Effort and meaning


There’s a school of thought which dictates that beauty is the direct product of hard, honest labor.

I do not believe that blood, toil, tears and sweat are without value. In the most obvious example, classical pieces and paintings show hours of excruciating attention to detail. Each brushstroke is perfect; each note echoes the agony of its composer’s deliberation and creative process.

It is often insinuated that a lack of attention to the creative process has produced an intellectual landscape devoid of meaning or value. That damn Picasso character came in, people stopped making real art, and just start splashing paint on canvas. Those damn Beatles throttled a guitar (as if that’s a real instrument!) and now all modern music is repetitive beats and worthless, recycled melodies.


Frankly, I beg to differ. I believe that as a society, we no longer really appreciate art, even though we are positively drowning in some of the most incredible, creative, and haunting works of all time. We’re surrounded by, alternatively, industrial products that reflect thousands of man-hours of work, and amateur efforts which are often and ironically derided for their lack of mainstream appeal. Our artistic landscape is suffering because we no longer feel that any piece of our culture deserves a few moments of critical analysis; the popular response to a beautiful piece of song is not well-thought-out or quantified, but is instead merely a weakly positive noise. Perhaps this is merely a side effect of the sheer volume of media with which our society is inundated, but the point stands that even those who fancy themselves afficionados or experts tend to dismiss the vast majority of artistic endeavors for one reason or another.


Bastards. Bastards all. (I’ll go off at another time on language as a palette and how the full pallette is needed if one is to really take advantage of it. I MEAN SHAKESPEARE TALKED ABOUT THIS CRAP GODDAMN)

In closing, Ari is totally racist and you should read this.

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