressive purely.
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> And so the picture becomes more wonderful to us than it really is, and reveals to us a secret of which, in truth, it knows nothing, and the music of the mystical prose is as sweet in our ears.”
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> For when the ideal is realized, it is robbed of its wonder and its mystery, and becomes simply a new starting point for an ideal that is other than itself. This is the reason why music is the perfect type of art. Music can never reveal its ultimate secret.
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It is not difficult to see beauty but it is harder to appreciate it, to taste the flavor of each petal it has to offer and to touch the myriad emotions its form imparts. One may see the ruins of Rome and allow its grandeur to fade into the obscurity of daily life. It is different to contemplate the vastness of Roman beauty in the form of architecture, to understand the vivacity of Roman society within those layered stones of past. Life gives us material but you must spin the wool yourself to create the tapestry.. It is not enough to see; for everyone may live, it is after all not so a difficult task, but to be a critic of life, that requires sharpened skill.
Emotion may remain pure emotion in reality, it is not necessary to take action for happiness, sadness, anger, jealousy. It can be a catalyst, but it is ****not**** a necessity.
What does ******modern****** mean?
> But the artist, who accepts the facts of life and yet transforms them into shapes of beauty, and makes them vehicles of pity or of awe, and shows their colour-element, and their wonder, and their true ethical import also, and builds out of them a world more real. than reality itself, and of loftier and more noble import—who shall set limits to him?
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i copy and pasted this from my notion and i dont feel like editing it