Stein-inspired

In the morning there is meaning, in the evening there is feeling. In the morning there is meaning. In the meaning anything is anything, in the meaning there is everything, in the meaning there is nothing. In every space an absence of less, in every space a hint of more. In the evening there is feeling. In feeling anything is sleeping soundly, in feeling anything is rising from its bed, in feeling there is dulled and heightened sensations, in feeling there is tension, in feeling there is knowledge, stiffening or loosening neck, back, and shoulders. In meaning and in feeling a clean dream is danced.

Picture Credit: Equestrian Fantasy with Pink Lady, 1913, Alice Bailly (source: WikiArt).

See Tender Buttons by Gertrude Stein.

Written December 2022.

The Dance Begins

A lyrical dance, a fluid turn. A careless reader caught in flowing prose. Eyes racing on, mind giddy with words. Thoughts tripping over themselves, quite unable to appreciate all detail, its fine layers. Fitzgerald's misfortune, for turning back, re-reading repeats the effect. The dance begins, and details deserving notice are again glossed over.

An elegant step, a flawless note. A song sung by a reasonable tenor voice. A stranger, a pilgrim always ready to move on, to take to the road in birch-bark shoes. A follower of Tolstoy, reading his works and living his ideals in tribute to his memory. A writer of poetry in a peasant blouse. Selwyn Crane, a player of Fitzgerald's: accountancy at Reidka's (dear little Reids) his work, Tolstoy his passion.

Moscow. Old England. 1913. Popular agitation. Mirrored in 2022. Railwaymen out again, nurses and paramedics, and postmen and postwomen too, and teachers voting on industrial action. All out, out, out protesting their real grievances: pay and working conditions. Widescale trouble and strife, troops on standby. A tango or pasa doble between employers and employed.

Picture Credit: The Dance, 1912, Konstantin Korovin (source: WikiArt).

See The Beginning Of Spring by Penelope Fitzgerald. 

Written December 2022.

Questions

Questions. Lots of questions. What is meant by art; what is good, useful art – is it art for which sacrifices are made, lives stunted; is all that professes to be art really art; is art's objective, as some have claimed, to make beauty manifest?

But then: What is beauty? Another big question much discussed over centuries, but no agreement come to. For, we each have our own idea of it, that is, our idea of it is individually determined. There may be in some pockets a general consensus, over, say, a crafted object or a work of art, but ask anyone outside that specialised (or cultural) appreciation and they will likely disagree - not find any beauty in it at all. Even the Russian definition of beauty in Tolstoy's time falls short of the mark, for if defined as only something which pleases the sight, then it neglects the other senses, when Europeans have long understood it to include hearing, touch and taste, anything which gives one pleasure and which could be described by one as beautiful.

So, if no definition of beauty can be constructed then no definition of art can be. For although the two are (I believe) separable, that is, they do not depend on one another, the question of determining in general what they are poses the same difficulties. Art does not have to contain beauty or be considered in some way beautiful to be art. Finding beauty in it may determine whether one finds it good or bad, but forming that individual opinion again does not prevent it from being art. Art is then everywhere; there are no limitations to what could be included. The simplest answer to Tolstoy's question What is Art? is perhaps: Art is a means of communication; though what may “speak” to one may not necessarily “speak” to others.

Picture Credit: Question Marks, 1961, Saul Steinberg (source: WikiArt).

See What is Art? by Tolstoy. 

From journal, written December 2022.