I don't understand the significance of culture, such as literaute and art. Paintings, sculptures and old books gives me absolutely nothing and I think it's the same for 99.9% of all people. Why are creations of this culture (i.e Mona Lisa) so revered?
Because you're autistic or are so sheltered and dead inside your sense of reality has totally atrophied after years of vidya and anime that nothing moves you on a deeper level than "oh shit steam is having a sale today!" anymore
Live life, go outside, hike in the cold, love and get your heart broken, let the primal experience of life butch slap you back to reality. Know what it is to live and live tragically
This anon knows what he's talking about.
What do you actually enjoy, op? I truly don't understand how to relate to someone that not only dislikes "all art" but has the gall to call it useless for most people.
You're almost definitely autistic.
You can really look at something like pic related and claim it "gives you nothing?"
If so you are seriously emotionally/socially damaged, not even joking.
Most art and culture is revered by those who study it. It's really not that big of a deal and you really shouldn't worry about it.
I'm sure you'll continue to get a bunch of angry responses from "cultured" /lit/izens though lmao
If you look at famous artists, such as Da Vinci, Mozart, Shakespeare, etc., they were all freemasons. Regardless of the quality of their work, they are perpetuated in society as "timeless" and "significant" by the Illuminati.
The quality of their work was not much above their peers, but having their foot in the door of a massive transgenerational organization allows them to persist over time.
>he's never spent an evening listening to Handel's Messiah on vinyl while drinking herbal tea and lovingly adding another layer to his oil painting
not everything has to rock and/or roll, anon. Some Artworks are revealed slowly to you, like a lozenge that is turned over in your mouth. DaVinci's exploration of sfumato for example, was a corner of visual expression which he alone mastered.
Art only works if you have a conception of the human experience, because art functons to reflect on and structure the human experience. Think of it this way: you don't read the iliad to read about an ancient Greek war - you read it because you understand what it feels like to struggle, to have passions, to experience fraternity in a common causs, to see events shift in a ceaseleas churn and to feel the capriciousness of fate. Read a work of literature is like naming an experience - you may have already known what it was before, but once you name it you can use the experience in your mental life rather than merely receiving it.
Either your life is empty or you just need to get better at empathy :^)
Art of all types is an expression of our base sense of insignificance and a need to feel and create permenance for those feelings.
Basically, art speaks to one's soul. Not all art speaks to everyone...to use your example, Mona Lisa means nearly nothing to me, but the potato eaters (pic related) fascinates me on about 32 levels
>all art is stupid = you have no soul
Art exemplifies the evaluative vision that determines how we see and how we judge the values embodied in the world and it is this vision that decides what is to count as truth in human affairs.
Seigneur, quand froide est la prairie,
Quand dans les hameaux abattus,
Les longs angélus se sont tus...
Sur la nature défleurie
Faites s'abattre des grands cieux
Les chers corbeaux délicieux.
Armée étrange aux cris sévères,
Les vents froids attaquent vos nids !
Vous, le long des fleuves jaunis,
Sur les routes aux vieux calvaires,
Sur les fossés et sur les trous,
Dispersez-vous, ralliez-vous !
Par milliers, sur les champs de France,
Où dorment les morts d'avant-hier,
Tournoyez, n'est-ce pas, l'hiver,
Pour que chaque passant repense !
Sois donc le crieur du devoir,
0 notre funèbre oiseau noir !
Mais, saints du ciel, en haut du chêne,
Mât perdu dans le soir charmé,
Laissez les fauvettes de mai
Pour ceux qu'au fond du bois enchaîne,
Dans l'herbe d'où l'on ne peut fuir,
La défaite sans avenir.
How can you read something like this and feel nothing at all?
I'm pretty sure you knew I meant in the sense of "shit happens in ways that you can't really expect, or in ways you can expect but seem arbitrary" and not in the sense of the greek conception of fate, but instead chose to take advantage of the slipperiness of the definition of that word in this context to insult a stranger.
Aren't you a clever little boy!