| The Art of Reflection (1) |
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The window of the little shop in a small street off one of the better known shopping arcades features a still life by an Eastern European artist. It has been executed reasonably skilfully and with an eye for detail, and although I find it offensive, I force myself to look closely, telling myself that there are quite a few people about who will think it is absolutely marvellous. Why is it that the things they care for don't do anything for me? Perfectly capable as I am of formulating a variety of arguments, I cannot dismiss the feeling that this is me acting as an expert, which cannot but imply that I have given in to the doubtful proposition that beauty is not accessible to those who have not learned to make the distinction.
Worse still, I could be standing there as someone who without fail knows what's good and what's no good. This causes the unpleasant thought to creep up on me that I might be behaving as a cultural Übermensch. Again, my only defence is that it's all about norms and values, which tell an individual what to feel under what conditions. It strikes me as an almost perverse thought that there could be people who would resort to this on purpose. Then again, it's definitely me standing in front of a shop window, positively glowing with superiority. Worse still, what with my sponsorship of latter-day entartete Kunst, I just know that the official circuit is observing me standing there in front of a huge glass windowpane, giving someone else's work the once-over. I still have a lot of explaining to do to myself … |