What is it about art?

Why do we do art? What is art? What is its point?

Whatever it is, it is not about expression. Art is about introspection. Do not, though, confuse introspection here with Aristotle's catharsis; catharsis is not really about expressing yourself in the art you see, but about understanding what you feel when you see it - not necessarily of understanding why: we do not need to understand why we are here in order to understand what we do and what happens. In catharsis, we do not express our feelings so much as understand what they are, by seeing it from a dislocated point of view.

Those who need art to express themselves and what they feel do it because they do not understand those feelings and do not understand themselves. It is entirely natural, of course, and it happens to all of us, especially those who do not express in art at all, but through uncontrolled acts. However, that is not what art is about. This makes it merely a tool for certain people.

The ultimate goal of art is, like catharsis, understanding. Art is only useful individually as a method of expression, but it is used collectively as a means of introspection. In order to understand not the world around us, but the mysteries that cannot possibly be answered by observation and calculation. Art is an attempt to understand consciousness, to understand life, and consequently, death. It is, at worst, a means for us to cope with the meaninglessness of it all. But I would rather use this meaninglessness, cope with it, than live constantly staring at the blank.

Are we not all just trying to cope with our existence? Religion is not the answer here, inasmuch as it is defined arbitrarily. It is not open to whatever might be revealed - think of the dilemma for the religious if we should find proof of other intelligent life. That is not to say it would kill religion, but art is not impacted by this kind of violent collision. In fact, it thrives in it.

Philosophy is not the way either. Philosophy, defined here as thinking of what lies beyond physical life, beyond consciousness, cannot possibly be useful yet. How can we understand the purpose of the universe, if there is one at all, if we do not understand it? How are we supposed to understand why we die when we do not even know what death really is? Philosophy will come into play once we figure out, through art, through looking at ourselves and understanding how we work - not just mechanically, but as self-aware beings, as living and dying creatures.

Art is done because, in doing it, we find out what it is, and thus understand ourselves and each other.

The violonist in the sky

So string theory has been replaced by, expanded into m-theory, but I find that the image of a string, of strings on a violin, is much more apt for the idea of the question that is still missing from all the equations:

Who plays the violin?*

Well, naturally, God does, but that word has to be stripped of all its religious connotation. We are so infinitely insignificant in comparison to the m-theory god, or everything, that all we can do is find our place in the grand scheme of things. This does not mean, however, that we know what the grand scheme is.

Suppose we have a full understanding of m-theory. We would still have that question, why are there these infinite parallel universes? And even if we answer that, we will still have an even greater question. But even if we do, so to speak, gaze into the eye of God...the question is no longer 'why,' but 'and then what.'

In the end, God might be everything and nothing all at once. It could be chaos, it could be a quintessential order, a perfect synchrony, perfect rhyme, imperfect art, a gray-bearded man or a spaghetti monster. It is at the same time irrelevant to our existence, yet at the same time everything we aspire to know. The quintessentialness of all is exactly this: a paradox, all that is nothing, or perhaps just something. Certainly explains a lot about the paradoxic nature of man. We are, after all, fragments of this greater paradox.

* It is a much more fulfilling image than someone shaking blankets at random (m-theory replaced strings with 10-dimensional blankets - seen from the 11th dimension)

CityStateCountry

How Orwellian is Brasilia?

I live in Superblock two-one-three Building "T" Apartment four-oh-eight.

Art != Reality

Life is an imitation of art. Sometimes, very possible. Art is an imitation of life. No, it's not.

Art is not made to mirror reality. It is there to juxtapose it. To be the antonym of reality. Otherwise what's the point? We already have reality, we have access to it at all times. Not to art, though, not to this escape from reality. We live in a world of possibilities, and when we aren't given the better one, we do, or at least should go after it. Doesn't really matter how.

Daytrippers

Those who fantasise the most act the least.

If only I'd learn the lesson. Or accept it.

? -> 42 but we still have a question mark

In spite of connotations, there's a problem with a thirst for knowledge. It's still a thirst. It's still something you're going to feel every day, and no matter how much you drink, you'll wake up the next day thirsty again.

I think the big problem is that, no matter how much we care about knowledge, whether you're me or someone in a coma, we'll never really attain it. We trudge on to find the answer to our questions, what do I wanna eat today, would she do me, but deep down we don't have the answers that really matter, or at least that we think matter. And it's probably because it's hard to answer a question when you don't know the question. Douglas Adams might have been joking, no one will ever know, but he hit the nail on the head...even if we do find the answer (and there's no reason it can't be 42), that alone is entirely useless, and can actually lead to trouble. Just like everything else

Everyone is Ramesses

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

The second law of thermodynamics is pervasive, and THAT is despairing.

Clash

A pear tree,
A swarm of bees,
Under the burning sun;
Desert heats
Where vultures feast.
But blades of grass
will not be encroached;
The root grows deep
To keep the spark alive.
Soft scent mesmerises,
Puts to sleep: sweet dreams.
The sand is strong,
Slick, and cunning, still
No beam goes through, for the vines are you:
Forever on and so
We sew the line anew

Shark Attack

EDIT: I hate to make one click. Honestly.

Nobdi gives a shit

*knock*

-Who's there?
-Nobdi
-Who is it?
-It's Nobdi
-If's no one's there, who's talking?
-Nobdi!
-Stop this crap! How can you not be somebody?
-I am somebody! I am Nobdi!
-Oh gawd he gets metaphysical and shit
-Will you let me in?
-I'll let nobody in!
-So open the door!
-If there's nobody there, why should I?
-So Nobdi can come in!
-Go to hell
-But...what did Nobdi do?

*gunshot*