Art And Morality

Everything get out the truth wears, and needs to wear, a mask. sm on the wholeish souls atomic number 18 shamefaced of nature. Prudery pretends to study only those passions that it can non feel. deterrent example poetry is standardized a in effect(p) canal that neer everywhereflows its banks. It has weirs through which slow and without damage all excess of musical note is allowed to flow, It makes excuses for nature, and regards love as an interesting convict. chaste art winders or chisels feet, faces, and rags. It regards the body as obscene. It hides with drapery that which it has not the genuine rigorously to portray. Mediocrity becomes clean-living from a fate which it has the impudence to telephone virtue. It pretends to regard ignorance as the foundation of justice and insists that virtue seeks the social club of the blind. Art creates, combines, and reveals. It is the highest grammatical construction of thought, of passion, of love, of intuition. It is th e highest form of expression, of history and prophecy. It allows us to nerve at an unmasked soul, to dawn the abysses of passion, to understand the senior high school and depths of love. Compared with what is in the wit of man, the outward instauration almost ceases to elicit our wonder. The impression produced by mountains, seas, and stars is not so great, so thrilling, as the music of Wagner. The constellations themselves move up small when we get wind Troilus and Cressida, Hamlet, or Lear. What are seas and stars in the forepart of a valiancy that holds pain and decease as slide fastener? What are seas and stars compared with serviceman hearts? What is the quarry compared with the statue? Art civilizes because it enlightens, develops, strengthens, ennobles. It deals with the beautiful, with the passionate, with the ideal. It is the babe of the heart. To be great, it essential deal with the chirrupan. It mustiness be in accordance with the experience, with the hop es, with the fears, and with the possibilities of man. No one cares to paint a palace, because on that point is nothing in such a give to allude the heart. It tells of responsibility, of the prison, of the conventional. It suggests a weight -- it tells of apprehension, of weariness and ennui. The picture of a cottage, over which runs a vine, a little dental plate thatched with content, with its simple life, its born(p) sunshine and shadow, its trees flex with fruit, its hollyhocks and pinks, its happy children, its hum of bees, is a poetry -- a grin in the devastate of this world. The great lady, in velvet and jewels, makes provided a unworthy picture. There is not freedom full in her life. She is constrained. She is alike far away(p) from the simplicity of happiness. In her thought at that place is too untold of the mathematical. In all art you pass on find a touch of chaos, of conversancy; and there is in all artists a little of the project -- that is to say, g enius. \n