All art must be easy?
May 3, 2016 1:18 PM
I remember reading a philosopher say something to the effect of "all art should appear easy" or "all art should be easy to make." Anyone have any ideas who this might have been? I think maybe it's somewhere in Nietzsche or Schlegel.
This might be related to the concept of sprezzatura.
posted by paper chromatographologist at 3:25 PM on May 3, 2016
posted by paper chromatographologist at 3:25 PM on May 3, 2016
Not your answer but perhaps somewhat apropos, here is John Cage telling an anecdote about fellow composer Morton Feldman
There are people who say, "If music's that easy to write, I could do it." Of course they could, butposted by bfootdav at 3:50 PM on May 3, 2016
they don't. I find Feldman's own statement more affirmative. We were driving back from some
place in New England where a concert had been given. He is a large man and falls asleep easily.
Out of a sound sleep, he awoke to say, "Now that things are so simple, there's so much to do."
And then he went back to sleep.
No citation, but I remember seeing a poet responding to a question about the difficulty of writing poetry with, "If it's not easy, it's impossible."
posted by Bruce H. at 5:08 PM on May 3, 2016
posted by Bruce H. at 5:08 PM on May 3, 2016
I'm wondering if the actual sentiment here was closer to Alexander Pope's line, "True Ease in Writing comes from Art, not Chance/ As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance".
posted by yarntheory at 5:34 PM on May 3, 2016
posted by yarntheory at 5:34 PM on May 3, 2016
In his poem Adam's Curse William Butler Yeats has this to say about art being hard to make but -- when successful -- looking easy:
We sat together at one summer’s end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.’
posted by bertran at 2:44 AM on May 4, 2016
We sat together at one summer’s end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.’
posted by bertran at 2:44 AM on May 4, 2016
This thread is closed to new comments.
There is
one art,
no more,
no less:
to do
all things
with art-
lessness.
posted by smugly rowan at 2:02 PM on May 3, 2016