Thursday, December 6, 2012

The Object of Art: Wild Writing by Oscar Wilde... and Me


the combination

of your profile
and oscar wilde essays
today
has me writing fantastical
poetry
and pretending 
like i don't care
that love will 
kill me
100 times 
before i die

~~~

The object of art is to stir the most divine and remote of the chords which make music in our soul; and colour is indeed, of itself a mystical presence on things, and tone a kind of sentinel.

But remember that there never has been an artistic age, or an artistic people, since the beginning of the world. The artist has always been, and will always be, an exquisite exception. There is no golden age of art; only artists who have produced what is more golden than gold.

Of course it is difficult, but then art was never easy; you yourselves would not wish it to be easy; and, besides, nothing is worth doing except what the world says is impossible.

When Art surrenders her imaginative medium she surrenders everything.

~Lecture to Art Students, by Oscar Wilde

The proper school to learn art in is not Life but Art.

Things are because we see them, and what we see, and how we see it, depends on the Arts that have influenced us. To look at a thing is very different from seeing a thing. One does not see anything until one sees its beauty. Then, and then only, does it come into existence. At present, people see fogs, not because there are fogs, but because poets and painters have taught them the mysterious loveliness of such effects.

No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist. 

~The Decay of Lying: An Observation, by Oscar Wilde

I don't regret for a single moment having lived for pleasure. I did it to the full, as one should do everything that one does. There was no pleasure I did not experience. I threw the pearl of my soul into a cup of wine. I went down the primrose path to the sound of flutes. I lived on honeycomb. But to have continued the same life would have been wrong because it would have been limiting. I had to pass on. The other half of the garden had its secrets for me also.

To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.

It is tragic how few people ever 'possess their souls' before they die. 'Nothing is more rare in any man,' says Emerson, 'than an act of his own.' It is quite true. Most people are other people. Their thoughts are some one else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.



the most radical
and original
works
i've ever 
birthed
were leaving my husband
and driving out 
to my lover
with nothing
but the unknown
a pair of blue jeans
and a tooth brush


1 comment:

vanessa said...

well said rachael. i like this one :)
thank you