Thanks, MattRusty, for hepping me to Tolstoy’s “What is Art?” as if the 20th century never existed. Here are some ruminations on the subject.
Beauty frees us from our separation, yet isolates us from everyone else.
Beauty’s like a laugh that infects others to laughter, yet no one gets the joke.
Beauty’s nothing but rhythm, logic and form, yet it brings out the deepest, darkest feelings.
Beauty consists of sharp combinations, yet it only exists as a whole.
Beauty is truth and truth beauty, yet beauty's an illusion and truth is ugly.
Beauty is impractical, yet the only thing humanity cares about.
We all by instinct know and savor beauty, yet no one can agree on what is beautiful.
Beauty takes away the sadness from love, and gives compassion to fear.
Beauty magnifies the finite, and sets boundaries to the infinite.
Beauty shows us what we look like using things that aren’t us.
Beauty shows us new ways to think by repeating what we already know.
Beauty is everywhere, in all that humans are and do, yet it is rare in works of art.
Beauty can't be put into words, yet it doesn’t exist without them.
