Citation
The anatomy of art

Material Information

Title:
The anatomy of art problems in the description and evaluation of works of art
Creator:
Kushner, Thomasine Kimbrough
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
xiv, 316 leaves : ill. ; 28 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Aesthetics ( jstor )
Art objects ( jstor )
Artists ( jstor )
Musical aesthetics ( jstor )
Musical motives ( jstor )
Musical rhythm ( jstor )
Musical structure ( jstor )
Painting ( jstor )
Poetry ( jstor )
Visual arts ( jstor )
Aesthetics ( lcsh )
Art -- Philosophy ( lcsh )
Art criticism ( lcsh )
Dissertations, Academic -- Philosophy -- UF
Philosophy thesis Ph. D
City of Miami ( local )

Notes

Thesis:
Thesis (Ph. D.)--University of Florida, 1984.
Bibliography:
Bibliography: leaves 311-315.
General Note:
Typescript.
General Note:
Vita.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Thomasine Kimbrough Kushner.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
Copyright [name of dissertation author]. Permission granted to the University of Florida to digitize, archive and distribute this item for non-profit research and educational purposes. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions requires permission of the copyright holder.
Resource Identifier:
028231211 ( ALEPH )
11698747 ( OCLC )
ACN9044 ( NOTIS )

Downloads

This item has the following downloads:


Full Text

















ANATOMY
AND


OF ART: PROBLEMS IN
EVALUATION OF WORKS


THOMASINE


KIMBROUGH


DESCRIPTION


OF ART


KUSHNER


A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO
THE UNIVERSITY
IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF T
DEGREE OF DOCTOR


TH
OF
HE
OF


E GRADUATE S
FLORIDA
REQUIREMENTS
PHILOSOPHY


SCHOOL

FOR














ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


I wish to


express


gratitude to all


those who generously


gave of their time and expertise to help in the realization

of this project:

From the Philosophy Department at the University of


Florida Dr.


Jay Zeman who first opened the doors for me,


Ellen Haring offered suggestions which much improved the


manuscript,


and Dr. Greg Ulmer who showed new avenues of


exploration.


every


especially want to thank Dr.


thesis writer needs


Robert D'Amico;


a wise advisor and therapeutic


friend and I


was fortunate to find both in him.


Joseph Rohm,


Professor of Music and composer,


Florida International University, Miami, Florida, gave


musical


instruction and helped in analyzing Beethoven's Opus


III.


Dr. John Knoblock,


of the Philosophy Department of the


University of Miami,


Florida,


helped me from the beginning,


first by


suggesting that I write this variation on a theme


we have discussed for


years


and then by allowing me many


hours of dialogue on problems of aesthetics.


Dr. George


Alexandrakis, Professor and Chairman of the Department of








Miami, guided me through recent developments in literary

criticism.














PREFACE



The subject of this inquiry can be posed in a simple


question,


"Can art be evaluated,


and if so,


how?"


address this question seriously requires a more general


approach


to aesthetics than is current.


Instead of


concerning themselves with the broader issues,


most


contemporary aestheticians have focused their attention on

more specific matters, such as how various aesthetic


vocabularies are used in the particular arts.


This


narrowing of objectives can probably be traced to a

persistent doubt current since the 1930s that any general


theory of art is possible.


general


It has been assumed that a


theory would depend on locating those necessary


characteristics which things must share to be called works


of art,


a will-o'-the-wisp search rooted in what is described


as "the fallacy of essentialism."


More recently,


Morris Weitz has suggested that the very


question,

say about


"What is art?" is meaningless,


"art" is that it


and the most we can


as Wittgenstein described


"games," a "family resemblance" notion;


according to Weitz,


that art


a term without boundaries which accounts








those


things


refer


"art" without


concluding


that


boundaries


will


cannot,


be remembered,


should


clearly


not,

took


be drawn.


Wittgenstein,


view that for special


purposes


we can


draw


boundaries


concepts,


is my


point


that aesthetics,


insofar


involved


criticism,


just


such


a special


purpose.


A primary


function

it for a


inquiry will


special


be defining art,


purpose--the purpose of


eva


but defining


luating works


art.


There are problems which still


trouble


the common


intellectual


community,


such


as how one might go


about


showing


Bach


so great


as Beethoven,


that


one


composition by Beethoven


better


than


another


composition


Beethoven.


Issues such


having aestheticians


these will


talking with


other


not be resolved by


aestheticians


working


fine


points


their


agreement,


rather


taking


into


account


practical


needs


which


critics


various disciplines


have


a reasonable way


describing works


art,


in analyzing


their


construction,


that


they may


then


evaluated.


While


interest


contemporary


aestheticians


been


in constructive


aesthetics,


that


offering


suggestions


to how


aes


thetics


can move ahead


to provide a


useful


account


art,


their


criticisms


the errors


past


provide


a considerable contribution


in sharpening








consideration not only what modern aestheticians say, but

also keeping in mind constantly the basic trends of


criticism in the various arts.


The goal will be to


construct a theory in such a way that there will be a common

language in terms of which specific art types can be


discussed so


to make their common features apparent,


leading,


therefore,


to common standards of evaluation.















TABLE OF CONTENTS


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.........a....................... .... ...... 11

PREFACE......... ........ ..... .... ....... ........... iv

LIST OF TABLES....................................... ix

LIST OF FIGURES...................................... x

ABSTRACT........... ...................... ........... .... x111iii


PART


I........ ...... ................................


CHAPTER I


CONCEPTUAL DIFFICULTIES..........


Approaches to Boundary Making....
Criteria for Evaluating Theories.
Metarules for Proceeding.........


CHAPTER II


DECODING: AESTHETIC RESPONSE,
AND ENCODING: ARTISTIC CREATION.


Decoding: Aesthetic Response....
Encoding: Artistic Creation.....


CHAPTER III


THE WORK OF ART: TOWARD A COMMON
DESCRIPTIVE VOCABULARY IN MUSIC,
POETRY, AND PAINTING.............


Towards a Common Des
Vocabulary........
Music...............
Poetry.............
Painting............


CHAPTER IV


;criptive


* ... .....c.
* ........ .*


DEVISING A COMMON VOCABULARY OF
AESTHETIC VALUE TERMS............ 201


Primary Levels of Appreciation... 203


Pa








Page

PART II.............................................. 241


CHAPTER V


ANALYZING AND EVALUATING


SPECIFIC WORKS OF ART............ 241


Music: Sonata


C Minor,


Opus 111 by Beethoven.......... 242
Poetry: Musee Des Beaux Arts
by W.B. Auden.................. 269


Painting:


Persimmons by


Mn Ch'


CHAPTER VI


CONCLUDING REMARKS............... 304


BIBLIOGRAPHY........................................ 311

B IOGRAPHICALI SKETCH...... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ............ 316














LIST OF TABLES


Table


Summary table of wave form characteristics
of light and sound........................


Value chart................ .............. 234


Page














LIST OF FIGURES


Figure


Page


Sound

Sound


wave:

wave:


Music: Figure of resemblances............. 115

Ofero ed Euridice.......................... 122

Music, poetry: Figure of resemblances..... 151

Light wave: Hue........................... 159


Light


wave:


Value......................... 159


Geometric


Geometric


axes


axes


of painting--Horizontal


of painting--Horizontal,


vertical, and diagonal..................... 167


Functional


axes


of painting................ 168


Merode Altarpiece..........................

Detail Merode Altarpiece: Joseph panel....


Van Eyck, Giovanni Arnolfini and His Bride. 180

El Greco, Cardinal Don Fernando Nino de
Guevara.................................... 185


Tomb at Qarragan, Iran..................... 192


Transparent


screens,


Fatehpur Sikri........ 193


Taj Mahal at Agra........................ .. 195

Friday Mosque at Herat, Afghanistan........ 196


Pitch,,


and








Figure


Page


Oviform


vase:


Sung Dynasty................


Porcelain bowl: Sung Dynasty..............


Porcelain


vase


with fluted body: Sung


Dynasty.......... .. ........... ............ 231

Oldenburg, Baseball Bat.................... 236

Figure of resemblances with value terms.... 239

Simple meter signature..................... 245

Compound meter signature................... 245

Subdivisions of the beat................... 245

Arietta theme.............................. 246

"Skip" motive.............................. 247


"Step" motive.


Completion of theme and beginning of
Variation I.........................


Tied notes in Variation I.................. 249

Fifth and seventh measures in Variation I
and the theme.......*..... .................. 251


Second section of Variation I..............

Rhythm comparison: Variations I and II....

Fifth and seventh measures in Variation II.


Second part of Variation II................ 254


Variation III..............................


Fifth and seventh measures in Variation III 256

"Step" motive in Variation III............. 256

Rhythmic complexity in Variation IV........ 258


1- -








Figure


Page

Arpeggiation............................... 261


Interlude between Variation IV and V.......


Variation


"Step" motive in Variation


V..... ..........


CEG pattern in Epilogue....................


BCD pattern in Epilogue.................... 266


Measure


Last three measures of Epilogue............ 267

Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons................... 291


Mu Ch'i:


Persimmons...................


Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons................... 294


Mu Ch'i:


Persimmons................... 296


V


172 1.~~












Abstract


ser


station


Presented


the Graduate School


the University
Requirements f


of Florida


the Degree


n Partial
of Doctor


Fulfillment


Philosophy


THE ANATOMY
AND


ART:


EVALUATION


Thomas ne


OBLEMS IN THE DESCRIPTION
OF WORKS OF ART


Kimbrough


Kushner


August,


Chairman:


1984


Robert D'Amico


Major


Department:


Department


of Philosophy


This dissertation addresses


the problem of


critical


evaluation


of works of


art,


not simply


in specific areas


such


as music,


poetry,


painting,


generally.


Evaluation


a particular


form


is currently done


in the


form of music


criticism,


art


criticism,


etc.,


each with


accompanying


vocabulary.


To devise standards applicable to


any work


art,


despite


medium,


requires


development of a common descriptive vocabulary clarifying


common


features


arts.


Once


these


common


features,


family resemblances,


are established,


boundaries may


drawn which


make


isolate works


possible standards


from other


judging


phenomena


the relative aesthetic


success


a work.


No claim


is made


that


a boundary


drawn


concept


"art"


purpose


aesthetic


i~ii1 *l ocr 70 tn ac4n I


4-c.4-r


i +- mi'hi- ho


ii an~


CI Dr'(f 13


PV~lll~t; nn


!


;1 t







The examination of works of art suggests that response,


or appreciation,

intellectual.


seems to be of two kinds:


Since value terms are


physical and


linked to our responses,


we anticipate that there are distinctive value terms


appropriate to each of these levels.


It should be possible


to identify the elements in a work of art which correlate

with the physical and intellectual levels, with the

intention that aesthetic analysis of the work of art would


lay bare, or reveal,


these values.


On the basis of family


resemblances then,


a descriptive vocabulary can be


established that will permit discussion of the features of

art upon which common trans-media standards of evaluation

will be based.

































PART I














CHAPTER I
CONCEPTUAL DIFFICULTIES


Deciding what constitutes


a work of art does not


usually demand attention, until galleries,


with great


solemnity,


display objects such


as a fur-lined tea cup,


saucer, and spoon by Oppenheim;


Soup cans by Warhol;


Brillo cartons and Campbell


or concert audiences are offered John


Cage


s Silence--4 Minutes 33 Seconds,


where a pianist sits


before a closed piano in total silence for that amount of


time.1


One then begins


to wonder by what standards a work


of art can be judged or indeed if a given artifact is art at


all?


Any answer to this question


seems


to call for


definition,


pointing out,


perhaps,


what it is that all


works


of art share.


Initially,


however,


this approach appears


confusing,


when one considers the diversity of works of art.


For exampi


for the purposes of examination,


samples


from various areas of art such

painting by Michelangelo, and

what features) can be said to


as a Beethoven sonata, a


a poem by Rilke are chosen,


be common to them all?


1The limit would seem to have been reached with Robert


ca1'-a -omn4 r.irr -4- n fln-nhor nf 1 QflQ


'"M~ uh ohihil -An








Current


thinking


about


issue


suggests


tha t


there


simply


are


no common denominators


in art,


shown by


many


abortive


attempts


come


to some sati


factory


definition


term


"art"


itself.


suggestion


that


to suppose all works of art share a


common


essence


necessary


characteristics


s to commit


what


been


called


essentialistt


fallacy."


Essentialism can


traced


back to the Aristotelian view that what a thing i


and what


we can know of it lie in its essential nature, which it


shares


with


other


objects


same


kind.


Examples


essentialist


assumptions


aesthetics


are


hard


find.


example,


first


chapter


of h


book,


Art,


Clive


Bell


. if
peculiar
aesthetic


take


we can


emotion),


to be


cover


some quality


objects
we shall


central


that


have


problem of


common


provoke


(the


solved what


aesthetics


We shall
of a work


have


sco


art.


vered


. For


essen
either


tial


quality
works o


visual
speak o
is this


art


have


"works
quality


some
of a


possible--signifi'


common


rt"


quality,


we gibber.


Only one
cant form.3


or when


. What


answer


seems


Suzanne


Langer


begins


her work Feeling


and Form


convinced


that a


definition


terms


necessary


suffi


cient


conditions


can


be given:


2See
York:


critical


"The Function


Chapter


of W.


Philosophical
essential ism


Elton's
Library,


Aestheti


Inc.,


in aesthetics


of Philosophical


1954.


see


Aesthetics


and Language.
For articles


W.B.


" in


Gallie,


Mind,


Vol.


rtvr-r


IOAO


Wv ~nl


-it-I


.., a *a a u~' 1 "r aJ il. If ~


Aae&^c4- Lha+-4 n


C)h~


c








I also believe that art is


essentially one,


the symbolic function is the same in


every


that
kind


of artistic expression,


great, and their


logic i


all kinds are equally


s all of


a piece,


logic of non-discursive form


(which governs


literary


as well


all other created form)


. there is a definite level at which no more
distinctions can be made; everything one can
say of any single art can be said of any other


as well.


There lies the unity.


the divi-


sons end at that depth, which is the philo-
sophical foundation of art theory.4


However,


skepti


cism regarding the possibility of a


general definition of "art" appeared


early


1785,


when


the Scottish philosopher Thomas Reid declared himself unable


to conceive of any common denominator


various things that are referred to


thrust of Reid


linking all


"beautiful."


s discussion was to deny the existence of a


common


essence


in either beautiful objects or in works of


art.5

Among contemporary thinkers, Morris Weitz extends the

attack against essentialism in aesthetics by suggesting that


the question


"What is art?" is meaningless.


The persistent


pursuit of a definition of art that has characterized the


history of aesthetics has been doomed from the start.


Weitz


uses


arguments that he


says


are based on Wittgenstein.


Although Wittgenstein makes only passing references to


art in his work,


his remarks about definitions and


specifically his remarks on "games" have had an influence on


4Ci,,mnno r~mnnor Fool inn anrq Fnrm


h]c~w








theory.


suggests


that


urge


to discover


essential


characteristics


is prompted by


an erroneous


notion about


language,


i.e.,


identify


correctly


things


as belonging


a group one must


identify


some


common


denominator.


Wittgenstein


asks


reader


Consider


example,


proceedings


that we


call


ball
common


"games.


games
n to


" I


mean


board


, Olympic games,
them all?6


games,


card


so on.


games
What i


conclusion


that


there


no character


which


common


to each


and every


thing


we call


"game";


therefore,


there


no characteristic


necessary


something


qualify


as a game.


Instead,


he says,


. we see


complicated network


of similarities overlapping and criss-


crossing."7


These


criss-crossings


terms


"family


resemblances,"8


by which


he means


those


similar


trends


conditions


that


correspond


between


thing


point


Wittgenstein' s


argument


that


as words


function


language


itself,


they


function


in everyday usage,


they


6Ludwig Wittgenstein,


Philosophical


Investigations.


Trans.


G.E.M.


Anscombe.


New York


Macmillan,


1953,


. 32e.


7Ibid.


8Dugald
overlapping


shall


denote


quality
quality


Steward


similarities


begin


a series


in common


anticipated Wittgenstein'


ly supposing
of objects;


with B;


in common with D;


"family
that th


that A


a quality
a quality


notion


resemblances."


letters


possesses


some


in common


says,


, C,
one


with C;


in common with E;


niH 4 1 a n 4- 4-I-ta e~mn.4 rna na n,, ~,,1 4 4-.. 1-~r. CannA vsl- 4 nl, t'~ 1 anne,








are


case,


precise


Wittgenstein


their


says


boundaries.


should


Because


respect


this


"open-texture"


of language and real


ize


that a word has a variety of


meanings and


that new meanings


will


arise


in acc


with


uses.


appi


ying


Wittgenstein's


thes


theory


art,


Weitz


argues


that


"art"


like


"games"


term


without


boundary i


"open


concept")


which


accounts


evasiveness


says


"Art,
tions


" itself,


cases


open


concept


constantly


condi-


sen


will


undoubtedly


cons


new movements


tantly


will


arise;


new


emerge which


art


will


forms,
demand


deci


sons


usually


prof


the part
essional


those


critics,


interested,
s to whether


the concept
ticians may


never


should


down


necess


be extended


similarity
sufficient


not.


Aesthe-


conditions


ones


correct


application


concept.


With


"art,


conditions


appli


cation


can


never


ex-


haustively


enumerated


since


new


cases


can


always


be envisaged


nature which would


created


call


artists


, or


a decision


even


on some-


oneI


invent


part


a new


to extend


concept.


to clo
E.g.,


"It'


s not


sculpture,


it's


a mobile.


What


expans


am arguing,


ive


then,


, adventurous


that


character


ver


art,


ever-present


logi


defining
to close


cally


changes an
impossible


properties.
the concept.


novel


o ensure
can, of
t to do


creations,


course


this


make


oose


with


"art"
on thg
arts.


Because


. is
very co


this,


ludicrous
nditions o


Weitz


since


create


suggests,


forec


vity


study


oses
the


aesthetics


inherently


vague.


says


that while


various


theories


,e ,








art pretend


to be complete


statements


about


the defining


features of


all


works of


art,


each


ves


something


which


other


theories


treat


as central


(e.g.,


Bell


Fry


leave out representation,


while Croce


leaves out


physicalness,


etc.) .


Weitz


appropriately


raises questions about


advisability


feasibility


attempting


to ferret


necessary


suggest


logical


that "If we


properties


actually


of art,


and correctly


look and see what it


is that


we call


'art'


we will


find


no common properties--only


strands


simi larities."10


However,


accuracy


this


observation


does


not


provide


grounds


sharing


in Weitz's


conclusion


"'art


that boundary


. is


ludicrous."


drawing with


regard


this respect,


concept


Weitz


seems


have


misunderstood


Wittgenstein' s


position.


Wittgenstein,


in suggesting


that


definitions


are


no more


than


designating of


shared


family resemblances,


cautions


that


attempt


to deal


with


definitions


in a


stricter manner would


only be playing with words.


special


purposes


concept can be given limits, and when thi


is done it is


like bringing


a picture


into


a clearer


clearer


focus.


If it were desirable, rigid limits could be set to the word


"game"--that


one could


use


the word


1 limited


concept


(draw


boundary


frontier).


none


been drawn,


since


one


"can also


use


that




-8-


extension of the concept is not closed by a frontier" and he


adds,


"This is how we do


(in fact)


use the word 'game.


, I11


It is the suggestion here that insofar as aesthetics


concerned with criticism as evaluation,


the process of


creating an aesthetic theory is just the sort of "special


purpose" mentioned by Wittgenstein; that is,


it must involve


the process of delineating the use of the word "art" more

precisely and more narrowly than the word occurs in our


ordinary


language.


This is not to claim that either


philosophy or more specifically aesthetics need always be

concerned with drawing relatively clearer and clearer

conceptual boundaries but simply that for the purposes of


dealing with the relationship of aesthetics to criticism,


which is the interest of this paper,


it is an effective


procedure.

Wittgenstein would, of course, warn against our

equating the boundaries of a concept that we draw for some


special purpose


(like aesthetics) with the meaning of the


word itself.


Thus,


while boundaries may be drawn, an error


is committed if the supposition is made that the boundary

outlined for a specific purpose is the boundary for all uses


of that word in all language games. The fact that people

might be confused when going from ordinary language to a


more precise language


(like that of aesthetics)


is only to


be expected--just as a novice in the discipline of physics








makes


some mistakes


use


word


"mass"


word


11 tion,


other


terms


which


happen


occur


not only


the particular discipline


but also


ordinary


language.


Another


difficulty


with


Weitz's


position


that


there


s no


reason


assume,


as Weitz


does,


that


aes


thetics


inherently


vague


because


the undefinability


of art


concept.


The same charge could be


leveled against


discipline,


example,


chemi


story,


biology,


or physics.


only part of


the maturation p


process


intellectual


discipline


successful


that


its ambiguities gradually disappear


means of dealing with


subject matter


as more


are


developed.


short,


Weitz' s


definition


"concept"


itself


so broad


that


it apple


ies


every


concept which


ever


been


articulated,


and his objection


is no more


applicable


to aesthetic


than


it would be


intellectual


endeavor,


including


his own work.


Thus


vagueness


which


thinks


s art,


which makes


aes


thetics


impossible,


would make


physics,


chemistry,


biology


equally impossible,


along with other areas


that are usually


thought


to be


more


cogent


than


aesthetics.


The point to be made here is not that we would want to


take


exception


theory


that


best


approach


the concept of art is to


see


it as a family resemblance


notion.


contrary,


a neglected


chal lenge




-10-


works in relation to art.


A concern of this investigation


will be work out in some detail a boundary for a term like

"art," differing with Weitz about the inadvisability of


drawing frontiers and setting boundaries for art.


Even


though art might consist only of family resemblances,


particular part of the family will have to have sufficiently

distinct boundaries to exclude extraneous elements from the


work and from the experience of the work.


necessary


This


criterion for any kind of critical evaluation.


Thus, even with a family resemblance approach to art, it is


still necessary to draw boundaries;


if a concept is


blurred and we blur it more by not marking boundaries, then

theoretically we reach a dead end.


Keeping these things


in mind it seems that the solution


to the problem of defining "art" is this:


It is not


that


there is some


necessary


definition for "art" to be


uncovered,


but that we use the word "art" in many different


ways and that the definition one draws is going to be

determined by the context in which one employs the


definition.


Now in coming to draw boundaries for the way


"art" should be used in aesthetics it would be erroneous to


suggest either of two things:


that one can suggest that


the boundaries which one draws are the boundaries that

anyone who examines the subject will always and inevitably

draw and (b) that aesthetics will always be a vague area of




-11-


who intelligently examines


the field of


fine art will


inevitably come


to some previously formulated definition;


other


difficulty


all


hand,


also wrong


in devising


can be offered,


a definition


that


to judge


that


therefore all


from


no definition at


definitions are


equal


value.


Approaches


to Boundary


Making


Before


perimeters


embarking


task


boundary


sketching


within


aesthetic


context,


necessary


to examine


the ways


term


used


some


factors


that


into determining


one draws


a particular


boundary.


The


task


sorting


term


"art"


used


aesthetic purposes


s a


baffling


task when one considers


various


kinds


that


unfortunate


that


only


one word


"art"


exists in English, because the word has such a variety of


functions.


First,


there


are


uses


the word


that


have


do with


cooking,


weaving,


woodworking,


similar


highly


developed skills.


But aesthetics


the study of


skill


technique,


though most


those


things which


aesthetics


examines


result


from


use of


skills


techniques.


This


means


that although a skill


necessary


condition


proper


realm of


aesthetic,


suffi


cient


rnnr l i -i n- i n-


,,; 4-thni +


~hat


cG; lie


F~nnnS


nvic t


enma




-12-


notion of what are called


"fine


arts"


such


that


college


catalogues


make


a distinction


between


courses


"arts


crafts"


(such


things


as pottery


making


weaving)


those


that


deal


with


"fine


arts"


(painting,


sculpture,


etc.) .


method


by which


one differentiate


s "arts"


that


are


really


skills


or crafts


from fine arts,


which


the concern


of aesthetics,


will


be determined by the


fundamental


decision made


boundaries


about


one


what


draws


core


concerning


aes


thetic


the way


value


"art"


used


for

focu


purposes


this


criticism


dissertation


i.e.,


depends,


evaluation)


in part,


which


one


s choice


between


two evaluati


approaches


taken by


critics


question,


work


"Does


art,


aesthetic


from


value


a message


inhere


'contained


the

' in


structure

that


structure?"


disagreement


between


these


foci


criti


cism


is outlined by Walter Sutton


in Modern American


Criticism


Behind


lack


confusion


agreement


Psychological


about


critics


critical
the objec
ve tended


language i
t of critic


s a
cism.


to consider


the work
interpre
rebirth


a construct


terms


archetypes.


dualism,


imagination


inner


restricts


of dr


earn


of Oedipal


symbol


to be


relationships


The New Humanists'


check, an
literature


concern


the ethical


narrow


scheme


values.
tionship


moral,
Marxist


philosophical,


critics,
literary


intere


work


and
sted
its


religious


social


rela-
environ-


ment,
the c


have


;lass


viewed 1
struggle.


literaturee


a projection


The New Critics,


to whom


4 a raF a 1 C n a n 4-. 4 n 1.


nrr re ~ nm


ck,


1


n





-13-


upon


imitation,
terminology


of Aristotle's


Poetic


have


relied


ana genre
S.2


heavily


classifications


The


"message


approach


art"


emphasizes


what


that


the work


art


said


to communicate.


That


one


might


propose


that


every work


art contains


some


information,


theory,


idea


sense


paraphrasable


message),


there


tha t


the work's


value


a work


to be


art


found.


consists


According


only


"message"


structure,


approach,


which


akin to th


grammar or logical


syntax of a sentence,


but


also


includes


idea


which


s akin


"statement"


sentence,


perhaps a philosophical


religious


doctrinel3


"contained,"


were,


within


that


structure.


What i


important about a work of art from this perspective


message.


art,


Thus


when


understanding


a person


terms


"understands"


that


message.


a work


The


structure


the work


becomes


simply the medium


through which


ideas


artist


are,


in some


sense


other,


communicated


person


responds.


Some readers may be


puzzled


as to why


I am including,


purposes


examination,


a message


approach


since


most contemporary English speaking aesthetic


plans


longer


regard


this


as a major


issue


theory.


Again,


would


12Walter


Sutton,


Modern American Criti


*U 1~ ~ ~ r~r 1 r t~ ~%r LS-


-t a -


cism.
10"I


Englewood


nr rr


I


I


7hYn n.r~


Ilff~


U




-14-


like to emphasize that the focus of this investigation is

not just what has gone on in aesthetics in the last decade

or so, most notably English speaking aesthetics, but to be


concerned also with what criticism


like in the various


arts.


One need only turn to criticism


being written,


whether


it is currently


in books authored by critics,


in art journals,


in the mass media,


see


that an


interest in the message conveyed by a work of art is thought


to be,


by many,


an important aesthetic concern.


visual arts,


the current enthusiasm for Conceptual Art is


just this preoccupation with "art


idea."


Concern for the


message of a work is also evidenced by the fact that some


criti


attack abstract art on the grounds that it fails to


serve


a social function,


i.e.,


lacks a proper message;


while others view abstract art

powerful messages for good or e


as being able to transmit

vil. and the role of critic


as making clear those statements.


Another


example that a


message approach is not a relic of the past is the

contention that if one is to understand the new wave of


emerging feminist art one must be abl


to convey feminist


values and that these are suppressed by the "formal anti-


content tradition" characteristic of


formal aesthetics.14


Not only critics,


but frequently artists too speak


though


their work conveys some important statement to the viewer,

and this kind of communication is not restricted to those




-15-


who have aligned


usually


themselves with


associated with more


ideologies


real istic styles.


or who are


ose


artists working


in an abstract


style


sometimes


define


message


view


their


work.


literary


criticism a message


approach


explicates


"motives"


"characters"


equates


"excel lence"


author's


treatment


area,


sometimes called "development"


as equivalent


"excellence"


the work


art.


addition


numerous examples one


could provide


in current Western


criticism,


there


no doubt


that


Marxist


critics


regard


message


fundamental 1


significant


this


includes


Russia


and China


much


Latin


America.


While contemporary


aestheticians no


longer write


as did


Tolstoy


What


Is Art? where message


is clearly


of primary


importance,


critics and arti


sts are not


y people who


talk


this


manner.


one


talks with


people


about


poetry,


English professors


example,


even


if they


spec


ialize


in criticism,


is apparent


that


they


believe


that


literature,


novels


in particular,


are conveying


some


kind


message,


that


this message


it political,


religious,


or whatever


important aesthetically.


Also,


that


shows


and,


there


that


indeed,


could


the message


a public


that


the dividing


line


issue


like pornography


conveys


between


still


"hard


in arts


concern;


core"


pornography a


fine


art,


test


"redeeming


social




-16-


is relevant to whether it is art,15 and they believe that it

is relevant because of a message which is "obscene" and


"appeal ing to purient interests."
I;


Given this message view


of art, it follows that if what is important about the work


of art is the nature of

do not have profound me


its message,


issages


then works of art which


are not great works of art.


The "message" view of art


raises


questions,


for there


are some things regarded


as having aesthetic values which do


not appear to convey any message at all.


Two notable


examples are Chinese Sung


vases


and Persian rugs,


which from


a message point of view cannot be considered works of art,


being "only" structures.


As far


the rug is concerned,


the weaver who wove the rug did not intend any message, and


when a person contemplates it,

response because there is no


there is no cognitive


message to respond to.


Similarly,


the Sung


porce


lains have neither symbolism nor


message.


Though they are akin in shapes to


used for some purpose or other,


they themsel


vases

ves n


which were


ever had


any purpose--they


are


just pure shape.


From a "message"


approach, accounting for such objects within the realm of

art becomes a virtually insolvable problem.

Quite contrary to the message view, another aesthetic

approach is possible which emphasizes the structure of the


work of art.


It should be pointed out that "structure" is


not used here simply


in the


sense


of "shape."


Rather,








structure takes


into consideration


internal


organization,


the way


one


element of


the work


relates


another.


Briefly put,


this


view holds


that every work


art has a structure


inherent in a system of relations among


its elements,


the characteristics


this


structure which


cause


the work


to be


valuable.


Thus,


what makes something


a work


art,


insofar


as evaluation


concerned,


structure


only.


Structural


approaches can


be quite


varied;


they


can


range


from


the austerity


of Cli


Bell


and his


limitation of


structural


value


to what


terms


"significant


form,"16


they


also


include


those


theories which maintain


that


structures


in art


are


expressive


things


such


feelings,


as does


Langer.


It might


said


that my


inclusion


Langer


as a structuralist


unsound


since what


counts


is what


arranged


the way


is arranged.


defense


of my


choice,


refer


reader


Langer


discussion


Freudians


Philosophy


in a New Key.


The


Freudians explicate


the what


an artistic


expression;


example,


what Hamlet


expresses


the Oedipus myth and


tensions which are universal


value.


In the following passages


therein

, Langer


lies


its appeal


rejects


this


view


entirely:


each


work


visual


art,


lines


and color


combine


flya r 4- i fif


r


-- 1 t


Sr


n nf, n *r | a n I rTn % n 0f T- rr Tn m r


n


16


le


e


- v r




-18-


. These are strong recommendations for
the psychoanalytic theory of aesthetics.


despite them all, I do
(though probably valid)


not think this theory


throws any real


light


on those issues which confront artists and
constitute the philosophical problem of art.


For the Freudian interpretation,


no matter


how far


it be carried,


never offers even the


rudest criterion of artistic excellence. It
may explain why a poem was written, why it
is popular, what human features it hides under
its fanciful imagery; what secret ideas a
picture combines, and why Leonardo's women
smile mysteriously. But it makes no


distinction between good and bad art.


The


features to which it attributes


the importance


and significance of a great masterpiece may
all be found just as well in an obscure woj
of some quite incompetent painter or poet.

She continues this line of argumentation later on:


An analy


work


to which the artistic merit of a


is irrelevant can hardly be regarded


a promising technique of art-criticism,


for it


can look only to a hidden content of the work,


and not to what


every


artist knows


the real


problem--the perfection of form, which makes


this form "significant"


in the artistic sense.


We cannot evaluate this perfection by finding
more and more obscure objects represented or
suggested by the form.'8


Thus,


to interpret Langer's


position


one which emphasizes


the what rather than the how of artistic expression would

seem to align her with a view she explicitly argues against.


Theori


are structurally oriented when the value of a


work of art is not connected with the value of what i


expressed or what motivates the expression, but with the


exce


llence of the expression.


lDIk 1 nr e an't n r ttlara tt


r -^ Y


17




-19-


The method


which


one distinguishes


between


fine


arts


and crafts will


depend


on whether


one


pursues


a message


approach


a structural


approach


setting


boundaries


evaluating


art.


someone emphasizing message,


crucial


difference


that


crafts


have a message;


that


one d


oes


think


a carpenter


as communicating


anything when


building


table,


no matter


intricate


finished product.


Thus even


though skill


is employed,


does


involve


the expression


any message.


structural


approach,


other


hand,


finds


it more


problematic


to draw


the distinction


between


crafts and


fine


arts


(but


this


that


cannot


done),


forming


basis


such


a distinction


one


issues dealt


with


in Chapter


Iv).


From a


structural


point


view,


rugs,


vases,


tables are at


least potentially


art,


since


they


do have


structure;


the word


"art"


word


"structure"


are


synonymous,


structuralist must be prepared


state


principal


which


one would


call


some


structures


"art"


not


all.


Similarly,


the way


in which one handles a related


question,


"Can


something which


occurs


nature--


example,


a sunset--be a work


of art?" will


influenced by


whether


one


empha


sizes


message


structure.


is clear


that people do


talk about such


natural


things


though


they


were works


art,


here


that we


run


into




-20-


that a naturally occurring object cannot have a message.


The sunset,


for example,


is by everyone's standards


linguistically meaningless;

does it express anything, a

any other natural objects.


it does not convey anything,


nd the same thing


nor


true about


The animals that secreted


shells did not by those patterns express themsel


ves;


sea

hence,


the shell


obviously ha


no meaning in terms of the message


thesis.

On the other hand, it is clear that from a structural

point of view natural objects are unquestionably not art.


This is the


case


because sunsets,


sea


shells, and other


natural objects do not have an analyzed structure,


they do


not involve a principle of selection and ordering and their


pattern does not involve arranging,


unless someone wants to


deal theologically with the appearance of structure.


This


is not to deny that these phenomena resemble structures

which people do create, because people do make use of


naturally occurring elements in their structures.


Peopi


after all


live in the world and use its vocabulary,


but in


natural objects analyzed structure is lacking.

Undoubtedly, one who approaches aesthetics from a

message point of view is going to have a different

conception of art from one who takes a structural position.


The decision


as to what the core of aesthetic valu


whether related to structure or to what is contained within




-21-


different boundaries are drawn by


divergent


approaches


identical


problems


aesthetics


does not mean of


course


that


these


approaches,


theories


that


ensue,


are of


equal


value, and it is to methods by which one might choose


among


competing


positions


that we


shall


now


turn.


Criteria


Evaluating Theories


We have said


thus


that basically


there


are


evaluati


approaches


to works of


art.


One approach


emphasis


zes


the message a work may


convey,


while


other


emphasis


zes


structural


components;


and,


further


that


qualifications


that are placed


that


very


important


aesthetic


term


"art" must


viewed


light


those


respective


positions.


From


foregoing,


is clear


that


one who


adopts


a message


approach will


have a


very


different


conception


from


that


someone who


approaches


structure.


one


to decide


between


two?


Why


adopt one


way of viewing art over the other


What needs to


be done


to establish


some


criteria


identifying


successful


theories so


that


critical


views


based


these


approaches


might


be evaluated.


Philosophy


is a peculiar area of


intellectual endeavor


and its oddness may


lead to the assumption that the


characteristics of


a successful


theory


in philosophy will


Ckar*3 tt t,


. I-


A 4 ~ar nI C a d~a~n r~ t n- r a, r


FFnrnnC


C*nm


Ckn~h


r.t~~c


~ ___ __




-22-


Before a problem can be solved it must be understood, and


the fundamental


task of philosophy is to lay bare the


problems which bedevil people because of inconsistent


thinking and misapprehensions.


Consequently,


one cannot


legitimately expect conclusions of philosophy.


In this


respect,


philosophy does not have results since,


as soon


we are able to conceive a theory with adequate clarity it

can be turned into what amounts to a purely critical


endeavor.


But,


asking the right question is often the most


important part of intellectual insight,


because once the


question has been asked and it is answerable,


finding the


answer


is only a technical difficulty,


and is no


longer a


theoretical difficulty.


Now,


it may be true the practical


implementation of the theory is exceedingly difficult.


may,


in fact, be so difficult


structure impractical;


but,


to make the theoretical


that is a different kind of


judgment and one that is outside of philosophy.

This understanding of the goal of philosophy indicates


a difference between philosophical


thinking and scientific


inquiry in that instead of dealing primarily with empirical


facts,


philosophy focuses on conceptualizations and


argumentation.


The philosopher does have reference to facts


on occasion to show that what is stated in an argument is


contradicted by what was previously stated,

were initially accepted. In this respect h


or by facts that


e or she will





-23-


itself


are


does


object


have


truths


facts.


that


In philosophy


a person


then,


is expected


there


to master.


However,


this difference between science and


philosophy


does


not mean


that


characteristic


which make a successful


theory in one area will be different from those used in the


other


area.


contrary,


intellectual


processes


involved in attempting to reach


understanding are basically


similar


therefore


same


requirements


used


to measure


any theory of


intellectual


explanation should be applied


equally


an aesthetic


theory.


These


requirements


criteria


are essentially


first


three


absolute


in number.


requirement


theory


that


be consistent.


Being


consistent


means


that


difficulties


repeatedly


contradictions


encountered.


theory


If a theory


are


inconsistent


already


nonsensical


worth


pursuing.


However,


p055


ible


that consistent


theory


be of


value


whatever.


And,


a person


is willing


admit


that


what


said is nonsensical then it is not necessary to be


consistent;


philosophers


want


to be


taken


ser


iously


are


not willing


that.


The


next


test


that


theory must


adequate;


means that the theory can offer a


solution to the


problems which


do occur within


realm of


theory.


That


if a question


raised


concerning


problem with




-24-


actually work out


the answer will


depend


largely


on his or


ability


theor


to sol

Thus,


problems;


test


it will


not


a theory


be the fault of


ability


offer


solutions


the questions


that


arise


in connection


with


theory


provide


account


issue.


pattern of

theory is


inability


a measure


to solve problems connected with


inadequacy.


third


basi


test


that


comprehensive


veness


an external


test


theory,


and,


such,


s in


contrast


adequacy


consistency,


which


are


internal


tests.


Comprehensi


veness


means


that


in solving one problem


theory


rise


another problem which does


clearly


order


fall

that


within the

one arrive


theory,


but which must


an adequate


under


be sati


sfied


standing


issue.


Thus,


a comprehensive


theory


one


that


takes


p065


side


sues


links


up with other


theories which


will


solve


side


issues.


Now,


one must


choose


between


even more)


theories


which


are


consistent,


adequate,


comprehensive,


then


there


are


final


tests which are


essentially


aesthetic


character:


economy


elegance.


But,


since


consistent,


adequate,


comprehensive


theor


not


abound,


these


final


tests


rarely


need


app lied.


principle


eco


nomy,


"Ockham'


razor,"


named


after


philosopher William of Ockham who articulated




-25-


one chooses


the simpler


basis


that


simplicity


explanation


itself desirable.


Lastly,


test


elegance invol

implications f


ves t

rom a


:he ability


very


to work


few assumption


out a great many

ns. As an example of


final test,


if of two proof


one is able to sol


ve a


problem by


a series


very quick


deductions while the


other


necessitates


long


laborious steps,


first


proof


s said


to be elegant while


the second


lacks


formal


elegance.


A preliminary


uncover all


step


the possible


to evaluating a


implications


theory will


of that


be to


theory,


connections,


it differs


from other


positions.


Similarly,


in our


investigation and evaluation of message


approaches


opposed


structural


approaches,


necessary


understand


implications


each


position.


These


implications can best be dealt with


systematically and


comprehensively if


they


are


viewed


light


various


areas


that


comprise


aes


thetic


investigation,19


decision


be made


ased


on what


known


about


art,


and which


approach


the more demonstrably


useful


in working out


family


resemblances


between


various media.


Essentially aesthetics


involves three areas of problems


some of


basic


suppositions


and questions


that


arise


those


areas


should


be briefly


outlined:




-26-


The artist and the problem of creation:


What


the difference between creating (or producing)


and doing anything else?


a work of art


We have the impression that the


creative process


as applied to art


somehow different from


making a table or chair and that the artist in some respect


is a different sort of person from the usual person.


connection with this problem we need to determine how it is


that the artist makes a work of art.


In other words,


"What


exactly is entailed in the activity?"


example,


We want to know for


the process of selection and whether or not the


element of creation is involved.


Is the artist creative in


any sense, or is it even desirable that he or she be


so?


Western cultures it is commonly thought that artistic


activity and creation are largely synonymous;


but,


this is a


distinctive view of our own culture and it is certainly not

shared by other cultures where the last thing that would be

wanted or expected would be for the work of art to be


creative.


Instead,


one wants a work of art,


in most


cultures for most of the world's history,


that falls firmly


within the tradition of an art form.


For example,


the more


traditionally and more nearly perfectly a Chinese artist


reflects antiquity,


the better the painting is


in theory.


Thus the really fundamental question involved here is the

"how" with regard to artistic creation.


(2) The problem of the work of art itself:


Here we




-27-


message


structure?"


we might


start with


prior


question.


evident


that


a work


art must


necessity


have


structure


it would not be perceived.


work of


art cannot be dealt with aesthetically


only


artist's


mind,


seems


pointless


to speculate


something


about


which


we ha


information.


Perhaps


can,


purposes


unarticulated


criticism,


masterpieces.


discount


Thus,


there


notion


no doubt


that


a work


art


must


have


structure.20


However,


question


remains whether


a work


contains


message,


and,


it only


trivial


something


more?


We can


illustrate


the difficulty


in knowing where


place the value of a work of art in the fol lowing examples.


If we look at a work of art from another culture,


let us


say


statue


Buddha,


content


Buddha' s


theology


which


the statue represents


is not


normally understood by


Westerners who


nonetheless


think


they


appreciate


aesthetic


value.


Now,


is quite


clear


that


some


degree,


least,


we can appreciate


the aesthetic


value of


Buddha's


statue without


subscribing


theo logy


Buddhism which


statue


said


represent


Buddhists.


The


same


thing


true when we


look


Egyptian


paintings.


All


paintings deriving


from Egypt are religious,


but we


look


at them without regard


particular


theology which


gave


rise


them,


which


are


the opinion




-28-


Egyptian


artists who


created


them,


true meaning


message


thereof.


Again,


same


thing


true


of Christian


cathedral


Theoretically,


every


element of


the cathedral


exemplifi


one


another


tenet


of Christian


theology.


Everything


the cathedral


can


be explained


in religious


terms


those


persons


made


cathedrals were


certainly


aware of


the symbolism of


each and every


element


therein.


This


it happens


rapid.


problem of


that


symbolism is a


the deterioration


example,


is quite


very


rate


probable


difficult


symbol


that when


one since


very


one


views a painting that is more than two hundred years old,


symbol ism


understood.


This


raises


questions:


Even


we do


admit


that


there


is message can


understand


the painting


painting,


we do


can we appreciate


understand


value of


symbolism?


someone who


adopts


a message


approach


answer


important.


However,


apparent


that


people


respond


a work


art


even


without


such


knowledge.


Basically then what we want to know is "Where is the


value of


a work of art?"


With regard to structure we want


to determine


"What


kinds


of elements


in a work


can


part


structure?"


more


simply


put,


"What


counts


structure


what


does


not?"


apprehender


the problem


response:




-29-


was noticeably moved by


reading


this page,


it would


be considered


strange


attended a Beethoven


concert or


viewed a daVinci


painting


same


amount


time


experienced


cal led


nothing.


response


aes


What


theti


is being


object.


dealt with


nature of


this


response will


be discussed below along with


relationship


between


this


response


the work


art.


Specifically 1


, does


the work


cause


response,


the work of art merely an


occas


ion for a response


as the


concert hal


in which one hears the concert may be the


occasion


response.


short,


just


what


involved


aesthetic


response


can


be distinguished


from


a non-aesthetic


response?


Very often people want to know if what the artist


intended


there


nature


similar


a connection


this


to what


between


connection?


felt by


them,


apprehender.


what


And,


apprehender


feel what the artist intended, why not?


Was it the fault of


apprehender,


fault


artist


that


he was simply a bad artist?


These are the kinds of


questions


that give


rise


aesthetic


inquiry


first


place.


There


is a multiplicity


views which


one may


hold


with regard


to each of


these questions


relati


importance


of each


these


areas


is determined




-30-


approach will


simply not appear in another.


For instance,


the question of censorship which will be very significant

for someone emphasizing message will disappear completely


for someone who approaches art as structure.


Also,


if one


emphasizes structure it is evident that he or she will not

spend a lot of time being concerned with details about the

intentions of the artist, that just will not be a


significant question.


On the other hand,


if one wants to


say that the function of art is to communicate a message,

then it is certainly relevant to understand what the


intentions of the artist are.


This would be so because if


there are two people who disagree as to what the message of


the work of art is,


reference to the artist'


s intentions can


determine which one is correct and which one is


in error.


Metarules for Proceeding


At this point,


the theoretical basis for this inquiry


should be stated since everything done hereafter will be


framed in those terms.


From the beginning,


we shall adopt


certain operational metarules outside our system to guide


our


investigations, and these shall be referred to as


the rule of symmetry and


the rule of commonality.


The symmetry rule simply stated will be that in theory,

every statement that we make in aesthetics in any one of the


a\


Ckunn




-31-


understanding


a statement


involves working out what


those


other corollaries must be.


We will


use thi


rule to develop


connections


between


three


areas


aesthetics,


since


by using our


symmetry


rule we


can


ensure


consistency


test


adequacy


a statement


s implications,


consistency


successful


adequacy


theory


being


The employment


first


of thi


criteria


metarule makes


possible to check almost


instantly whether


line of


procedure


not,


profitable.


The rule of


common lity,


the other


hand,


will


organize the work


in developing


an aesthetic vocabulary


useful


all


the arts


since we shall


take


as a fundamental


rule that all


aesthetic


descriptions


judgments


must


common,


that


, applicable


various media.


Such


rule differentiates


aesthetics


from art


criticism and points


out the fact that th


goal of aesthetics is different from


goal


criticism.


point


needs


elaboration.


It is usually agreed that by the analysis of a work of


art one


can show,


if one can


e"er show, what the value of


the work


specific


fields


this


called


"criticism."


Thus,


there


a body


musical


criticism,


consensus


which


that Beethoven


is a


greater


composer


than Auber.


1Peopl


see


that


art


works


of different


types


bear


a kinship
displayed


terms


even


though


the
they


attitudes


are


or patterns


of choi


in different media.


ces
there


1* A"S n ln nr r -w 4- 1* ^ 4 a 1 a 4- r^ a ^ lu n A 4 C C rl an 4- ma A 4


nnlr 1 F1




-32-


Similarly,


there is a body of criticism in literature,


consensus of which is that Shakespeare is a greater

playwrite than Scribe; and there is a body of art criticism

which deals with comparable problems in painting and decrees


that Rembrandt i


a greater painter than Jan Steen.


Criticism differs from aesthetics


aspect.


in one very important


Criticism is concerned with the particular of a


certain area of art.


In contrast,


aesthetics concentrates


on those


things that are characteristic of all art,


potentially characteristic of all art, and avoid


those


things that are media specific.22


This means of course


that


something might appear to be quite valuable from the point

of view of the critic, yet could be from the point of view


of the aesthetician utterly useless, since what may be

acceptable rule of criticism is not necessarily viewed


aesthetic rule.


an


as an


For example, while it might be an important


point in literary criticism that a play does not satisfy the


description of a real


tragedy,


or in musical criticism that


a composition is not a real


sonata,


these are not aesthetic


issues.


Also,


the result of applying the commonality rule


will mean that if we want to say that only poetry has ideas


or messages and not music,


then we have left aesthetics


altogether because we are assuming that a rule cannot be


2 2F~h e,


i rqn ,k nrt 4c j 4nl Cn ma 1ho a riah4


-^fr"




-33-


considered


aesthetic


it does


not meet


basic


condition


of commonality


or generality.


This


indicates


that


the best aesthetic


cians would have


to know music,


painting,


poetry


as well


other


forms


extent


their


success


in doing


aesthetics


would depend


to some degree on


their


knowledge of


all


forms


art.


course,


such


a fund


knowledge


rarely


happens


this explains why


historical ly,


in aesthetics,


longest activity


been on the part of persons who are


concerned


with


a particular


form.


true


that


some


criti


(using


broad


sense


that term) have


attempted to be general and far r


teaching in


their


scope,


but upon


inspection,


they


clearly


fall


short


and wind up with


fragmentary


stem and


remain


critical


rather

whose


than aesth


notion


etic.


Clive Bell


of "significant


form"


is an exa

requires


ple of

a visual


one

art,


Suzanne


Langer


s theory


is really plausible only


one


using


a musical


frame of


reference,


does


not work


satisfactorily with


regard


to painting.23


However,


Langer's


pioneering provisional


efforts


in this


regard are helpful


indicating


the way


which


one


can


proceed.


The goal


fundamental ly


in aesthetics


been


to explain


one


own


personal experiences of art and once that has been done the


aesthetic


been more


less


satisfied.


This


think




-34-


is the limitation of virtually every work in aesthetics so


far;


that is,


the range of purpose is fairly narrow and they


do not systematically explore the connections that can be


drawn among the various media.24


Thus, while various


theories are fairly good for the domain that they use


their source material:

go beyond that domaiil

rule of commonality


they are not often valuable once you

and it is this shortcoming that the


is meant to resolve.


Thus we approach a critical point.


One often hears


that a poem cannot be compared to a musical composition, for


instance,


but if that is true,


then there are not any


general aesthetics.


People can recognize that the nature of


their responses to poems is not different from the nature of


their responses to music or painting,


understanding


"responses"


"sensations."


this


instance to mean "sense responses" or


(These sense responses


form the basis for


process which will be described in Chapter II as


"decoding.")


the uniformity of


the nature of


sense


response25 and the perceived common values which people




24My own theory will consider painting, music, and


poetry.


The reason for this,


given in Chapter III


in more


detail, i


that we need not cover any others since these


take care of the basic types of art in terms of involving
the major sensory modalities, sight and sound, exploited by
artists.


25While it i


true that the response is a private


asna a n 4-arvmc -Fnrv nrv^Tyt- eanoa^ f?^" av'nar'^r/^ ana y lra l A^ ^


bVndY




-35-


report


they


experience


in aesthetic


contexts


not


physical


properties which


are


pecu liar


to any


one art


type


which


the ultimate basis of


aesthetics


must


values with which


deal.


At present


what


hinders


such


cross


media


comparisons?


Descriptions and


eva


luations


remain media


bound simply


because


a satisfactory


vocabulary with


the precision and


clarity required to be useful for all area


of art is


lacking.


Theoretically,


an implication


the commonality


rule


that


one


could


determine whether


Beethoven


s Fifth


Symphony


better


than Shakespeare's


MacBeth


both


them are


inferior


to Rembrandt's


Night Watch.


s would


as feasible and reasonable a thing to do as do literary


critics who


normally maintain


that Goethe


s better


than


Keats.


unreasonable


anticipate


that


one


could


compare Beethoven


with Shakespeare


or Rembrandt.


perception


relations


structures


the same


whether with the


usually percei


eye


or the ear and this is why people


a similarity


between works of


different media.


Equivalent


reactions


to works


of different


media presumably


have


to do with a single intellect which


percei


ves


structures


to be


same


regardless


of whether


they


are


chemical


structures,


mathematical


structures,


musical


structures,


or poetic


structures.


this were


it would make no


sense


to talk of composite arts such




-36-


the music,


drama


where


performance


taken


to be


disconnected


text.


outset,


the question


can


raised,


"Even


one


were


to be successful


in devising


a general


language


describing


worthwhi le


evaluating works of


as an intellectual


art,


is all


enterprise?"


What practical


purposes


would,


fact,


served?


From


point


view


critic,


criti


purview is just that of


a single


solitary area of art,


then


answer


the worth


such


an enterprise


unequivocal 1


IINo.11


task


too difficult


to warrant


effort.


But,


critic


expects


that


anything


he or


significance


outside


that


narrow


framework,


then


answer


unequivocally


"Yes."


general


language would also make more feasible


cross


cultural


evaluations within


media


of a critic's


own


special


interest,


since


disagreement


as evaluation


to whether


Goethe


is concerned a


or Shakespeare


greater writer


can


only


settled


a general


aesthetics.


This


because


the criticism which


prevents


one


from


comparing


music


poetry


also prevents one


from comparing


German and


English.


That


one


knew


both


languages


comparison would be possible,


there will always be


languages one does not know in which there are poetic


traditions;


while


it may


happen


chance


that





-37-


English


language and


the structure of English poetry


are


related,


that


would


not however


true of


Arabic or Chinese


poetry.


From the point of view of a reader of criticism it


would seem to be a


substantial


contribution


because


haziness


confusion


with


the way


terms are


employed.27


Sutton makes


this


point


clearly


generally


existing


recognized


in critical


that


language


the confusion


is an obstacle


communication.


groups or
develop a

A certain


able.


criti


Language


each


specialized


amount
the D


barriers


of which


vocabulary.


specialization


eculiar


weakness


separate
tended t


is unavoid-
f critical


vocabularies


absence


a common


founda-


tion


meaning


are


lack


of ba


often


sic


agreement


terms.


certain


about


. Critics
the meaning


precise
themselves


terms


upon
has


which


been


their


arguments


frequently


depend--a


fact


that


demonstrated


discussion


critical


critics


period
papers


to conduct


following


presentation


possible


technical


two


discussion


neither


s an


understanding


other


s meaning,


except


in hi


own


terms.


26Chinese


Arabi


poetry


tend


s to be highly


classical. For
written, relates


centuries


entirely
in this


ago,


example, Chinese
to the way the
ot the way it is


poetry


is commonly


language was actually used


used


learned phenomenon and people


respect


cannot


today; so it
who are not


learned


appreciate


27This view that the terms of criticism


as they are


presently


employed are muddled


is not


incompatible with


fact


that when


people make


critical


judgments


they know what


they mean by those judgments, e.g.,


is quite different


- 1.- ~ *1-- *.- -


1,


from saying


- I~1- .


like
_ 1 I *


like it."
it because


I-


But


this


*T 'S l rf l Kf f n 7 fYiar Vr 3 ''lf




-38-


One of the pressing needs of current criticism
is for a broader, generally accepted vocabu-
lary drawn from all relevant areas of
experience. 28
experience. .


The difficulty


lies in the lack of carefully defined


terminology and in the fact that the same term is used


differently in various media.


For example,


if one reads the


works of painting critics he or she will discover that they


use words


like


"movement" and "rhythm" which seem


inappropriate to a type of art which is spatially organized.


Similarly,


literary critics regularly use visual words like


"balance" and "proportion."


By refining the


vocabulary now


being used by critics it would be possible to understand

what the relationships could be between using "rhythm" in

reference to a painting and its corollary with respect to


music.


It is evident that the overlapping vocabulary which


critics borrow from other areas of art,


employed,


it is now


lacks the exactness necessary to really be useful.


The task of refining the vocabulary of art will

essentially be a revisionist activity for which the


criticism of art language will


serve


the basis.


That is,


words that can be applied to various media will be culled

from the literature of criticism and an attempt made to


define them more exactly.


One might ask,


why use


existing


aesthetic terms at all, why not begin anew?


However,


this


tack would needlessly complicate matters;


so in the interest




-39-


of preserving already


existing avenues of


communication,


shall


take the tags


as they are now used and try to clarify


them


to make


them commonly


applicable.


A caveat which appli


to working out a system of


aesthetics


as follows:


It may we 11


that


we shall


complete our


investigation with


a reliable program of


aesthetics,


a way


describing


evaluating


art,


which


many people would not


find appealing,


or even palatable,


because it does not do what they would want


aes


thetics


to do


initially.


However,


in any


case


, we should by devising


metarules


made prog


ress


toward


constructing


something


which


least


remotely consistent;


this effort


itself


would


be a contribution.


focus of


attention will


now be upon developing


connections


between


various


areas


aes


thetics:


artist,


object,


apprehender.


Given


rule


symmetry,


which


posits


that


every


statement made


in any


one


of the


three ar


eas


will


have some corollary


the other


two,


examination


of aesthetic


value must deal


with


questions


problems


inherent


in each


these


areas.


While the emphasis of a theory may be on the structure


of a work of art,


it must also be able to present plausible


accounts


response


creation


as well.


The


point


that


inconceivable that


there could be a fully worked


theory


emphasizing


structure which


could








nature


creation.


course,


same will


equally


true


a theory which


emphasizes


message.















CHAPTER


DECODING:


AESTHETIC


RESPONSE,


ENCODING:


ARTISTIC CREATION


The discipline of


aesthetics


remained


one


most undeveloped and neglected


areas


of philosophical


inquiry


systematization


is concerned.


reason


this


simply


that people have


been


thinking


about


confusedly.


Aesthetics


is no different


from any


other


area


inquiry


tha t


the problems encountered are more


likely


to unclear


thinking


than


inherent


complexity


subject


matter


itself.


s point


can


best


illustrated by going


outside philosophy


an example


first major


treatise


on physi


was


written


by Aristotl


the first major


treatise on


psychology


was


also written by


Aristotle.


Since


Aristotle,


we have


2200


years


of human


thought


expended


those


two


areas.


There


litti


question


to which


those


areas


more


advanced, 1


reason


clarity


lack


clarity with


regard


east


since


Newton


there ha


been common


philosophy


assumptions about


the world


which


form


basis


of systematic
circumscribed.
investigation,


inquiry


certain


into
true,


the world which Newton


however,


of Newton's


that


prescripti(


the course
ons have t


urned





-42-


conceptualizations which they each study.


Psychology has


lagged behind physics because it has been plagued with

conceptual confusions such as a preoccupation with an entity

called the "mind" which has no physiological correlate.

Aesthetics has suffered from similar conceptual

confusions in that too frequently attention has been focused


on acts of creation and response


as having to do with


private thoughts or feelings and emotions belonging to the


artist and the apprehender.


In his example of the beetle


in the box, Wittgenstein points out the difficulties we

embroil ourselves in when we become involved with something


that amounts to a private language,


and this relates to the


problems of private emotions


as well.


In Wittgenstein's


parable we are to imagine that everyone has a box whose


contents is referred to as "beetle."


No one has


access


anyone else's box and knows of "beetleness" only by


at the contents of his or her own box.


looking


In such a situation,


it might well be the case that each box held different


contents or held nothing at all.


constantly changing.3


the contents might be


So, although each person might say


that what the box contained had the characteristics of a


beetle,


they might in fact have very different things.


this example, each person makes use of a universal common



2"Apprehender" will be used throughout this thesis


--





-43-


term,


since


referrent


can


known


only


themsel


ves,


their private


thoughts and


feel ings


are,


then


one can neve


r be certain that what one person calls a


"beetle"


akin


another'


experiences.


Thus,


there


is no way


of checking


conflicting


propositions


since


there


are


no common


points


reference,


so even


minimum conditions


kind


of discourse


take


place


have dissolved.


we want


to contend


that


understanding


area


aesthetics


is possible,


we shall


have


tricate oursel


ves


from


territory


that


is essentially unknowable;


this


reason,


theorists


should


disregard


their


accounts


private


thoughts


feelings which are


inexpressable.


That


it is quite possible to do


so can be shown b


y pointing out


that while no one can confirm that what one person


sees


when


using the word "yellow" is


what other people


see


when they


use


the word


"yellow," we


can


test


that


everyone


understands


what


the word


"ye illow" means.


suppose


that


same


group


of people


who,


Wittgenstein' s


story,


knew what


beetle was only


looking


into


contents


their


own


boxes


now decide


together


that


each will


retire and bring


back


a yellow book.


When


they reassemble


everyone


then


agrees


that


books brought are


indeed yellow,


then


although


it must be conceded


that


sensations


are


private


can never be known by another person and that yellow is





-44-


that


everyone did


understand


what


the word


"yellow"


meant.


This


example


points


the way


to what


we have


to do


art.


can


talk


course


"yellow"


"art"


with


things


that


are quite mystical


susceptible to


analysis,


this


case


nothing would


accomplished.


appeal


insisting on


private

talking


contents


a person's


about boxes which


are


thought


inaccessible


to other


, whether


area


art


other


kind


interaction.


basis


private


aesthetic


since


feel ings


there


or events


nothing


cannot


that


could


affirmed,


denied,


or evaluated.


While


inaccessability


of private event


makes


either


creation


response


unsound


foundations


on which


to construct


an aes


thetic


theor


, this


does


not


mean


that


nothing


can


said


about


them


that


they


are


without


aesthetic


interest


all.


to a discussion


these


two


areas,


creation


response,


that


now


turn.


Decoding:


Aesthetic


Response


Since


the area


response


something


everyone can


deal


with


introspectively,


that will


serve


as a proper


beginning


investigation of


aesthetics.


sha 1


explore


how does


nature


one


aesthetic


account


response;


development


in other


taste,


like


words,


aesthetic




-45-


Whenever


theories


deal


with


the problem of


response,


they


share


a certain


fundamental


assertion;


that


they


attempt


to distinguish


the mere


concommitance


apprehender's


reaction


the work


from


congruity


apprehender's


reaction


the work


art.


They


endeavor to separate


a reaction which


accompanies


exposure


to a work of art in an incidental


way from a reaction which


consistently


accompanies


exposure


the work.


This


order


differentiate


"random"


reaction


a person


might


have


from a reaction


that might properly be called


"aesthetic";


that


one


that


directly


connects


person


the work


art.


this


stipulation


is not made,


apprehender's


reaction


can


have


origin


elsewhere.


satisfactory


that


because


someone


reacts


presence


of a work


reaction


a response


work


art.


We want


that


response


someone


to a work


art,


insofar


aesthetic,


logical


product of the work of art and it is not merely a


concomitant


idea


aesthetic


response


that


there cannot


be simply


a conjunction


between


the work


response


necessarily,


something


to be considered


an aesthetic


response,


it must


have


been


consequence


work


(W > R).


therefore


follows as a corollary that any time that it can be shown


that


there


incongruity


between what


is called





-46-


art.


that


"reactive


accompanies


concomitant"


exposure


is meant


the work


that


not


reaction


response


the work at all, and while one could not know of this


incongruity


a priori


could


be made apparent


through


questioning


therefore


insist


that


aesthetic


response


must


be prompted by


the work


art,


then


it must


be possible


locate in the structure of the work of art something which


correlates


response.


Hence,


have


a check


between


nature


response


nature


the work


art.


nature


the work


imposes


certain


kinds


limitations


as to what can be a true response to the work of


rather


reaction


than merely


which


conjunction


is analogous


an emotional


response.


illustrate


this point


let us examine


three


kinds


responses


one


might


have


to a work


art,


three


basic


possibilities


to what


one


can mean when


the word


"appreciation"


used


connection


with


a work


art.


will


become apparent


that


two of


the possibilities


really


involve

genuine


reactive concomitants while only one qualifies


aesthetic


as a


response.


First,


one


can


mean


that


responds


the work


art,


Dewey


puts


the ordinary manner.4


world


of New


York


City


dominated


that


phenomenon.


read


about


"the world"


recognizing


certain


artists,





-47-


what such statements really mean is that the forty or


people


in New


York


who dominate


the art world


recognize


their work.


Therefore,


when


a person


sees


a painting


Coca Cola bottles it i


recognized


as "a fine expr


ess


ion of


modernity"


plastic


telephone booths displayed


in a


museum are


seen


"profound


expression


our


inability


to communicate."


All


this means


that


a person


conforming


conventional


wisdom of


the day


responding


accordingly.


reflection of


of appreciation


conventional


that people are


attitudes


is one kind


likely to have when


are


process


developing


tastes.


That


people


tend


to follow


recognized


authorities


guidance.


This


particularly


true


case


of some contemporary art where


what


said about a


painting


real ly


far more


important


than


anything


else.


fact,


apprehender


almost


have the


ideology behind


the painting


to have


idea


that


a painting,


example,


indeed


obvious


a work


that


at all.


Roy Lichtenstein's


stencil ing


comic strips on canvas would be


viewed


as high


art, while the ones that children read in th


newspaper are


just


amusement;


that Andy Warhol's Campbell


Soup cans


would be considered a major


statement about


ultimate


reality


something


akin


it),


whereas


soup cans


that


person


opens


a meal,


perhaps


in desperation,


are


things




-48-


acquired sensibility


that allows us


interpret


them


these


ways.


Almost


everyone


engaged


process


of coming


know an art


type


in a


systematic way will


find


themselves


being


influenced by


conventional


judgments.


conventional


wisdom that


says


that Michelangelo


is better


than


most


of his


contemporaries,


same


kind


conventional


wisdom


that


that Balantine Ale cans


bronze


are


profound


statements


about modern


life;


and,


typical


conventional


wisdom,


neither


them


obvious.


It may well be that the product of a detailed aesthetic


analysis and evaluation will


correspond


these


conventional


judgments;


point


to be made


that


there


no reason


assuming


that


popular


views


are


initially made on fundamentally


aesthetic grounds.


A person


may,


without


reflection or


analy


siS,


accept


the conventional


wisdom


that


Michelangelo was


the greatest painter


of his


time,


this


very


different


from


person who


through


understanding


comes


accept


tha t


conclusion.


sec


instance


the work


invol ved


the decision,


while in the first


case


the judgment is not made on


aesthetic


grounds


since


the work


outside


judgment


therefore


cannot


be counted


as aesthetic.


judgment made on aesthetic grounds will


involve


responding


the work


art


itself


this


respect,


there





-49-


with that conventional


wisdom


through


a recognition


work


itself.


The response


these


cases


always


involves


the question of conventional


attitudes,


unfortunately,


certain


people


the differences


between being perceptive


in an art type5 and being Philistine in the same art type is


whether


person' s


reactions


correspond


conventional


tastes of


wisdom of


a small


the day,


coterie of


i.e.,


people


correspond


involved with art and


who deal


in art.


It does


not


mean


any more


than


that.


The


second kind of response a person is likely to have


is one which


is affected by


other


sets


of circumstances


which


we shall


refer


to here


"mnemonic


devices," meaning


irrelevancies which derive


from


the circumstances


in which


person


perceives


the work


apprehends


the work.


This


is to


say


that one is likely to be


affected by the context


and by th


occasion of the art


affected by


art work


as much


as one i


itself.


likely to


the most


common


difficulty in the usual appreciation of a work of art in


that works of art attract


themselves a whole


complex of


5The


"form"
poetry,
"form"


structural


"type"


does


term
refer


painting,


"type"


used


various


here i
areas


etc.


an area


elements


not


of a wor


refer


instead


art


avoid


"form"
c of a


having


rt.


"type,"


such


confusion


do with


this


Thus,
"token"


usual
as music,


between


the
paper,


distinction


suggested


Peirce


and discussed at some


length by Wollheim


where Wollheim talks about an


instantiation of


a work


S S rr


- -S I~t......I .t~ 1 a S a aa *a .- -a a -aH f~rl l-a 1


1ILl.~rnll rtr: 1A


1A


An r


L,


I




-50-


associations


and memories which


arise


from


the occasions on


which


one


encountered


the work


art,


circumstances


attendant


those


occasions.


result,


this


causes


work


art


to be


viewed


"better,"


"more


profound,"


"more


moving,"


etc.


than


would


otherwise,


a more


objective


apprehender.


This


is one


reason


musical


more


works


popular


sense


term


in particular which have


so much


titles are


more widely appreciated


than works which


have


so much


in this


titi


Titles


inspire


some connections


outside


the work


and provide


apprehender


with


a hinge


for mnemonic


associations.


Thus,


this


second


type


response we


have


reaction which


a direct


product


apprehender's


biography


not


part


the work


itself.


These


responses tend to be, on the whole, what might be


called a


"mass i


reaction."


This


very


strong


emotional


response which


in general


non-critical,


which


tends


to disappear


critical


examination


applied.


the fact


that


critical


anal


ysis


tends


to detach


work


from


the work


art;


context


hence,


in which


analysis,


a person


case,


comes


quite


to know


likely


will


result


person


longer


appreciating


the work


of art on this level.


This explains why


so many people are


exceedingly


reluctant


engage


analysis


of works of


art.


This


oss


appreciation


of certain works


s because of





-51-


irrelevancies such


the context


in which


one


viewed


heard


the work


that


caused


the emotional


reaction.


"Pomp


and Circumstance"


a piece


that might


be used


example


since


besides


associations,


particularly


significant piece.


While


true


that


people may


feel


certain


emotions,


such


as pride


perhaps,


when


they


hear


the work,


it would


be a mistake


that


this


emotion


is what


that


the work


peopi


expressed


are


that while feeling


responding


this


something


work.


Rather,


that


this


piece


music


s used


certain ceremonial


occasions


that


emotions


experienced


listener


are


brought


about


understanding


the work


itself.


is worth mentioning


connection


with


this


point


that while


an emotional


reaction


same


as a


response


a work


art,


people can


have emotional


reactions which may


or may not be


consequence


the work


art.


prompted


work


art,


the emotional


reaction may


be called an


aesthetic


response;


prompted by


the work


then


it is an emotional reaction whi


ch does


not happen to be an


aesthetic


response.


6The same


point


can


be made


about


other


kinds of


reactions


one experiences


presence


of works of


which


are


emotional


views a painting and


in character.


is suddenly


reminded


example,


that


one


something


1. 1 ..l -t I.


- -a -1 a a a I




-52-


defining


these


two classes


response,


we have


already indi


cated that they would


not be


properly regarded


"aestheti


c" because


neither


them fundamentally


involve


the work


itself.


What they invol


either


the context,


what


"expert


s" regard


valuable,


rather


than


the work


art;


hence,


they


are


not


pure


sense


"aesthetic"


all.


How would


an aesthetic


response be defined?


necessary


condition


aes


thetic


response


an art work


will


invol


two things:


(1) an approach to the work in the


sense


that


it exists


as an object


attention


occas


apprehension;


appreciation


work


art


the degree


that


one


understands


this


latter


point


one


that


needs


some elaboration.


To understand a work means to be able to expose the

structure of that work and to apprehend in clear terms the


together;


this


regard,


the degree


one


aes


theti


understanding


a work


art


is directly


proportional


the perception of


intelligible structure


the work


art.


This


brings


idea


that


process


appreciation,


understanding,


both


being


same,


make


will


clear


involve analysis.


intel lectual


The purpose


structure of


of anal


the work


ysis


itself.


As such,


analysis will


entai 1


the process of decoding what


involved


the work'


s structure.


Anal


then,




-53-


the decoding


the work


part


apprehender


aesthetic


appreciation


the work


are one


same


thing.


This


process


of decoding


will


produce


an appreciation


certain


configurations and mental


attitudes


(which will


be dealt


with


under


sec


tion


devoted


arti


stic


creation)


these will


be what


experienced


emotional


response


the work


art.


Although


process described above is


intellectual,


an emotional


since other


concomitant.


intellectual


This


surprising


processes do have one or


another


kind


accompanying


emotional


feature.


example,


mathematicians will


frequently discover when they are able


to sol


a problem,


particularly


one on which


they


have been


working


long


time,


that


they


experience


an enormous


sense of exhilaration.


That


is obviously an emotional


response


to what


fundamentally an


intellectual


process.


Emotions and


intellectual activities are frequently


dissociated


as a consequence


seem peculiar


some


people


that


aesthetic


reaction,


which


intellectual


process,


does


in fact possess an emotional


facet.

While we want to say that a person appreciates a work


the degree


that


understood,


same


time


it should


be pointed


that


understanding


a work and being


able


to state


in a


careful


analysis,


aestheti


cian




-54-


would,


are


work


two different matters.


can


about


person


showing


can


was


understand


together,


to be able


development


to state


technical


the construction


language which


involves


is necessary


interest


of precision.8


example,


many


people


can


hear


music with


exceeding


ease.


That


they


can


hear


structure


mus


that


they


can


take


a piece


reproduce


ear."


S is


That


erred


to generally


can work


harmonies


as "playing


would


not be able to


state


the correct musical notation for the


structure.


Similarly,


many people can hear poetry well;


that


particularly


true


in oral


traditions.


They


can


hear


poem and


can


also


compose


a poem with


same


structure,


but the


y would not be able to state the type of metrical


foot


involved,


that


they


were


using


a sonnetic


form,


etc.


Therefore,


the amount of detailed analysis


s necessary


aesthetic


theory


need


not


be present


a general


appreciation


the work,


and,


fact,


sheer


amount


detail


involved in a scholarly analysis can be exceedingly


tedious.


apprehenders


However,


while


to become


is not


involved


normally necessary


in a


great detailed analysis


of the work,


should be abl


to do


it at


least


in a


fragmentary way


tha t


they will


be able


to confirm


that




-55-


their


judgment


the work


essentially


sound and correct,


and where


people disagree,


the disagreement


can


solved on some


level


of analyst


The point


being that


people are doing analysis


the purpose


formal


aesthetics,


then


precision


a desirable quality;


they


are doing


these 1


ves


their


companions,


then


they


need


anymore


precise


than


most


cantankerous


their


friends


insist


that


they


Still,


fact


that


detailed


aesthetic


analysis


is not necessary


appreciation does not


rule


that


appreciation


can be


increased


increased.


the degree


that


However,


understanding


likely


that


the work


as a consequence


aesthetic analysis people will


increase their


appreciation


second


mnemoni


they


senses


irrel


think


term


evancies),


appreciation


(conventional


but they will


first


attitudes


increase their


appreciation


they


take


third


sense,


that


ability


to perceive


intell igible


structure.


Most


people


seem to find it part of their


experience that if


spec


ific things about a work of art are explained they ar


able


see


more


the structure and


therefore better


able


appreciate


a common


phenomenon


that people discover


that


certain works


which


they


"appreciated"


rather


considerably when


they


first


encountered


them,


come


time,





-56-


relates to


initial


difficulty


of perceiving


structure


the work


tastes are quite


likely


art.


Subsequently,


to be changed,


a person's


changed


markedly,


aes


thetic


activity,


mainly because


focus of


person' s


attention when


comes


response will


be shifted


this


kind


enterprise.9


probability


that


what


one later comes to regard


as aesthetic i


uik


ly to be more


contemplati


than


heretofore.


It may be


that


this


involves


some sort of philosophic judgment


that a


contemplati


response


s better


than one characterized by


involvement,


since


that


would


be a non-aesthetic judgment,


we need


pursue


here.


By employing the rule of


symmetry, we are able to work


a theory


of how works


are


to be


interpreted


9It i


notions


since
The e
book


not denied that this view lead


art,


we can


efficacy o
Practical


hardly


this
fail


teaching
Criticism


term


need


notice
upheld


in which


s to "elitist"
a pejorative,


the efficacy


l.A.


teaching.


Richards


he maintains


that


instruction


can eliminate


the common


preconceptions which,


acco


riding


Richards,


preclude


aesthetic


awareness.


This


conclusion comes


as a result


an experiment


Richards


conducted
students


among Cambridge


were


asked


honors


to evaluate


English


"blindly"


students where


thirteen


poems.


one,


results
without
students


judgments


someone


called


were predictably disastrous


the crutch of


"more or
poetic


J.D.C.


less


established
reversed all1


value."


Pellow was


since almost


authority to
the accepted


example,
preferred


to a


lean


the work


to Shakespeare


Donne.


results


imply


that


traditional


critical


interpretations of


aesthetic


values


have any merit whatever


(and


Richards


points


plain


does
that


inability


not
"the


question
sheer i


to read or


even


traditional


diocy


their


to notice


criticism since


remarks
simplest


Sre' 4 \ 1 -1 nI X- C I n n 1 I X n u j n a 1 C a v. 4- n








analyzed,


the same


time certain kinds


conclusions


about


they


are


created


are


being


reached,


satisfactory


theory


interpretation will


same


time


expose


how


the work


was


created.


This


idea


should


surprising


since


theory


artistic


creation


theory


interpretation will


necessarily need


to be parallel


in a


certain


sense,


unless


course,


one would


want


come


the conclusion that what is understood about a work of art


has nothing whatever to do with what the


artist did when


creating


work.


course,


such


a theory


possible,


otherwi


theory


that


contends


that


there


is a


connection


between


what


artist


does


what


apprehender does when


analyzing


interpreting


the work


that


can


be understood will


have


insist


that


theories


interpretation and creation


be parallel


least.


That


there will


symmetry


between


the process of


encoding


process


decoding.


This


does


not mean,


however,


that


there


symmetry


between


content


experiences


of creation


appreciation.


Rather,


process


of both


that


symmetry.


From this it follows that for


every term in an


interpretati


theory


there


should be an analogous


term in a


creation


theory,


vice


versa.


This parallel


structure


makes


it possible to


test almost


immediately the consistency


and


adequacy


theory.


example,


if what


someone





-58-


interpretation.


If no satisfactory


useful


corollary


forthcoming,


there


inadequacy


flaw


creation


theory


that


s being


advanced.


can


see


what


implications


this would have


for message approaches


opposed


structural


corollaries


a message


approaches


approach


to art.


Specifically,


in the areas of


creation


and


res


ponse would lead one to say that the artist has


message which


he or


communicates


through


medium


apprehender.


apprehender


then must


understand


message


since it is th


value of the message and the clarity


apprehension


that makes


art.


From


this


perspective


intentions


artist become


important


(i.e.,


whether


they


were


evil


not).


structural


approach,


as we have outlined


simpler


less


problematic in the sense that we do not have to be concerned


with


things which


are


not


public,


such


intentions


arti


long


since dead,


example.


According


the way


in which


been worked


out,


for purp

artists

in which


oses


of evaluation


anything,


they


necessary


important


because,


a person


to kno

is go


to know why

w the manner

ing to be


able


interpret music


poetry


painting,


other


type,


he must


be able


to discern


the manner


which


together.


And we


hypothesize


that


the way


in which it is put together will


tell us how the artist goes





-59-


artist.


The


processes


are


parallel,


or we might


that


each


the mirror


image of


other.


Thus


theory


interpretation


theory of


artistic creation will


have certain points


in common


--both of


them involve only the


function


structure


the work


art.


We do


need


to know


apprehender


responds


the work


and we


do not


need


to know why


artist


created


first


place.


In other


words,


we do


need


interest


oursel


ves


in why


what


arti


happens


the work


are


the apprehender when


interested


exper


lenced.


Would


this


mean


that


aestheticians


who understand


process


the work'


construction


what


makes


valuable would


then be able to produce masterpieces


in the


medium of


their


choi


There


no more


reason


that


follow


than


that mathematicians who understand


the principle


of mathematics would then be able to go on and do original


expert mathematical


theses.


All


such mathematicians


have done is


to master what others ha


done, and that does


least


imply that


they will


be brilliant


mathematicians.


fact


that


they


know


a given proof


was


constructed


does not


imply


that


they will


then be able


furnish


fresh


proofs.


The


fact


that


people


understand


something


does not


imply that


they will


have further


insight


regard


that


subject,


presumably


a new work


product


insight.


therefore evident


that





-60-


another


one.


This


would


true


all


human


endeavors.


cannot


expect


that expert


theoretical


knowledge of


field


will


imply


that


one


can excel


in practice


that field.


example,


an expert musicologist could not be expected


play the piano, or for that matter an expert pianist could


expected


to compose music


because what


involved


entirely


different.


apart


same


expertise


that


needed


needed


taking


putting


things


things


together.


That


process


decoding


part


apprehender


process


of encoding


part


artist


are


separate


operations even


though


the principle


involved


turn


analogous.


Keeping


an examination


these


encoding


things

process


in mind,

3. the a


we now

t of


artistic


creation.


Encoding:


Artistic Creation


We have concluded thus far that every work of art has a


structure


further


tha t


suggests


this


that


structure


a genuine


intelligible.


aesthetic


This


response,


aesthetic


appreciation,


entails


understanding


the work.


"Understanding"


this


context


means


simply


"grasping


intelligible


structure."


The


issue


an apparent anomaly


be raised


here


that


as certainly


seems


to be


case,


most


persons


cannot


describe


structures


which


they


- -aa iSn aCa A .aa





-61-


people who say


they


like


appreciate music


cannot


in any


meaningful


resolved


works of


discuss


if we keep in mind


basically a


structure


that


technical


of music.


problem of


one not


issue


describing


involving


understanding.


describe


That


structure


the difficulty


of music may


not


hinge,


being


on a


able


lack


understanding,


rather


fact


that


person


lacks


vocabulary of


sufficient abstraction


to state precisely


what


apprehends.


This


fact


can


tested


quite


clearly


noting


that


a person can detect errors


structures.


In music,


instance,


is not


impossible


a listener to say with authority that a piece is played


too fast, or there is too much pedal applied to a certain


portion.


The


point


that


one


can


identify


nature


the problem


applies


structures


thus


demonstrating


understanding without


describing


techni


means.


undeniable


that


certain of


these talents are


physical


character.


That


musicians do


fact


hear


substantially


better


than most people do.


In particular,


many of them have a kind of accuracy of memory which is


called


"perfect


pitch,


" which


enables


them


to determine


whether


or not


notes


are correctly


tuned without


reference


to a tuning


fork.


Thus,


they


have


very


often


what


appears


to be


an uncanny


ability


to discriminate


sounds.




-62-


and which


kind


important


because


"talent" which


it provides


necessary


a background


to be


a musician.


Keeping in mind these points we move now from the


understanding


which


result


apprehender's


ability to decode


the structure of


the work,


activity


arti


creation,


which


entails


putting


structure


together


initially,


encoding.


Could we not simply inquire of artists how th


about doing what


they


reading


through


letters


Wagner

that i


example,


s useful


about


one

the


unlikely


relationship o:


find much

f artists


information


their


work.


This


should


not


be surprising


because


artists


do not


really


know how


they


create


any more


than


orators


know


about


grammar


language


they


speak.


Artists are unlikely


to be aesthetically


sophisticated and we should


not


expect


them


to be


more aesthetically


aware


than we would expect


an orator


to be a


fine philologist;


their


expert


ise


lies


elsewhere.


Expertise


in being


an aesthetician


consists


working out the values inherent in a work of art;


strength


artist


artistic creation


lies


itself,


ess


fundamental


entially


process


a process of


translating


structure


thinking


into some concrete


expression,


i.e.,


the work


art.


We shall


refer


this


process


"encoding"


reasons


which


will


be described


and an exploration of


the possible details


this


process





-63-


as we have maintained,


is an


intel lectual


structure,


then all


invol


ves


"thinking"


as opposed


what


we might


describe


as "spontaneous


emotional


reactions"


since


invol


ves


fundamentally the process of


selection and


analy


which are exactly what all


kinds of


thinking


entail.


And,


without


indulging


undue


speculations


about


psycho logy


artist,


certain


assumptions


can


made


about


creative


called


process


thinking


creative


consists


thinking


a series


"inspirations"


exampi


causes

) which


(sometimes


result


an effect


(the concrete


expression,


which


work


itself).


Normally


this


creative


process


is spoken of


it were


one


step;


however,


is evident


from discussions


about work


of art


that creativeness


involves a double step


process.


In other words,


there


is a difference


between


factors


which


inspire


and motivate


artist and


artist's


aesthetic


adapting motivations


activity.


inspirations


notebooks written


into


artists,


example,


is evident


that


the creative


process can cover


vast


spans


time.


example,


from Beethoven's


notebooks


one


learns


that melodic motives sometimes occurred


Beethoven as


long


twenty years


before


they were actually


employed;


then


during the ensuing time


together.


they were


appear


vastly modified


to contradict


case


of the Zen painter who


has a


perfectly


conceived


"mo t i v a t i on s "'




-64-


occur


sporadically,


then are assembled


into a mental


framework


which


enables


artist


to produce


the work of


art.


However,


artistic creation on


this


level


does not


differ


from


thinking


in general,


one can


find


exactly


same


process,


insofar


as we


have


documentary


evidence,


the work


Newton


Leibniz


or Eins


tein


that


ideas


occur


independently


then


in conjunction


result


in a


theory,


and,


sometimes


clear


that


occasion


conjunction


fairly


trivial.


This


not


to equate


artistic products with


scientific


products


simply


that


processes


thinking


which


lead


the summation


are


same.


This


raises


the question


whether,


one were


develop a general


philosophical


theory


project,


thinking,


perhaps


one would encounter


any problem which


is specifically


aesthetic.


art a


special


type of


thinking?


That


a sati


factory


thesis


of what


thinking entails were developed,


would


the explanation of


this


thes


reveal


certain


varieties of


thought which have


special


characteristics which would have


to be called


"aestheti


The statement


that art


involves


"thinking"


obviously


employs


the word


in a


broader


sense


that


either


true/false


judgments


judgments


the denial


of which would be





-65-


thought a mental


event can merely have a


coherent


structure;


that


not


random.


What


we want


reinforce here


is that rational


statements


are


simply


one


form


thinking


that


there


are


other


kinds


thinking


as well.


example,


some


thoughts


are


linguistic;


others


are


not.l0


Some


thoughts


involve


judgments of


self-


consistency,


others do


not.


Art


thinking


that does


require


criteria


truth


falsity


the criteria of


self-consi


stency,


it does not


follow that art


therefore


"irrational.


" It


simply


a class


thinking


which


involves a certain clarity of perception regarding


symmetries


structural


relationships.11


that


kind of mental


act in which the artist is involved has a


clarity


superior


more


ordinary mental


acts does


indicate


some


unique


characteristic


aesthetic


thinking,


since the same statement could be made of areas besides art


where some people are able


immediately to perceive things as


whole.


10Perhaps


best


example


of non-lingui


stic thinking


the way children grasp


the emotional


aspects


language
children


long


intuit


before


they


grasp


the emotional


its content.


appropriateness


As a result
of certain


words


long


before


they


have


notion


what


they mean.


example,


children know what one should say when


hitting


finge
what


r


inadvertently with a hammer,


have no


idea


damnation means.


110ne


perceives


imagines
structures


tha t


there


the same


is only


one


regardless


intellect which


of whether


they


are


m ~ te n ~ L: rrrrr


mr~nS


YllnCllvnn


nk nvn; nal


nLurrnLrlvnn


r




-66-


process


translating


a concrete structure


process


these coherent


which


thoughts


elsewhere


into


this


paper


called


"encoding," but which


is more popularly


described


expresses


"expressing."


something


idea


a fundamental


that


concept


artist


in aesthetics,


and while there i


no disagreement here in using the term


"expressing"


describe


relation


between


artist


product,


term


"encoding"


is preferred


reasons


that


will


be outlined


after


the content


the notion of


expression


explored.


Melvin Rader


is correct


in noting


in A


Modern Book


Esthetics


that although many


thinkers will


use words


like


"communication"


(Tolstoy),


symbolizationn"


Langer


Arnheim),


"embodiment"


(Reid


Bosenquet),


these


various


terms


can


subsumed under


the single


term


"expression."


Although


most


modern


aestheticians


agree


that


works


art


somehow


involve a process of


expression,


there


is a dispute


to what


expressed,


expressed,


what


causes


to be expressed.


while


disagreeing


on various points,


aestheticians nevertheless generally


agree


that


expression


fundamental


itself.


term


approaching


"expression" has


neutrality with


controversy.


example


happy


regard


, the word


advantage


the message-structure


"communication"


used


instead


of "expression,"


case


would


already








problem involved.


"communicate"


When people say


something


that


difficult


the artist wants


ascertain what


meant


that word.


In general


usage


the word


seems


carry


vague


implication


that works of


somehow


influence


viewers


the sense of


changing


their


attitudes


or the wa


y they are


as people and art is regarded


important


the extent


that


affects


these changes.


other


they


words,


are


idea


that


unaffected by


people


art.


What


respond


causes


then


people


think they are affected by art?


It is possibly because of a


reaction


to art which


normally


characterized


emotional


one,


sometimes


coupled


with


"pleasure."


all


these


terms are not


truly


informative


because


clear


that


art


people


like most


is not


necessarily


the art


they regard


as qualitatively


best.


Almost everyone,


matter


be given reflective examination,


makes


distinction


between


regarded


important


regarded


pleasant.


apparent


that


regarded


important


that


"communicates";


thus,


the work


a particular


artist


regarded


being more


important


than


the work


another


artist even


though


latter's work may


preferred.


But


what does


artist


communicate


important works


art?


Surely,


intention


that the artist wants to convey


some fact


since it is clear




-68-


incidental


information;


example,


historians


often make


use


poems


because


they


include


a chance


reference


to some


person


or event,


such


information


s trivial


theory.


Moreover,


it is


clear that the meaning i


not that the


artist


intends


tell


something


about


the world


that


one


may


would


That


react


react


what


we can


to circumstances


to warning


same


signs


communicated


fairly


sense


scientific


ideas,


certain.


were


that


information.


theories,


those


facts


things


the works would be true or false, and if


such categories


pertained


to art,


it would be sufficiently clear


that


people


observing


the same work would know exactly what


meant,


there would


no dispute over


ince


manifestly not the


case,


it is obvious that when the word


"communicate"


used


should


be meant


stri


sense


term.


avoid


problems


just


stated,


preferable


to find another


that


artist


term


artistic


expresses


rather


activity


than


communicates.


idea


that


we can


express


something


without


communicating


very


use


the word


expresss


sion"


gives


rise


common notion


that art


involves


self


expression on


part


artist.


Since


aestheticians


want


to make


inte


eligible,


it must be


pointed out that if a work of art


invol


ves


solely


self-expression of


the arti




-69-


this


irrelevant to aesthetic


consideration


a work


art.


Perhaps


the difference


between


expression and self-


expression can be


illustrated by


pointing


that


a perfect


example


self-expression


babbling


infant.


That i


s, the


babbi


is simply sounds connec


ted in a fashion


which


either


attractive,


or commends


itself


in some way


other,


infant


is doing


babbling.


Even


after


they


learn


speak children sometimes make up


languages and babble on


(and would anyone deny


that


adults


are


guilty


this


kind


thing?).


case,


this


is a clear cut


case


of self-expression,


and while


infant


may


intend


something


we cannot


determine


intention from the babbling.


Eventually,


one might


note


that


there


s some


regularity


sounds,


parents


live with children can sometimes


tell


that what


seems


like


babbling


to others


is actually mispronunciation of


standard


words.


problem


of expression


vs.


self-expression of


artist a similar


situation develops.


long as


the work


simply self-expression


the artist might as well


be babbling,


and babble is not the kind of thing one can deal with, since


there


no clue


substance


structure.


Only


when we determine


substance or


structure can we deal


with


in any


reasonable way.





-70-


artist.


one


says


that


all


art


self-expression,


is essentially subjective,


in a fundamental


sense,


it could


never


be known.


however,


art


invol


ves


some


kind


express


ion,


example


Langer


says,


artist


own


emotions,


what


known


about


emotions,


then


some dimension art


subjective,


rather


object


public.


Thus,


person


sees


the work


art,


or hears


the work


art,


sees


as much,


or potentially


as much,


artist


does.


view


as expression,


not self-expres


sion


the part of the artist, helps sol


ve some of the problems of


creation


that


often


artist


does


see


creation all


that


those who apprehend


the work


see.


fact,


sometimes


artists


are actually surprised


that


others


see


things


their work


that are


not


visible


them.


making


a distinction


phenomena


can


between


be explained:


expression and


first,


self-expression


someone else can


understand


a work


better


than


creator,


when


course

purely


this


impossible


self-expression;


one maintains


secondly,


that


the way


in which a


work of art can be viewed


as being public and object


rather


than


private


subjective.


artist,


then,


expresses


feel ing,


way a politician blows off steam or a baby


not


laughs and


the
cries.


He formulates


that elusive aspect of


reality


that


-nnimmnnn 1 I7


*mlron


* ho


3mnnrnhni, a


*uh1n rug-.


1-h m4


12


I


Ir


.- r1


I i iv




-71-


Although


I' pesin


an adequate


term


have


preferred


introduce


own


word


"encoding"


to describe


the activity


artist.


"Encoding" has


been


chosen


very


specific


reasons.


a neutral


word


which


does


imply that the artist is creati


in the sense of


originality.


impli


nothing


about


psychology.


Also,


term


"encoding"


very much more


positive


"encoded"


in describing


activity.


implication


that


That


can


something


"decoded."


Moreover,


term


suggests


that


the process


response


akin


process


expression,


whereas


there


is no


necessary


connection


between


the way


someone


understands


work of


art and what was


intentionally


expressed by


artist.


term was


chosen


to make


clearer


symmetry


between


activity


artist,


product,


activity


certain clarity


apprehender.


concerning


Other


these


than


issues,


striving


there


essential


difference between calling what


the artist does


"encoding"


"expression";


similarly,


product,


work


art,


can


be called


that


which


"expressed"


"encoded.


Two


kinds of


ability


are


fundamental


an artist.


First,


there


is a process


selection and


techniques


organization


which


are


mental;


these


combined


referred


artist'


techniques of


encoding.




-72-


applying


art.


techniques


We can call


this


of encoding

particular c


in a concrete work


relative ability


artist's


technique


the material.


These abilities


need


be examined


some


detail


and while they


cannot be entirely


divorced from each other,


for purposes


of elaboration


they


will


be discussed


separately.


Techniques of


Encoding


technique


encoding


artists create mental


patterns of


choosing,


which


they


translate


into


a particular


medium.


Once


these


are


translated


into


a medium


they


become


tinctive and


recognizable and are


referred


arti


st's


"style."


Through


style,


artist


become


like


a friend whose missing word one


can supply in a


conversation;


that


possible


one


grasp


artist's


pattern


choosing.


theory


there


nothing


inevitable about the medium in which the work of art is


produced


when


artists


encode


they


gather


together


their


choices


such


a way


that


thought


certain


identifiable characteristics


organize


action.


Patterns


are


chosen


a particular process of


encoding


because of


what


the work


"expresses"


our


terminology,


"encodes."


There


been


much


discussion


literature


aesthetics


to what


this


might


Tin Fnrl-,~~n,~ 4-al n *1 nA re- 4hr I


IlnFnvClln1ICnl


Pnl


1


llede




-73-


this


reason


some


philosophers


want


that aesthetics


not rational


because aesthetic utterances clearly


involve


emotional


poetry,


responses.


what


Thus,


painters do when


what


they


poets


use


do when


visible


write


objects,


what musicians do when they use tones is to manipulate the


emotional


resonances of


these


tools


to create what


often


cal led


"mood."


Thus,


what


emerges


from a musical


composition,


example,


is not an


idea


intellectual


sense,


but,


more


accurately,


I ttt ud


that


will


referred


to here


"conste


elation


of mental


attitudes.


The word


"attitude"


chosen


reasons.


much


broader


than


the word


"emotion" which


frequently


used


with


regard


to works


art,


and,


other


hand,


is more definite


than


mere


"feeling," which


vague


term


that


one does


not


have


clear


idea


of what


is meant.


Although an attitude cannot be defined with


pristine clarity


either,


feeling.


term does


Attitude,


apply


course,


something


does


more definite


refer


than


to what


done but the way something is done, and is alw


ays


elu


because


invol


ves


a pattern.


It may


exemplify


particular


attitude


life,


it may


simply


call


to one's


attention


attitude


the way


can


things must


be somewhat


be constructed.


precise


That


case


stylistic


art which has


a common attitude


(that


reason,


presumably,


one


can


identify


Renaissance


art),




-74-


one can even speak of the attitude of a tree or other nature


objects.


The point is significant because it means


that


attitudes are visibi


in structure.13


The word "constellation" is used to convey that what is


involved is


a series


assoc


nations of attitudes which may


or may not overlap and which form a kind of pattern in and


of themselves.


The word "constellation" does not pre-judge


the nature or character of the pattern,


but indicates at


least some kind of organization.


This i


not to deny that in many ways ordinary people


exhibit attitudes in their daily


that the patterns,


lives but only to point out


the constellations of mental attitudes,


which artists have are presumably more complex,


richer in their dimensions,


more subtle,


not that they are different in


kind.


If this were not the


case,


if artists did not have


attitudes which are more vivid,


richer, more complex,


etc.,


13This is not to


that when it comes to works of art


that one can easily specify the "attitude" of
descriptive language of attitudes and moods i


the work;


s too poverty


stricken for this.


But,


there are groupings of terms that


are more appropriate, or


less


so.


For example,


if one


compares Beethoven's Sonata 32 in C Minor to Mendelssohn's


Midsummer Night's Dream or


Wagner's


"Liebestodt"


from


Tristan und Isolde certain distinctions can be made


what attitude words would be appropriate.


The word


"stately" would not be appropriate for any of the three,
while "sprightly" might be appropriate for the Mendelssohn


but not the Beethoven or the Wagner.


Whatever attitude


words apply have nothing to do with the quality of a work of


art,


but only what we perceive to be the mood of the work.


While the attitudes that are expressed in a work of art ar


fl 4^ 4 rn n-^ a" n 4- *F 4- *^1^^-^ T 1 .y a F\ +1^ a r 1-. n aw t, n -n 1. r v ^ a ^ r


1




-75-


than


ordinary,


then


the works


they


produce would


different


from our


own


lives.


that


artist's


constellations of mental


tha t


attitudes are dis


tinctive


these constellations are distinctive


in their


rarity,


only


that


they


are di


stinctive


their


vividness,


richness,


and completeness.


Even though all


people have


intuitions and experiences


of constellations


attitudes,


artists


have


about


them an


intuitiveness which extend


beyond


ordinary


form of


awareness.


Because


symmetry


our


system,


we can


that


the aesthetic response also


involves


the extension of


awareness.


result


that


instead


of art being


valuable


because


it communicates


idea


apprehender,


value of art is that it extends the range of th


apprehender's


awareness.


that


work


too


difficult


that


threshold of understanding


demanded by the work i


higher than our threshold of


awareness.


Similarly,


what


is meant


when we


that


work


come


exposure


it we have


the work


itself.


to be understood


raised our


Thus


that


threshold


is possible


through


level


that


works


influence


people


because they


extend


range


of a person's


awareness.


A work


art,


then,


ves


expression


or definiteness


to areas of experience which almost


everyone


has,


does





-76-


enables them to express in a way that most people are not


readily


capable


doing.


This


brings


artist's


techniques



Techniques


the material.



the Material


A person can think beautiful thoughts but not be a


successful


artist unless


there


is something else


in addition


to tec


hniques


of encoding, and that is what can be called


"techniques


skill


the material.


translate


That


the structure of


artist must


thought


have


into


arti


stic medium.


To be a musician


one must do


more


than


think musically or


to have


thoughts


that could be given


musical


expression;


one must


an awareness


of how


deal with th


problem of what we will call the "grammar" of


music.


That


musical


sounds do


follow


each


other


randomly.


The choices


that


one makes


in musical


composition


must be made


in context


of certain


pre-established


regularities


made.


which


Historically,


1imit


kinds of


this


choices


styl


which are


era


in which


one happens to


ve.


style period in the his


tory of art


simply means


that there are


certain


assumed


limitations on


kinds


choices


which


artists


can make


they


expect


to be


touch with


their


era.


This


shows


things:


One


that


more distant


.8. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 1.. a -11-- --- -1-- eC nA I


,HA Al


Llr A


1


rUAW*


[A




-77-


likely


to understand music of certain epochs more easily


than


others.


example,


people


grasp


a work


in one


epoch,


then they are likely to grasp other works in that


epoch more


eas


ily


as a consequence of having grasped


general


technical


assumptions


in terms of


the material


which


limits


kinds


of choices


which


an artist


can make.


We now have a


clear


statement of


role


selection


in the


act of creation in that it invol


ves


both a mental and


material


phase.


The artist has a constellation of mental


attitudes


process of


process


selecting


artistic


from amongst


creation


the elements


particular


type


those which seem appropriate to gi


expression


this constellation of mental


attitudes.


The


phrase


here


give expression


to" means


to create


configuration,


or form,


that will


successful 1


encode


mental


attitude


into


the work


art.


hypothesis,


person given the same set of


assumptions about the way in


which


the art


language works14 will


then


be abl


interpret the


in such a way that h


or she will have as


product


appreciation


the work


art,


response which will be similar in structure if it is to be


considered


an aesthetic


response.


14The


suggest


that


reason


using


there are certain


i language metaphor
regularities in thi


various


types


that


a person must


learn


recognize.


The


n~ r"\ a a a V F a^ n n at nt /a? A 4-^ -a r4-- 4 I- 1, n ir af F\ 1 a /lr^^ n n n




-78-


This does


mean


that


there


are


correspondent


ideas concerning conclusions about


life,


nor


correspondent


conclusions

objective f


information


about


acts


nature


all.


involved


the world or


In other words,


in either


case.


there


Hence,


indeed any

e is no


idea


truth,


objective


truth


means


reality


a description


something


some


that


kind


involved


art.


In addition


fact


that


does


transmit


information,


evident


from what


already been said


that


case


that


only


artist's


psychological


profile


tha t


are getting


in the work.


What


happens


in artistic


creation


that


particular


configuration


attitudes


which


gave


rise


that artistic


expression


are


transmuted


into


an objective


form.


This


objective


form


what


prompts


process


of decoding.


decoding


necessary


concomitant


another


attitudinal


configuration.


The decoded


configuration


most


likely will


the same


its content as


original


configuration of


the artist,


actually


they may


very


little to do with each other,


the structures will


analogous.


The intellectual


structure involved


in the


response,


an aesthetic


response,


intellectual


structure


involved


in the artistic expression


will be similar in the geometric sen


of the term.


Though


content


response


may well


be different from the




-79-


This


means


that


insofar


aesthetic


significance


the work


is concerned


the work


a catharsis


artist,


venting


emotions,


just


aes


thetic


response


is not


an arousal


of emotions.


Expression


giving


form


attitudes


while


response


is coming


understand


those


attitudes.


Thus,


artist


need


be sad


understand


respond


human


to human


sadness;


sadness.


a person


need


tragic work


is quite


possible


without


affected


the person

the artist


hearing

creating


seeing

to be


it being

affected.


Works


represent


view,


an understanding,


intel lectual


appreciation of


some configurations


attitudes


attitudes


themselves.


In this section we have


said that the act of creation


is fundamentally t

appropriateness of


:wofold:


elements and


intuitive sense of


the organization


of elements


into


the mental


cons


tellations which gave rise to


expression,


the mastery


language


implicit


the way


artists


their


contemporaries


look


at and make


art.


This


last


fact


important


because


along with


artist's


there


own


is also


vocabulary which determines personal


language which characterizes


style,


style of


a period.


That is, the general population as


with just such a language in te


rms of which th


well grows up

lev look at and


are exposed to art, so that while the particulars of a




-80-


course


of growing


example,


the course of


learning


becoming

learning


to play


instrument


familiar with any

technique, a person


learning


type of

n picks


art,


to paint


as a process


up certain


kinds


vocabulary


about


the way


in which


type


functions.


This


vocabulary


is a kind of primitive criticism,


intent


of which is to give


clues


as to what the elements of an art


type


are,


clues


preferred


organizing


according to the


style period in which one happens to li


ve.


some


style


periods


these specifications are


very


exac


ting.


We happen


live


in a period


artistic


activity where


they


are


exceedingly


indirect because of


stylistic preference of non-verbalizations,


in earlier


periods


there


have been


virtual


rule book


written


to how


artist


should


about


creating.


For


example,


Polyclitus,


along with Phidias one of


the most celebrated


sculptors


antiquity,


credited


with describing


a canon


ideal


proportions


which


then


used


work.


Similarly,


the current mode of analysis of


traditional music


based


upon


textbook


written


Rameau who articulated


the basic rules of harmony.


Even


though


these


rules


are


antiquated


contemporary


standards


have been updated


by people


like Schoenberg


and Hindemith,


these rules


serve


kind of narrow purpose, and that is to give clues and


references t


the art


language and


give


historical




-81-


This


situation


not


restricted


types


since


the same thing occurs in criticism of all sorts.


Rules are


developed which


are


intended


to refer


not only to one style,


but to several


styles or


to a whole tradition--normally


tradition


European


painting.


1 imitation


this


situation


that


criti


cism becomes


entirely


culture


bound.


Thus


, the


criticism which


find


in painting


poetry


in music


is normally confined


those


activity


artists


lived


in Europe


since


about


year


1000.


although thi


criticism


is sometimes applied


to classical


artists


as a kind


afterthought,


antecedents


of Greek


before


year


1000


(Summerian


Egyptian


cultures)


are


excluded.


is evident,


however,


that


this


kind of


vocabulary,


while 1


it enables one


to deal


more or


less effective


ly with a


limited


style


period and art


type,


is not successful


encompassing


various


types of


of different


cultures


with


diverse


types


themsel ves.


Thus,


there


vocabulary of painting which will


apply uniformly to


Indian


painting,


Chinese


painting,


Persian


painting,


and Western


European paintingl6


or which would


permit


one


speak


painting,


music,


poetry


in a uniform way.


15They
referred to


are


often


considered art at all,


instead


"iconic.




-82-


Considering our fundamental rule of commonality,


that


all aesthetic judgment and description must be general and

applicable to all types of art, it is apparent that a major

difficulty that must be met in Chapter III, when the work of


art is considered,


will be the creation of an abstract


vocabulary for the analysis and description of art works

that will not be restricted to a particular style period or

by any single type of art.















CHAPTER


THE WORK


ART


TOWARD


A COMMON


DESCRIPTIVE VOCABULARY


IN MUSIC,


It seems clear


POETRY,


that whatever


PAINTING


conclusions one ultimately


comes


regarding


art,


only


area


which


can


be discussed


with


degree of


clarity


the work


itself.


example,


one


begins aesthetic


inquiry by dealing essentially with


the problem of


artists


their


communication,


then


very practical


issue of


information arises;


although artists


their


creati


endeavors


are


interesting,


there


are


hard


data


regarding


creative


process.


There


are


reasons


this.


from arti


First of


on how


all,


they


the amount of


about


information available


creation


very small.


Secondly,


there


is no reason


to believe


that


information we have


reliable.1


Careful


self-


observation


object


arti


sts'


endeavors,


their


attention


information


they


rarely


do provide,


directed


that


little


question.


kind


that


1Even if w


were


to grant the reliability of arti


sts'


accounts and choose


intentions


artist


line


approach


to aesthetic


value,


we face


the difficulty


not being able to deal with works of art that are


not


n a n 1- am in na r t' -i n 4-anr ~%'& W~d ~ a** -n


:~rln~L: nnn


r


~n: nn


~lmnn I


~All~


~uL;


J




-84-


would be helpful.


Artists are not trained scientists who


are detached from what they do sufficiently to provide an


adequate explanation for their operations.


In addition,


encoding is primarily an internal mental process;


therefore,


even if a person were sitting in the studio of an artist no


insight would be gained into the creative process becau


there i


no way of determining why the artist selects the


things in the way that she or he does and in the order in


which they are


selected.


the word "adequate" has any meaning in aesthetics at


all,


that is,


if we believe that there are interpretations


of works of art that are adequate,


then certainly one of the


minimum things an explanation should be able to establish is

that where two conflicting interpretations are encountered


one of them is inadequate or


less adequate than the other.


As explanation based on what the artists meant or why they

did what they did will be fundamentally unfruitful for we

have seen even asking their help will not solve the problem.


In contrast to taking artists and their intentions


the focus of aesthetic value and interest, their


is a


certain advantage in looking to the response of the


2A compilation of what artists


about their creative


activities is Artists on Art by Robert Goldwater and Marco


Treves,


Pantheon Books,


Inc.,


New York,


1945.


An example of


the sort of description that artists give of creation that
aestheticians find of little help is Picasso's account that




-85-


apprehender


this


regard


since


here


there


the advantage


an abundance


information.


This


approach,


however,


problem


free


that


oddities


result.


example,


do not want


that


Rembrandt,


who was


widely


appreciated


until


about


time


he was


fifty,


was


a great


artist,


then suddenly was no


longer


great


when


cea


to be


appreciated


toward


of his


life.


This


position


is especially untenable since


the works


that


Rembrandt


produced


after


he ceased


to be


appreciated


are


those


that


today


are


regarded


as more


valuable,


while


the earlier works


are


at present


regarded


less


significant.


A phenomenon which must


taken


into


account


when


considering


responses


tha t


our


responses


responses


ers


vary


one


from another.


One


thing


that


been


established


realm of


aesthetics


that what


different


people


a work


means


them,


terms


their


responses,


radically


divergent.


Responses


differ to the degr


that if we w


ere


working only with a


person's


response


to a work


would


not


be possible


to determine what work


elicited


response.


Works


that


are


supposed by conventional


wisdom to be extremely


sad,


strike


some


individuals


as ecstatic,


and works


that


some people view


as joyous are thought by others to be


profoundly


tragic.


Thus,


as when


emphasizing


artist'


intent,


we are


faced


with


the puzzle of establishing which




Full Text

THE ANATOMY OF ART: PROBLEMS IN
AND EVALUATION OF WORKS
THE DESCRIPTION
OF ART
By
THOMASINE KIMBROUGH KUSHNER
A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF
THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE
DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
1984

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to express gratitude to all those who generously
gave of their time and expertise to help in the realization
of this project:
From the Philosophy Department at the University of
Florida Dr. Jay Zeman who first opened the doors for me, Dr.
Ellen Haring offered suggestions which much improved the
manuscript, and Dr. Greg Ulmer who showed new avenues of
exploration. I especially want to thank Dr. Robert D'Amico;
every thesis writer needs a wise advisor and therapeutic
friend and I was fortunate to find both in him.
Dr. Joseph Rohm, Professor of Music and composer,
Florida International University, Miami, Florida, gave
musical instruction and helped in analyzing Beethoven's Opus
III.
Dr. John Knoblock, of the Philosophy Department of the
University of Miami, Florida, helped me from the beginning,
first by suggesting that I write this variation on a theme
we have discussed for years and then by allowing me many
hours of dialogue on problems of aesthetics. Dr. George
Alexandrakis, Professor and Chairman of the Department of
Physics at the University of Miami offered suggestions in
explaining the characteristics of sound and light waves.
Dr. Steven Mailloux, Department of English, University of

Ill

PREFACE
The subject of this inquiry can be posed in a simple
question, "Can art be evaluated, and if so, how?" To
address this question seriously requires a more general
approach to aesthetics than is current. Instead of
concerning themselves with the broader issues, most
contemporary aestheticians have focused their attention on
more specific matters, such as how various aesthetic
vocabularies are used in the particular arts. This
narrowing of objectives can probably be traced to a
persistent doubt current since the 1930s that any general
theory of art is possible. It has been assumed that a
general theory would depend on locating those necessary
characteristics which things must share to be called works
of art, a will-o'-the-wisp search rooted in what is described
as "the fallacy of essentialism."
More recently, Morris Weitz has suggested that the very
question, "What is art?" is meaningless, and the most we can
say about "art" is that it is, as Wittgenstein described
"games," a "family resemblance" notion; that art is,
according to Weitz, a term without boundaries which accounts
for difficulties of definition. One can grant the position
of men like Weitz, Sibley, and others that there are no
necessary and sufficient conditions linking together all
IV

those things we refer to as "art" without concluding that
boundaries cannot, or should not, be drawn. Wittgenstein, it
will be remembered, clearly took the view that for special
purposes we can draw boundaries for concepts, and it is my
point that aesthetics, insofar as it is involved in
criticism, jjs just such a special purpose. A primary
function of this inquiry will be defining art, but defining
it for a special purpose—the purpose of evaluating works of
art.
There are problems which still trouble the common
intellectual community, such as how one might go about
showing how Bach is not so great as Beethoven, or that one
composition by Beethoven is better than another composition
by Beethoven. Issues such as these will not be resolved by
having aestheticians talking with other aestheticians and
working out the fine points of their agreement, but rather
by taking into account the practical needs which critics in
the various disciplines have for a reasonable way of
describing works of art, in analyzing their construction, so
that they may then be evaluated.
While the interest of contemporary aestheticians has
not been in constructive aesthetics, that is, offering
suggestions as to how aesthetics can move ahead to provide a
useful account of art, their criticisms of the errors of the
past provide a considerable contribution in sharpening the
perimeters of the question and enable us to focus our
attention on it more precisely. The purpose of this study
will be to construct a general theory of art, taking into
v

consideration not only what modern aestheticians say, but
also keeping in mind constantly the basic trends of
criticism in the various arts. The goal will be to
construct a theory in such a way that there will be a common
language in terms of which specific art types can be
discussed so as to make their common features apparent,
leading, therefore, to common standards of evaluation.
vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ii
PREFACE iv
LIST OF TABLES ix
LIST OF FIGURES x
ABSTRACT xiii
PART I 2
CHAPTER I CONCEPTUAL DIFFICULTIES 2
Approaches to Boundary Making.... 11
Criteria for Evaluating Theories. 21
Metarules for Proceeding 30
CHAPTER II DECODING: AESTHETIC RESPONSE,
AND ENCODING: ARTISTIC CREATION. 41
Decoding: Aesthetic Response.... 44
Encoding: Artistic Creation 60
CHAPTER III THE WORK OF ART: TOWARD A COMMON
DESCRIPTIVE VOCABULARY IN MUSIC,
POETRY, AND PAINTING 83
Towards a Common Descriptive
Vocabulary 93
Music 96
Poetry 114
Painting 156
CHAPTER IV DEVISING A COMMON VOCABULARY OF
AESTHETIC VALUE TERMS 201
Primary Levels of Appreciation... 203
Thematic Elements and Their
Development into Themes 212
Totality of the Work 224
v 11

Page
PART II 241
CHAPTER V ANALYZING AND EVALUATING
SPECIFIC WORKS OF ART 241
Music: Sonata 32 in C Minor,
Opus 111 by Beethoven 242
Poetry: Musee Des Beaux Arts
by W.B. Auden 269
Painting: Six Persimmons by
Mu Ch'i 284
CHAPTER VI CONCLUDING REMARKS 304
BIBLIOGRAPHY 311
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 316
v i i i

LIST OF TABLES
Table Page
1 Summary table of wave form characteristics
of light and sound 161
2 Value chart 234
i x

LIST OF FIGURES
Figure Page
1 Sound wave: Pitch 98
2 Sound wave: Amplitude 98
3 Music: Figure of resemblances 115
4 Ofero ed Euridice 122
5 Music, poetry: Figure of resemblances 151
6 Light wave: Hue 159
7 Light wave: Value 159
8 Geometric axes of painting--Horizontal
and vertical 166
9 Geometric axes of painting—Horizontal,
vertical, and diagonal 167
10 Functional axes of painting 168
11 Merode Altarpiece 177
12 Detail Merode Altarpiece: Joseph panel.... 178
13 Van Eyck, Giovanni Arnolfini and His Bride. 180
14 El Greco, Cardinal Don Fernando Nino de
Guevara 185
15 Tomb at Qarragan, Iran 192
16 Transparent screens, Fatehpur Sikri 193
17 Taj Mahal at Agra 195
18 Friday Mosque at Herat, Afghanistan 196
19 Music, poetry, painting: Figure of
resemblances 200
20 Meissen figure 221
x

Figure Page
21 Oviform vase: Sung Dynasty 222
22 Porcelain bowl: Sung Dynasty 223
23 Porcelain vase with fluted body: Sung
Dynasty 231
24 Oldenburg, Baseball Bat 236
25 Figure of resemblances with value terms.... 239
26 Simple meter signature 245
27 Compound meter signature 245
28 Subdivisions of the beat 245
29 Arietta theme 246
30 "Skip" motive 247
31 "Step" motive 248
32 Completion of theme and beginning of
Variation 1 248
33 Tied notes in Variation I 249
34 Fifth and seventh measures in Variation I
and the theme 251
35 Second section of Variation 1 252
36 Rhythm comparison: Variations I and II.... 253
37 Fifth and seventh measures in Variation II. 253
38 Second part of Variation II 254
39 Variation III 255
40 Fifth and seventh measures in Variation III 256
41 "Step" motive in Variation III 256
42 Rhythmic complexity in Variation IV 258
43 Fifth and seventh measures in Variation IV. 259
44 "Step" motive in Variation IV 260
45 B to E pattern 260
x 1

Figure Page
46 Arpeggiation 261
47 Interlude between Variation IV and V 262
48 Variation V 264
49 "Step" motive in Variation V 265
50 CEG pattern in Epilogue 265
51 BCD pattern in Epilogue 266
52 Measure 172 266
53 Last three measures of Epilogue 267
54 Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons 291
55 Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons 292
56 Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons 294
57 Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons 296
x 11

Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate School
of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy
THE ANATOMY OF ART: PROBLEMS IN THE DESCRIPTION
AND EVALUATION OF WORKS OF ART
by
Thomasine Kimbrough Kushner
August, 1984
Chairman: Robert D'Amico
Major Department: Department of Philosophy
This dissertation addresses the problem of the critical
evaluation of works of art, not simply in specific areas
such as music, poetry, or painting, but generally.
Evaluation in a particular art form is currently done in the
form of music criticism, art criticism, etc., each with its
accompanying vocabulary. To devise standards applicable to
any work of art, despite its medium, requires the
development of a common descriptive vocabulary clarifying
common features of the arts. Once these common features,
family resemblances, are established, boundaries may be
drawn which isolate works of art from other phenomena and
make possible standards for judging the relative aesthetic
success of a work. No claim is made that a boundary drawn
for the concept "art" for the purpose of aesthetic
evaluation will serve to define the term as it might be used
under all circumstances, but only how the boundary of art
pertains to the fine arts.
xi 11

The examination of works of art suggests that response,
or appreciation, seems to be of two kinds: physical and
intellectual. Since value terms are linked to our responses,
we anticipate that there are distinctive value terms
appropriate to each of these levels. It should be possible
to identify the elements in a work of art which correlate
with the physical and inte 11ectuca1 levels, with the
intention that aesthetic analysis of the work of art would
lay bare, or reveal, these values. On the basis of family
resemblances then, a descriptive vocabulary can be
established that will permit discussion of the features of
art upon which common trans-media standards of evaluation
will be based.
xiv

1«£

CHAPTER I
CONCEPTUAL DIFFICULTIES
Deciding what constitutes a work of art does not
usually demand attention, until galleries, with great
solemnity, display objects such as a fur-lined tea cup,
saucer, and spoon by Oppenheim; Brillo cartons and Campbell
Soup cans by Warhol; or concert audiences are offered John
Cage's Silence--4 Minutes 33 Seconds, where a pianist sits
before a closed piano in total silence for that amount of
time.-*- One then begins to wonder by what standards a work
of art can be judged or indeed if a given artifact is art at
all? Any answer to this question seems to call for a
definition, pointing out, perhaps, what it is that all works
of art share. Initially, however, this approach appears
confusing, when one considers the diversity of works of art.
For example, if, for the purposes of examination, samples
from various areas of art such as a Beethoven sonata, a
painting by Michelangelo, and a poem by Rilke are chosen,
what feature(s) can be said to be common to them all?
^The limit would seem to have been reached with Robert
Barry's statement written in October of 1969, "My exhibition
at the Art and Project Gallery in Amsterdam in December '69
will last two weeks. I asked them to lock the door and nail
my announcement to it, reading: 'For the exhibition the
gallery will be closed.'"
-2-

-3-
Current thinking about the issue suggests that there
simply are no common denominators in art, as shown by the
many abortive attempts to come to some satisfactory
definition of the term "art" itself. The suggestion is that
to suppose all works of art share a common essence or
necessary characteristics is to commit what has been called
the "essentialist fallacy."2 Essentialism can be traced
back to the Aristotelian view that what a thing is and what
we can know of it lie in its essential nature, which it
shares with other objects of the same kind. Examples of
essentialist assumptions in aesthetics are not hard to find.
For example, in the first chapter of his book, Art, Clive
Bell says:
. . . if we can discover some quality common and
peculiar to all the objects that provoke (the
aesthetic emotion), we shall have solved what
I take to be the central problem of aesthetics.
We shall have discovered the essential quality
of a work of art. . . . For either all works of
visual art have some common quality, or when we
speak of "works of art" we gibber. . . . What
is this quality? . . . Only one answer seems
possible — significant form.
Suzanne Langer too begins her work Feeling and Form
convinced that a definition of art in terms of necessary and
sufficient conditions can be given:
2
See Chapter I of W. Elton's Aesthetics and Language.
New York: Philosophical Library, Inc., 1954. For articles
critical of essentialism in aesthetics see W.B. Gallie,
"The Function of Philosophical Aesthetics," in Mind, Vol.
LVII, 1948, pp. 302-321, and Frank Sibley, "Aesthetic
Concepts," The Philosophical Review, Vol. LXVII, 1959,
pp. 421-450.
^Clive Bell, Art. New York: Capricorn Books, 1958,
p. 17.

-4-
I also believe that art is essentially one, that
the symbolic function is the same in every kind
of artistic expression, all kinds are equally
great, and their logic is all of a piece, the
logic of non-discursive form (which governs
literary as well as all other created form)
. . . there is a definite level at which no more
distinctions can be made; everything one can
say of any single art can be said of any other
as well. There lies the unity. All the divi¬
sions end at that depth, which is the philo¬
sophical foundation of art theory.^
However, skepticism regarding the possibility of a
general definition of "art" appeared as early as 1785, when
the Scottish philosopher Thomas Reid declared himself unable
to conceive of any common denominator linking all the
various things that are referred to as "beautiful." The
thrust of Reid's discussion was to deny the existence of a
common essence in either beautiful objects or in works of
ar t. ^
Among contemporary thinkers, Morris Weitz extends the
attack against essentialism in aesthetics by suggesting that
the question "What is art?" is meaningless. The persistent
pursuit of a definition of art that has characterized the
history of aesthetics has been doomed from the start. Weitz
uses arguments that he says are based on Wittgenstein.
Although Wittgenstein makes only passing references to
art in his work, his remarks about definitions and
specifically his remarks on "games" have had an influence on
4
Suzanne Langer
Scribner's, 1953, p.
Feeling and Form.
103.
New York:
E.P.
5Harold
Dutton &
Osborne,
Co., Inc
Aesthetics
., 1970, p.
and Art
254.
Theory.
New York:
• f

-5-
art theory. He suggests that the urge to discover essential
characteristics is prompted by an erroneous notion about
language, i.e., to identify correctly things as belonging to
a group one must identify some common denominator.
Wittgenstein asks the reader to
Consider the example, the proceedings that we
call "games." I mean board games, card games
ball games, Olympic games, and so on. What is
common to them all?^
His conclusion is that there is no characteristic which is
common to each and every thing we call "game"; therefore,
there is no characteristic necessary for something to
qualify as a game. Instead, he says, ". . . we see a
complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss¬
crossing."7 These criss-crossings he terms "family
resemblances,by which he means those similar trends and
conditions that correspond between things. The point of
Wittgenstein's argument is that as words function in
language itself, as they function in everyday usage, they
°Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations.
Trans. G.E.M. Anscombe. New York: Macmillan, 1953, p. 32e.
7 Ibid.
O
Dugald Steward anticipated Wittgenstein's notion of
overlapping similarities or "family resemblances." He says,
"I shall begin by supposing that the letters A, B, C, D, E
denote a series of objects; that A possesses some one
quality in common with B; B a quality in common with C; C a
quality in common with D; D a quality in common with E;
while at the same time no quality can be found which belongs
in common to any three objects in the series." Quoted in
Osborne, Aesthetics and Art Theory, p. 254. Steward does
suggest also that the entire series can be referred to by a
common designation.

-6-
are not precise as to their boundaries. Because this is the
case, Wittgenstein says we should respect the "open-texture"
of language and realize that a word has a variety of
meanings and that new meanings will arise in accord with
uses.
In applying Wittgenstein's thesis to a theory of art,
Weitz argues that "art" like "games" is a term without
boundaries (i.e., an "open concept") which accounts for its
evasiveness. He says:
"Art," itself, is an open concept. New condi¬
tions (cases) have constantly arisen and will
undoubtedly constantly arise; new art forms,
new movements will emerge which will demand
decisions on the part of those interested,
usually professional critics, as to whether
the concept should be extended or not. Aesthe-
ticians may lay down similarity conditions but
never necessary and sufficient ones for the
correct application of the concept. With "art,"
its conditions of application can never be ex¬
haustively enumerated since new cases can always
be envisaged or created by artists, or even
nature which would call for a decision on some¬
one's part to extend or to close the old or to
invent a new concept. (E.g., "It's not a
sculpture, it's a mobile.")
What I am arguing, then, is that the very
expansive, adventurous character of art, its
ever-present changes and novel creations, make
it logically impossible to ensure any set of
defining properties. We can, of course, choose
to close the concept. But to do this with
"art" ... is ludicrous since it forecloses
on the very conditions of creativity in the
arts.*
Because of this, Weitz suggests, the study of aesthetics is
inherently vague. He says that while various theories of
Q
Morris Weitz, Problems in Aesthetics, Second Edition.
New York: Macmillan, 1959, p. 176.

-7-
art pretend to be complete statements about the defining
features of all works of art, each leaves out something
which other theories treat as central (e.g., Bell and Fry
leave out representation, while Croce leaves out
physicalness, etc.).
Weitz appropriately raises questions about the
advisability and feasibility of attempting to ferret out
necessary and logical properties of art, and correctly
suggests that "If we actually look and see what it is that
we call 'art' we will find no common properties--only
strands of similarities."-1-0 However, the accuracy of this
observation does not provide grounds for sharing in Weitz's
conclusion that boundary drawing with regard to the concept
"'art' ... is ludicrous." In this respect, Weitz seems to
have misunderstood Wittgenstein's position. Wittgenstein,
in suggesting that definitions are no more than the
designating of shared family resemblances, cautions that to
attempt to deal with definitions in a stricter manner would
only be playing with words. But for special purposes a
concept can be given limits, and when this is done it is
like bringing a picture into a clearer and clearer focus.
If it were desirable, rigid limits could be set to the word
"game"—that is, one could use the word for a limited
concept (draw a boundary or a frontier). So far none has
been drawn, since one "can also use it so that the
10
Ibid.

-8-
extension of the concept is not closed by a frontier" and he
adds, "This is how we do (in fact) use the word ' game
It is the suggestion here that insofar as aesthetics is
concerned with criticism as evaluation, the process of
creating an aesthetic theory is just the sort of "special
purpose" mentioned by Wittgenstein; that is, it must involve
the process of delineating the use of the word "art" more
precisely and more narrowly than the word occurs in our
ordinary language. This is not to claim that either
philosophy or more specifically aesthetics need always be
concerned with drawing relatively clearer and clearer
conceptual boundaries but simply that for the purposes of
dealing with the relationship of aesthetics to criticism,
which is the interest of this paper, it is an effective
procedure.
Wittgenstein would, of course, warn against our
equating the boundaries of a concept that we draw for some
special purpose (like aesthetics) with the meaning of the
word itself. Thus, while boundaries may be drawn, an error
is committed if the supposition is made that the boundary
outlined for a specific purpose is the boundary for all uses
of that word in all language games. The fact that people
might be confused when going from ordinary language to a
more precise language (like that of aesthetics) is only to
be expected--just as a novice in the discipline of physics
^-^•Wittgenstein, p. 33e.

-9-
makes some mistakes in the use of the word "mass" or the
word "motion," or any other terms which may happen to occur
not only in the particular discipline but also in ordinary
language.
Another difficulty with Weitz's position is that there
is no reason to assume, as Weitz does, that aesthetics is
inherently vague because of the undefinability of art as a
concept. The same charge could be leveled against any
discipline, for example, chemistry, biology, or physics. It
is only part of the maturation process of an intellectual
discipline that its ambiguities gradually disappear as more
successful means of dealing with the subject matter are
developed. In short, Weitz's definition of "concept" is
itself so broad that it applies to every concept which has
ever been articulated, and his objection is no more
applicable to aesthetics than it would be to any
intellectual endeavor, including his own work. Thus the
vagueness which he thinks is art, which makes aesthetics
impossible, would make physics, chemistry, and biology
equally impossible, along with other areas that are usually
thought to be more cogent than aesthetics.
The point to be made here is not that we would want to
take exception to any theory that the best way to approach
the concept of art is to see it as a family resemblance
notion. To the contrary, a neglected challenge in
aesthetics has been to take the suggestion and go on to
consider what those resemblances are, and how the notion

-10-
works in relation to art. A concern of this investigation
will be work out in some detail a boundary for a term like
"art," differing with Weitz about the inadvisability of
drawing frontiers and setting boundaries for art. Even
though art might consist only of family resemblances, any
particular part of the family will have to have sufficiently
distinct boundaries to exclude extraneous elements from the
work and from the experience of the work. This is a
necessary criterion for any kind of critical evaluation.
Thus, even with a family resemblance approach to art, it is
still necessary to draw boundaries; for if a concept is
blurred and we blur it more by not marking boundaries, then
theoretically we reach a dead end.
Keeping these things in mind it seems that the solution
to the problem of defining "art" is this: It is not that
there is some necessary definition for "art" to be
uncovered, but that we use the word "art" in many different
ways and that the definition one draws is going to be
determined by the context in which one employs the
definition. Now in coming to draw boundaries for the way
"art" should be used in aesthetics it would be erroneous to
suggest either of two things: (a) that one can suggest that
the boundaries which one draws are the boundaries that
anyone who examines the subject will always and inevitably
draw and (b) that aesthetics will always be a vague area of
inquiry where no boundaries can ever be drawn. Putting it
another way, it would be quite wrong to insist that anyone

-11-
who intelligently examines the field of fine art will
inevitably come to some previously formulated definition; on
the other hand, it is also wrong to judge from the
difficulty in devising a definition that no definition at
all can be offered, and that therefore all definitions are
of equal value.
Approaches to Boundary Making
Before embarking on the task of sketching out the
perimeters of the boundary of art within an aesthetic
context, it is necessary to examine the ways the term is
used and some of the factors that go into determining how
one draws a particular boundary. The task of sorting out
how the term "art" is used for aesthetic purposes is a
baffling task when one considers the various kinds of art
that exist. It is unfortunate that only one word for "art"
exists in English, because the word has such a variety of
functions. First, there are uses of the word that have to
do with cooking, weaving, woodworking, and similar highly
developed skills. But aesthetics is not the study of skill
or technique, though most of those things which aesthetics
examines result from the use of skills and techniques. This
means that although a skill may be a necessary condition
proper to the realm of aesthetic, it is not a sufficient
condition. That is, art cannot exist without some skills,
but skills do not guarantee art. Second, there is the

-12-
notion of what are called "fine arts" such that college
catalogues make a distinction between courses in "arts and
crafts" (such things as pottery making and weaving) and
those that deal with "fine arts" (painting, sculpture,
etc.) .
The method by which one differentiates "arts" that are
really skills or crafts from fine arts, which is the concern
of aesthetics, will be determined by the fundamental
decision made about what the core of aesthetic value is.
The boundaries one draws concerning the way "art" is used
for purposes of criticism (i.e., evaluation) which is the
focus of this dissertation depends, in part, on one's choice
between two evaluative approaches taken by critics to the
question, "Does aesthetic value inhere in the structure of a
work of art, or from a message 'contained' in that
structure?" The disagreement between these two foci of
criticism is outlined by Walter Sutton in Modern American
Criticism:
Behind the confusion of critical language is a
lack of agreement about the object of criticism.
Psychological critics have tended to consider
the work a construct of dream symbols, to be
interpreted in terms of Oedipal relationships or
rebirth archetypes. The New Humanists' concern
for dua1ism, the inner check, and the ethical
imagination restricts literature to a narrow
scheme of moral, philosophical, and religious
values. Marxist critics, interested in the rela¬
tionship of the literary work to its social environ¬
ment, have viewed literature as a projection of
the class struggle. The New Critics, to whom
the work is a self-contained language system,
have focused upon irony, paradox, and
tension as structural principles. The neo-
Aristotelians, attempting to revive the doctrine

-13-
of art as imitation, have relied heavily
upon the terminology and genre classifications
of Aristotle's Poetics.
The "message approach to art" emphasizes what it is
that the work of art is said to communicate. That is, one
might propose that every work of art contains some
information, theory, or idea (in the sense of a
paraphrasable message), and it is there that the work's
value is to be found. According to the "message" approach,
a work of art consists not only of its structure, which is
akin to the grammar or logical syntax of a sentence, but
also includes the idea which is akin to the "statement" of
the sentence, perhaps a philosophical or religious
doctrine-*-^ "contained," as it were, within that structure.
What is important about a work of art from this perspective
is its message. Thus when a person "understands" a work of
art, understanding is in terms of that message. The
structure of the work of art becomes simply the medium
through which the ideas of the artist are, in some sense or
other, communicated to the person who responds.
Some readers may be puzzled as to why I am including,
for purposes of examination, a message approach to art since
most contemporary English speaking aestheticians no longer
regard this as a major issue in art theory. Again, I would
12
Walter Sutton, Modern American Criticism. Englewood
Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1963, p. 287.
13
As suggested by this example, the content need not be
informational in nature.

-14-
like to emphasize that the focus of this investigation is
not just what has gone on in aesthetics in the last decade
or so, most notably English speaking aesthetics, but to be
concerned also with what criticism is like in the various
arts. One need only turn to criticism as it is currently
being written, whether it be in books authored by critics,
in art journals, or in the mass media, to see that an
interest in the message conveyed by a work of art is thought
to be, by many, an important aesthetic concern. In the
visual arts, the current enthusiasm for Conceptual Art is
just this preoccupation with "art as idea." Concern for the
message of a work is also evidenced by the fact that some
critics attack abstract art on the grounds that it fails to
serve a social function, i.e., it lacks a proper message;
while others view abstract art as being able to transmit
powerful messages for good or evil, and the role of critic
as making clear those statements. Another example that a
message approach is not a relic of the past is the
contention that if one is to understand the new wave of
emerging feminist art one must be able to convey feminist
values and that these are suppressed by the "formal anti¬
content tradition" characteristic of formal aesthetics.-*-4
Not only critics, but frequently artists too speak as though
their work conveys some important statement to the viewer,
and this kind of communication is not restricted to those
â– ^Lucy Lippart, From the Center: Feminist Essays on
Women's Art. New York: E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1976,
p. 7.

-15-
who have aligned themselves with ideologies or who are
usually associated with more realistic styles. Those
artists working in an abstract style sometimes define a
message view of their work. In literary criticism a message
approach explicates "motives" of "characters" and equates
the "excellence" of the author's treatment in this area,
sometimes called "development" as equivalent to the
"excellence" of the work of art. In addition to the
numerous examples one could provide in current Western
criticism, there is no doubt that Marxist critics regard
message as fundamentally significant in art and this
includes all of Russia and China and much of Latin America.
While contemporary aestheticians no longer write as did
Tolstoy in What Is Art? where message is clearly of primary
importance, critics and artists are not the only people who
talk in this manner. If one talks with people about poetry,
English professors for example, even if they do not
specialize in criticism, it is apparent that they believe
that literature, novels in particular, are conveying some
kind of message, and that this message be it political,
religious, or whatever is important aesthetically. Also,
that there could be a public issue like pornography in arts
shows that the message that art conveys is still of concern;
and, indeed, the dividing line between "hard core"
pornography and fine art, the test of "redeeming social
value," makes the issue even more pointed. People raise the
issue because they believe that a work's being pornographic

-16-
is relevant to whether it is art,-*-5 and they believe that it
is relevant because of a message which is "obscene" and
. .
"appealing to punent interests." Given this message view
of art, it follows that if what is important about the work
of art is the nature of its message, then works of art which
do not have profound messages are not great works of art.
The "message" view of art raises questions, for there
are some things regarded as having aesthetic values which do
not appear to convey any message at all. Two notable
examples are Chinese Sung vases and Persian rugs, which from
a message point of view cannot be considered works of art,
being "only" structures. As far as the rug is concerned,
the weaver who wove the rug did not intend any message, and
when a person contemplates it, there is no cognitive
response because there is no message to respond to.
Similarly, the Sung porcelains have neither symbolism nor
message. Though they are akin in shapes to vases which were
used for some purpose or other, they themselves never had
any purpose--they are just pure shape. From a "message"
approach, accounting for such objects within the realm of
art becomes a virtually insolvable problem.
Quite contrary to the message view, another aesthetic
approach is possible which emphasizes the structure of the
work of art. It should be pointed out that "structure" is
not used here simply in the sense of "shape." Rather,
â– ^It will become clear in Chapter III that my own view
is that a work's being pornographic is simply irrelevant to
whether it is art.

-17-
structure takes into consideration the internal
organization, the way one element of the work relates to
another. Briefly put, this view holds that every work of
art has a structure inherent in a system of relations among
its elements, and it is the characteristics of this
structure which cause the work of art to be valuable. Thus,
what makes something a work of art, insofar as evaluation is
concerned, is its structure only.
Structural approaches can be quite varied; they can
range from the austerity of Clive Bell and his limitation of
structural value to what he terms "significant form,"-*-6 but
they also include those theories which maintain that
structures in art are expressive of things such as feelings,
as does Langer. It might be said that my inclusion of
Langer as a structuralist is unsound since what counts for
her is what is arranged and not the way it is arranged. In
defense of my choice, let me refer the reader to Langer's
discussion of the Freudians in Philosophy in a New Key. The
Freudians explicate the what of an artistic expression; for
example, what Hamlet expresses is the Oedipus myth and its
tensions which are universal and therein lies its appeal and
value. In the following passages, Langer rejects this view
entirely:
1 f)
"In each work of visual art, lines and colors combine
in a particular way, certain forms and relations of forms,
stir our aesthetic emotion. These relations and
combinations of lines and colors, these aesthetically moving
forms, I call 'Significant Form. . . .'" Clive Bell, Art.
New York: Capricorn Books, 1958, pp. 17-18.

-18-
. . . These are strong recommendations for
the psychoanalytic theory of aesthetics. But
despite them all, I do not think this theory
(though probably valid) throws any real light
on those issues which confront artists and
constitute the philosophical problem of art.
For the Freudian interpretation, no matter
how far it be carried, never offers even the
rudest criterion of artistic excellence. It
may explain why a poem was written, why it
is popular, what human features it hides under
its fanciful imagery; what secret ideas a
picture combines, and why Leonardo's women
smile mysteriously. But it makes no
distinction between good and bad art. The
features to which it attributes the importance
and significance of a great masterpiece may
all be found just as well in an obscure work
of some quite incompetent painter or poet. '
She continues this line of argumentation later on:
An analysis to which the artistic merit of a
work is irrelevant can hardly be regarded as
a promising technique of art-criticism, for it
can look only to a hidden content of the work,
and not to what every artist knows as the real
problem--the perfection of form, which makes
this form "significant" in the artistic sense.
We cannot evaluate this perfection by finding
more and more obscure objects represented or
suggested by the form.l^
Thus, to interpret Langer's position as one which emphasizes
the what rather than the how of artistic expression would
seem to align her with a view she explicitly argues against.
Theories are structurally oriented when the value of a
work of art is not connected with the value of what is
expressed or what motivates the expression, but with the
excellence of the expression.
17
Suzanne K. Langer, Philosophy in a New Key. New
York: The New American Library, 1942, pp. 177-178.
18
Ibid.

-19-
The method by which one distinguishes between fine arts
and crafts will depend on whether one pursues a message
approach or a structural approach in setting boundaries for
evaluating art. For someone emphasizing message, the
crucial difference is that crafts do not have a message;
that is, one does not think of a carpenter as communicating
anything when building a table, no matter how intricate the
finished product. Thus even though skill is employed, it
does not involve the expression of any message. A
structural approach, on the other hand, finds it more
problematic to draw the distinction between crafts and fine
arts (but this is not to say that it cannot be done), and
forming the basis for such a distinction is one of the
issues dealt with in Chapter IV). From a structural point
of view, rugs, vases, or tables are at least potentially
art, since they do have structure; but the word "art" and
the word "structure" are not synonymous, and the
structuralist must be prepared to state the principles by
which one would call some structures "art" but not all.
Similarly, the way in which one handles a related
question, "Can something which occurs in nature--for
example, a sunset--be a work of art?" will be influenced by
whether one emphasizes message or structure. It is clear
that people do talk about such natural things as though they
were works of art, and it is here that we run into a
distinctively Western notion that "beauty" has something to
do with art. From a message point of view we can surely say

-20-
that a naturally occurring object cannot have a message.
The sunset, for example, is by everyone's standards
linguistically meaningless; it does not convey anything, nor
does it express anything, and the same thing is true about
any other natural objects. The animals that secreted sea
shells did not by those patterns express themselves; hence,
the shells obviously have no meaning in terms of the message
thesis.
On the other hand, it is clear that from a structural
point of view natural objects are unquestionably not art.
This is the case because sunsets, sea shells, and other
natural objects do not have an analyzed structure, they do
not involve a principle of selection and ordering and their
pattern does not involve arranging, unless someone wants to
deal theologically with the appearance of structure. This
is not to deny that these phenomena resemble structures
which people do create, because people do make use of
naturally occurring elements in their structures. People
after all live in the world and use its vocabulary, but in
natural objects analyzed structure is lacking.
Undoubtedly, one who approaches aesthetics from a
message point of view is going to have a different
conception of art from one who takes a structural position.
The decision as to what the core of aesthetic value is,
whether related to structure or to what is contained within
the structure, will determine the boundaries that a person
draws about the domain of art. However, the fact that

-21-
different boundaries are drawn by divergent approaches to
identical problems in aesthetics does not mean of course
that these approaches, or the theories that ensue, are of
equal value, and it is to methods by which one might choose
among competing positions that we shall now turn.
Criteria for Evaluating Theories
We have said thus far that basically there are two
evaluative approaches to works of art. One approach
emphasizes the message a work may convey, while the other
emphasizes the structural components; and, further that the
qualifications that are placed on that very important
aesthetic term "art" must be viewed in light of those
respective positions. From the foregoing, it is clear that
one who adopts a message approach will have a very different
conception of art from that of someone who approaches art as
structure. But how is one to decide between the two? Why
adopt one way of viewing art over the other? What needs to
be done is to establish some criteria for identifying
successful theories so that critical views based on these
approaches might be evaluated.
Philosophy is a peculiar area of intellectual endeavor
and its oddness may lead to the assumption that the
characteristics of a successful theory in philosophy will be
different from those that mark theories in other areas.
What philosophy actually is is unusual in that philosophy is
an activity, which has as its goal the asking of questions.

-22-
Before a problem can be solved it must be understood, and
the fundamental task of philosophy is to lay bare the
problems which bedevil people because of inconsistent
thinking and misapprehensions. Consequently, one cannot
legitimately expect conclusions of philosophy. In this
respect, philosophy does not have results since, as soon as
we are able to conceive a theory with adequate clarity it
can be turned into what amounts to a purely critical
endeavor. But, asking the right question is often the most
important part of intellectual insight, because once the
question has been asked and it is answerable, finding the
answer is only a technical difficulty, and is no longer a
theoretical difficulty. Now, it may be true the practical
implementation of the theory is exceedingly difficult. It
may, in fact, be so difficult as to make the theoretical
structure impractical; but, that is a different kind of
judgment and one that is outside of philosophy.
This understanding of the goal of philosophy indicates
a difference between philosophical thinking and scientific
inquiry in that instead of dealing primarily with empirical
facts, philosophy focuses on conceptualizations and
argumentation. The philosopher does have reference to facts
on occasion to show that what is stated in an argument is
contradicted by what was previously stated, or by facts that
were initially accepted. In this respect he or she will
have access to a wide body of factual information to be able
to deal with philosophy satisfactorily, but philosophy

-23-
itself does not have any facts. In philosophy then, there
are no objective truths that a person is expected to master.
However, this difference between science and philosophy does
not mean that the characteristics which make a successful
theory in one area will be different from those used in the
other area. On the contrary, the intellectual processes
involved in attempting to reach understanding are basically
similar and therefore the same requirements used to measure
any theory of intellectual explanation should be applied
equally to an aesthetic theory. These requirements or
criteria are essentially three in number.
The first and absolute requirement of any theory is
that it be consistent. Being consistent means that
difficulties or contradictions in the theory are not
repeatedly encountered. If a theory is inconsistent it is
already nonsensical and not worth pursuing. However, it is
also possible that consistent theories may be of no value
whatever. And, if a person is willing to admit that what is
said is nonsensical then it is not necessary to be
consistent; but philosophers want to be taken seriously and
are not willing to say that.
The next test is that the theory must be adequate; and
this means that the theory can offer a solution to the
problems which do occur within the realm of the theory.
That is, if a question is raised concerning the problem with
which the theory deals, the theory should provide a means
for working out the answer. Now whether or not a person can

-24-
actually work out the answer will depend largely on his or
her ability to solve problems; it will not be the fault of
the theory. Thus, a test of a theory is its ability to
offer solutions to the questions that arise in connection
with the theory and provide an account of the issue. A
pattern of inability to solve problems connected with the
theory is a measure of its inadequacy.
The third basic test is that of comprehens i veness.
This is an external test of the theory, and, as such, is in
contrast to adequacy and consistency, which are internal
tests. Comprehensiveness means that in solving one problem
the theory may give rise to another problem which does not
clearly fall within the theory, but which must be satisfied
in order that one arrive at an adequate understanding of the
issue. Thus, a comprehensive theory is one that takes in
possible side issues or links up with other theories which
will solve side issues.
Now, if one must choose between two (or even more)
theories which are consistent, adequate, and comprehensive,
then there are two final tests which are essentially
aesthetic in character: economy and elegance. But, since
consistent, adequate, and comprehensive theories do not
abound, these two final tests rarely need be applied. The
principle of economy, or "Ockham's razor," named after the
philosopher William of Ockham who articulated the
proposition, states that of two equally adequate and
comprehensive explanations, both of which are consistent,

-25-
one chooses the simpler on the basis that simplicity of
explanation is itself desirable. Lastly, the test of
elegance involves the ability to work out a great many
implications from a very few assumptions. As an example of
this final test, if of two proofs one is able to solve a
problem by a series of very quick deductions while the
other necessitates long and laborious steps, the first proof
is said to be elegant while the second lacks formal
elegance.
A preliminary step to evaluating a theory will be to
uncover all the possible implications of that theory, its
connections, and how it differs from other positions.
Similarly, in our investigation and evaluation of message
approaches to art as opposed to structural approaches, it is
necessary to understand the implications of each position.
These implications can best be dealt with systematically and
comprehensively if they are viewed in light of the various
areas that comprise aesthetic investigation,-^ and a
decision be made Kased on what is known about art, and which
approach is the more demonstrably useful in working out the
family resemblances between the various media.
Essentially aesthetics involves three areas of problems
and some of the basic suppositions and questions that arise
in those areas should be briefly outlined:
1 9
Also, the relative importance of each of these areas
is determined by the particular approach, message or
structural, that one takes to aesthetics in general.

-26-
(1) The artist and the problem of creation: What is
the difference between creating (or producing) a work of art
and doing anything else? We have the impression that the
creative process as applied to art is somehow different from
making a table or chair and that the artist in some respect
is a different sort of person from the usual person. In
connection with this probl em we need to determine h ow i t i s
that the artist makes a work of art. In other words, "What
exactly is entailed in the activity?" We want to know for
example, the process of selection and whether or not the
element of creation is involved. Is the artist creative in
any sense, or is it even desirable that he or she be so? In
Western cultures it is commonly thought that artistic
activity and creation are largely synonymous; but, this is a
distinctive view of our own culture and it is certainly not
shared by other cultures where the last thing that would be
wanted or expected would be for the work of art to be
creative. Instead, one wants a work of art, in most
cultures for most of the world's history, that falls firmly
within the tradition of an art form. For example, the more
traditionally and more nearly perfectly a Chinese artist
reflects antiquity, the better the painting is in theory.
Thus the really fundamental question involved here is the
"how" with regard to artistic creation.
(2) The problem of the work of art itself: Here we
want to know the value. "What is the nature of the value of
the work of art?" and "Wherein does the value really lie, in

-27-
the message or in the structure?" Or, we might start with a
prior question. It is evident that a work of art must of
necessity have structure or it would not be perceived. A
work of art cannot be dealt with aesthetically if it is only
in the artist's mind, and it seems pointless to speculate on
something about which we have no information. Perhaps we
can, for purposes of criticism, discount the notion of
unarticulated masterpieces. Thus, there is no doubt but
that a work of art must have structure.20 However, the
question remains whether or not a work of art contains a
message, and, if so, is it only trivial or something more?
We can illustrate the difficulty in knowing where to
place the value of a work of art in the following examples.
If we look at a work of art from another culture, let us say
a statue of the Buddha, the content of the Buddha's theology
which the statue represents is not normally understood by
Westerners who nonetheless think they appreciate the
aesthetic value. Now, it is quite clear that to some
degree, at least, we can appreciate the aesthetic value of
Buddha's statue without subscribing to the theology of
Buddhism which the statue is said to represent by Buddhists.
The same thing is true when we look at Egyptian paintings.
All paintings deriving from Egypt are religious, but we look
at them without regard for the particular theology which
gave rise to them, and which are in the opinion of the
2 0
In this first chapter I have not presented my own
view of what structure entails, but the design of the thesis
is such that this is the subject of Chapter III.

-28-
Egyptian artists who created them, the true meaning or
message thereof. Again, the same thing is true of Christian
cathedrals. Theoretically, every element of the cathedral
exemplifies one or another tenet of Christian theology.
Everything in the cathedral can be explained in religious
terms and those persons who made the cathedrals were
certainly aware of the symbolism of each and every element
therein.
This problem of symbolism is a very difficult one since
it happens that the deterioration rate for a symbol is very
rapid. For example, it is quite probable that when one
views a painting that is more than two hundred years old,
the symbolism in it is not understood. This raises the
questions: Even if we do admit that there is message can we
understand the painting, or can we appreciate the value of
the painting if we do not understand its symbolism? For
someone who adopts a message approach the answer is
important. However, it is apparent that people do respond
to a work of art even without such knowledge.
Basically then what we want to know is "Where is the
value of a work of art?" With regard to structure we want
to determine "What kinds of elements in a work of art can be
part of structure?" or, more simply put, "What counts as
structure and what does not?"
(3) The apprehender and the problem of response: And
then finally there is the problem of what people do when a
work of art is encountered. It is doubtful that the reader

-29-
was noticeably moved by reading this page, and yet it would
be considered strange if he or she attended a Beethoven
concert or viewed a daVinci painting for the same amount of
time and experienced nothing. What is being dealt with is
called the response to the aesthetic object. The nature of
this response will be discussed below along with the
relationship between this response and the work of art.
Specifically, does the work of art cause a response, or is
the work of art merely an occasion for a response as the
concert hall in which one hears the concert may be the
occasion for a response. In short, just what j^s involved in
the aesthetic response and how can it be distinguished from
a non-aesthetic response?
Very often people want to know if what the artist
intended is similar to what is felt by the apprehender, Is
there a connection between them, and if so, what is the
nature of this connection? And, if the apprehender did not
feel what the artist intended, why not? Was it the fault of
the apprehender, or the fault of the artist in that she or
he was simply a bad artist? These are the kinds of
questions that give rise to aesthetic inquiry in the first
place.
There is a multiplicity of views which one may hold
with regard to each of these questions and the relative
importance of each of these areas is determined by the
particular approach one takes to aesthetics in general. As
such, an issue which may be of great importance for one

-30-
approach will simply not appear in another. For instance,
the question of censorship which will be very significant
for someone emphasizing message will disappear completely
for someone who approaches art as structure. Also, if one
emphasizes structure it is evident that he or she will not
spend a lot of time being concerned with details about the
intentions of the artist, that just will not be a
significant question. On the other hand, if one wants to
say that the function of art is to communicate a message,
then it is certainly relevant to understand what the
intentions of the artist are. This would be so because if
there are two people who disagree as to what the message of
the work of art is, reference to the artist's intentions can
determine which one is correct and which one is in error.
Metarules for Proceeding
At this point, the theoretical basis for this inquiry
should be stated since everything done hereafter will be
framed in those terms. From the beginning, we shall adopt
certain operational metarules outside our system to guide
our investigations, and these shall be referred to as
(1) the rule of symmetry and (2) the rule of commonality.
The symmetry rule simply stated will be that in theory,
every statement that we make in aesthetics in any one of the
three areas (creation, work of art, or response) will have
some corollary in the other two. Thus, the true

-31-
understanding of a statement involves working out what those
other corollaries must be. We will use this rule to develop
the connections between the three areas of aesthetics, since
by using our symmetry rule we can ensure consistency and
test for the adequacy of a statement's implications,
consistency and adequacy being the first two criteria for a
successful theory. The employment of this metarule makes it
possible to check almost instantly whether a line of
procedure is, or is not, profitable.
The rule of commonality, on the other hand, will
organize the work in developing an aesthetic vocabulary
useful for all the arts since we shall take as a fundamental
rule that all aesthetic descriptions and judgments must be
common, that is, applicable to the various media.Such a
rule differentiates aesthetics from art criticism and points
out the fact that the goal of aesthetics is different from
the goal of art criticism. This point needs elaboration.
It is usually agreed that by the analysis of a work of
art one can show, if one can ewer show, what the value of
the work is. In specific fields this is called "criticism."
Thus, there is a body of musical criticism, the consensus of
which is that Beethoven is a greater composer than Auber.
21
People do see that art works of different types bear
a kinship in terms of the attitudes or patterns of choices
displayed even though they are in different media. If there
could not be a correlation between different media,
composite works of art, e.g., films, opera, drama, dance,
etc., would be inconceivable. In the case of films it would
mean there could be no inappropriate music because there
would be no connection between sound and images.

-32-
Similarly, there is a body of criticism in literature, the
consensus of which is that Shakespeare is a greater
playwrite than Scribe; and there is a body of art criticism
which deals with comparable problems in painting and decrees
that Rembrandt is a greater painter than Jan Steen.
Criticism differs from aesthetics in one very important
aspect. Criticism is concerned with the particular of a
certain area of art. In contrast, aesthetics concentrates
on those things that are characteristic of all art, or
potentially characteristic of all art, and avoids those
things that are media specific.^ This means of course that
something might appear to be quite valuable from the point
of view of the critic, yet could be from the point of view
of the aesthetician utterly useless, since what may be an
acceptable rule of criticism is not necessarily viewed as an
aesthetic rule. For example, while it might be an important
point in literary criticism that a play does not satisfy the
description of a real tragedy, or in musical criticism that
a composition is not a real sonata, these are not aesthetic
issues. Also, the result of applying the commonality rule
will mean that if we want to say that only poetry has ideas
or messages and not music, then we have left aesthetics
altogether because we are assuming that a rule cannot be
2 2
The result of not assigning this role to aesthetics
would be to limit aesthetics to elaborate critical theory
and nothing more. The content of aesthetics would be no
more interesting than a discussion of the objective
correlative of T.S. Eliot, i.e., leading nowhere.

-33-
considered aesthetic if it does not meet the basic condition
of commonality or generality.
This indicates that the best aestheticians would have
to know music, painting, and poetry as well as the other art
forms and the extent of their success in doing aesthetics
would depend to some degree on their knowledge of all forms
of art. Of course, such a fund of knowledge rarely happens
and this explains why historically, in aesthetics, the
longest activity has been on the part of persons who are
concerned with a particular art form.
It is true that some critics (using the broad sense of
that term) have attempted to be general and far reaching in
their scope, but upon inspection, they clearly fall short
and wind up with a fragmentary system and remain critical
rather than aesthetic. Clive Bell is an exa pie of one
whose notion of "significant form" requires a visual art,
and Suzanne Langer's theory is really plausible only if one
is using a musical frame of reference, for it does not work
satisfactorily with regard to painting.^3 However, Langer's
pioneering provisional efforts in this regard are helpful in
indicating the way in which one can proceed. The goal
fundamentally in aesthetics has been to explain one's own
personal experiences of art and once that has been done the
aesthetician has been more or less satisfied. This I think
2 3
As George Dickie asks, "of what human feeling is a
Mondrian painting iconic?" Aesthetics: An Introduction.
New York: The Bobbs-Merri11 Company, Inc., 1971, p. 82.

-34-
is the limitation of virtually every work in aesthetics so
far; that is, the range of purpose is fairly narrow and they
do not systematically explore the connections that can be
drawn among the various media.24 Thus, while various
theories are fairly good for the domain that they use as
their source material, they are not often valuable once you
go beyond that domain, and it is this shortcoming that the
rule of commonality is meant to resolve.
Thus we approach a critical point. One often hears
that a poem cannot be compared to a musical composition, for
instance, but if that is true, then there are not any
general aesthetics. People can recognize that the nature of
their responses to poems is not different from the nature of
their responses to music or painting, understanding
"responses" in this instance to mean "sense responses" or
"sensations." (These sense responses form the basis for the
process which will be described in Chapter II as
"decoding.") It is the uniformity of the nature of sense
response^ and the perceived common values which people
^My own theory will consider painting, music, and
poetry. The reason for this, given in Chapter III in more
detail, is that we need not cover any others since these
take care of the basic types of art in terms of involving
the major sensory modalities, sight and sound, exploited by
artists.
2 S . . .
While it is true that the response is a private
experience, terms for private sense experience are held to
be common; and the way this is established is that people
are able to function consistently with the hypothesis that
they perceive the same things. This point is developed in
Chapter II.

-35-
report they experience in aesthetic contexts and not the
physical properties which are peculiar to any one art type
which is the ultimate basis of the values with which
aesthetics must deal.
At present what hinders such cross media comparisons?
Descriptions and evaluations remain media bound simply
because a satisfactory vocabulary with the precision and
clarity required to be useful for all areas of art is
lacking. Theoretically, an implication of the commonality
rule is that one could determine whether Beethoven's Fifth
Symphony is better than Shakespeare's MacBeth and if both of
them are inferior to Rembrandt's Night Watch. This would be
as feasible and reasonable a thing to do as do literary
critics who normally maintain that Goethe is better than
Keats. It is not unreasonable to anticipate that one could
compare Beethoven with Shakespeare or Rembrandt. The
perception of the relations of structures is the same
whether with the eye or the ear and this is why people
usually perceive a similarity between works of art in
different media. Equivalent reactions to works of different
media presumably have to do with a single intellect which
perceives structures to be the same regardless of whether
they are chemical structures, mathematical structures,
musical structures, or poetic structures. If this were not
so, it would make no sense to talk of composite arts such as
opera where the lyrics are not thought to be unrelated to

-36-
the music, or drama where the performance is not taken to be
disconnected to the text.
On the outset, the question can be raised, "Even if one
were to be successful in devising a general language for
describing and evaluating works of art, is all this
worthwhile as an intellectual enterprise?" What practical
purposes would, in fact, be served?
From the point of view of the critic, if the critic's
purview is just that of a single solitary area of art, then
the answer as to the worth of such an enterprise is
unequivocally "No." The task is too difficult to warrant
the effort. But, if the critic expects that anything he or
she has to say has significance outside that narrow
framework, then the answer is unequivocally "Yes." A general
language would also make more feasible cross cultural
evaluations within the media of a critic's own special
interest, since as far as evaluation is concerned a
disagreement as to whether Goethe or Shakespeare is the
greater writer can only be settled by a general aesthetics.
This is because the criticism which prevents one from
comparing music and poetry also prevents one from comparing
German and English. That is, if one knew both languages a
comparison would be possible, but there will always be
languages one does not know in which there are poetic
traditions; and while it may happen by chance that the
structure of the German language and the structure of German
poetry are related, the same way that the structure of the

-37-
English language and the structure of English poetry are
related, that would not however be true of Arabic or Chinese
poetry.26
From the point of view of a reader of criticism it
would seem to be a substantial contribution because of the
haziness and confusion with the way terms are employed.27
Sutton makes this point clearly:
It is generally recognized that the confusion
existing in critical language is an obstacle
to communication. Language barriers separate
groups of critics, each of which has tended to
develop a specialized vocabulary. . . .
A certain amount of specialization is unavoid¬
able. But the peculiar weakness of critical
vocabularies is the absence of a common founda¬
tion and a lack of agreement about the precise
meaning of basic terms. . . . Critics themselves
are often not certain of the meaning of terms
upon which their arguments depend—a fact that
has been too frequently demonstrated in the
discussion period following the presentation
of critical papers. It is possible for two
critics to conduct a technical discussion in
which neither has an understanding of the
other's meaning, except in his own terms.
9 ft
Chinese and Arabic poetry tends to be highly
classical. For example, Chinese poetry, as it is commonly
written, relates to the way the language was actually used
centuries ago, not the way it is used today; so it is an
entirely learned phenomenon and people who are not learned
in this respect cannot appreciate it.
2 7 ...
This view that the terms of criticism as they are
presently employed are muddled is not incompatible with the
fact that when people make critical judgments they know what
they mean by those judgments, e.g., "I like it." But this
is quite different from saying "I like it because of
attributes like balance, rhythm, etc." and have everyone
know what "balance" or "rhythm" means. The fact that a
person knows privately what she or he means does not mean
that it is clear to others.

-38-
One of the pressing needs of current criticism
is for a broader, generally accepted vocabu¬
lary drawn from all relevant areas of
experience. . . .28
The difficulty lies in the lack of carefully defined
terminology and in the fact that the same term is used
differently in various media. For example, if one reads the
works of painting critics he or she will discover that they
use words like "movement" and "rhythm" which seem
inappropriate to a type of art which is spatially organized.
Similarly, literary critics regularly use visual words like
"balance" and "proportion." By refining the vocabulary now
being used by critics it would be possible to understand
what the relationships could be between using "rhythm" in
reference to a painting and its corollary with respect to
music. It is evident that the overlapping vocabulary which
critics borrow from other areas of art, as it is now
employed, lacks the exactness necessary to really be useful.
The task of refining the vocabulary of art will
essentially be a revisionist activity for which the
criticism of art language will serve as the basis. That is,
words that can be applied to various media will be culled
from the literature of criticism and an attempt made to
define them more exactly. One might ask, why use existing
aesthetic terms at all, why not begin anew? However, this
tack would needlessly complicate matters; so in the interest
28
’Walter Sutton, pp. 286-288.

-39-
of preserving already existing avenues of communication, we
shall take the tags as they are now used and try to clarify
them to make them commonly applicable.
A caveat which applies to working out a system of
aesthetics is as follows: It may well be that we shall
complete our investigation with a reliable program of
aesthetics, a way of describing and evaluating art, which
many people would not find appealing, or even palatable,
because it does not do what they would want aesthetics to do
initially. However, in any case, we should by devising
metarules have made progress toward constructing something
which is at least remotely consistent; this effort itself
would be a contribution.
The focus of attention will now be upon developing the
connections between the various areas of aesthetics: the
artist, the art object, and the apprehender. Given the rule
of symmetry, which posits that every statement made in any
one of the three areas will have some corollary in the other
two, any examination of aesthetic value must deal with the
questions and problems inherent in each of these areas.
While the emphasis of a theory may be on the structure
of a work of art, it must also be able to present plausible
accounts of response and creation as well. The point is
that it is inconceivable that there could be a fully worked
out theory of art emphasizing structure which could not at
the same time be able to account for the nature of response

-40
and the nature of creation. Of course, the same will be
equally true for a theory which emphasizes message.

CHAPTER II
DECODING: AESTHETIC RESPONSE, AND
ENCODING: ARTISTIC CREATION
The discipline of aesthetics has remained one of the
most undeveloped and neglected areas of philosophical
inquiry as far as systematization is concerned. The reason
for this is simply that people have been thinking about it
confusedly. Aesthetics is no different from any other area
of inquiry in that the problems encountered are more likely
due to unclear thinking than to any inherent complexity in
the subject matter itself. This point can best be
illustrated by going outside philosophy for an example. The
first major treatise on physics was written by Aristotle and
the first major treatise on psychology was also written by
Aristotle. Since Aristotle, we have had 2200 years of human
thought expended on those two areas. There is little
question as to which of those areas is more advanced,^ and
the reason is clarity or lack of clarity with regard to the
^At least since Newton there have been common
philosophic assumptions about the world which form the basis
of systematic inquiry into the world which Newton
circumscribed. It is true, however, that in the course of
investigation, certain of Newton's prescriptions have turned
out to be inadequate; nevertheless, it was on the basis of
these theoretical assumptions that further knowledge (i.e.,
a detailed body of factual information about the way the
world operates) has been generated. Presumably, this is
what would happen in aesthetics if it were given more
careful attention.
-41-

-42-
conceptualizations which they each study. Psychology has
lagged behind physics because it has been plagued with
conceptual confusions such as a preoccupation with an entity
called the "mind" which has no physiological correlate.
Aesthetics has suffered from similar conceptual
confusions in that too frequently attention has been focused
on acts of creation and response as having to do with
private thoughts or feelings and emotions belonging to the
artist and the apprehender.^ In his example of the beetle
in the box, Wittgenstein points out the difficulties we
embroil ourselves in when we become involved with something
that amounts to a private language, and this relates to the
problems of private emotions as well. In Wittgenstein's
parable we are to imagine that everyone has a box whose
contents is referred to as "beetle." No one has access to
anyone else's box and knows of "beetleness" only by looking
at the contents of his or her own box. In such a situation,
it might well be the case that each box held different
contents or held nothing at all. Or, the contents might be
constantly changing.^ so, although each person might say
that what the box contained had the characteristics of a
beetle, they might in fact have very different things. In
this example, each person makes use of a universal common
2
"Apprehender" will be used throughout this thesis
rather than "spectator," since it avoids the limitations
implied by that term.
2 ....
Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations.
p. lOOe.

-43-
term, but since the referrent can be known only to
themselves, as their private thoughts and feelings are, then
one can never be certain that what one person calls a
"beetle" is in any way akin to another's experiences. Thus,
there is no way of checking conflicting propositions since
there are no common points of reference, and so even the
minimum conditions for any kind of discourse to take place
have dissolved.
If we want to contend that understanding in the area of
aesthetics is possible, we shall have to e tricate ourselves
from territory that is essentially unknowable; for this
reason, theorists should disregard in their accounts of art
private thoughts and feelings which are inexpressable. That
it is quite possible to do so can be shown by pointing out
that while no one can confirm that what one person sees when
using the word "yel low" is what other people see when they
use the word "yellow," we can test that everyone understands
what the word "yellow" means. Let us suppose that the same
group of people who, in Wittgenstein's story, knew what a
beetle was only by looking into the contents of their own
boxes now decide together that each will retire and bring
back a yellow book. When they reassemble if everyone then
agrees that the books brought are indeed yellow, then
although it must be conceded that sensations are private and
can never be known by another person and that yellow is
irreducible and cannot be articulated or defined,
nonetheless, we can by means of a behavioral test determine

-44-
that everyone did understand what the word "yellow" meant.
This example points the way to what we have to do in art.
We can talk of course as if "yellow" or "art" had to do with
things that are quite mystical and not susceptible to
analysis, but in this case nothing would be accomplished.
An appeal to the private contents of a person's thought is
like insisting on talking about boxes which are inaccessible
to others, whether it be in the area of art or any other
kind of interaction. So, private feelings or events cannot
be the basis for aesthetics since there is nothing that
could be affirmed, denied, or evaluated.
While the inaccessabi1ity of private events makes
either the act of creation or response unsound foundations
on which to construct an aesthetic theory, this does not
mean that nothing can be said about them or that they are
without aesthetic interest at all. It is to a discussion of
these two areas, creation and response, that we now turn.
Decoding: Aesthetic Response
Since the area of response is something everyone can
deal with introspect i ve 1 y, that will serve as a proper
beginning for an investigation of aesthetics. We shall
explore the nature of aesthetic response; in other words,
how does one account for the development of aesthetic taste,
and for the erratic quality of aesthetic taste. From there
we shall proceed to a discussion of the act of creation and
finally to the work of art itself.

-45-
Whenever theories deal with the problem of response,
they share a certain fundamental assertion; that is, they
attempt to distinguish the mere concommitance of the
apprehender's reaction to the work of art from the congruity
of the apprehender's reaction to the work of art. They
endeavor to separate a reaction which accompanies exposure
to a work of art in an incidental way from a reaction which
consistently accompanies exposure to the work. This is in
order to differentiate a "random" reaction a person might
have from a reaction that might properly be called
"aesthetic"; that is, one that directly connects the person
to the work of art. If this stipulation is not made, the
apprehender's reaction can have its origin elsewhere. It is
not satisfactory to say that because someone reacts in the
presence of a work of art the reaction is a response _to the
work of art. We want to say that the response someone has
to a work of art, insofar as it is aesthetic, is the logical
product of the work of art and it is not merely a
concomitant of it. The idea of the aesthetic response is
that there cannot be simply a conjunction between the work
of art and the response (W • R); necessarily, for something
to be considered an aesthetic response, it must have been
the consequence of the work of art (W R). It therefore
follows as a corollary that any time that it can be shown
that there is an incongruity between what is called the
response and the work of art, it is not then an aesthetic
response, but merely a reactive concomitant to the work of

-46-
art. By "reactive concomitant" is meant that the reaction
that accompanies exposure to the work is not a response to
the work at all, and while one could not know of this
incongruity a priori it could be made apparent through
questioning.
If we therefore insist that an aesthetic response must
be prompted by the work of art, then it must be possible to
locate in the structure of the work of art something which
correlates to the response. Hence, we have a check between
the nature of the response and the nature of the work of
art. The nature of the work of art imposes certain kinds of
limitations as to what can be a true response to the work of
art rather than merely the conjunction of an emotional
reaction which is analogous to a response.
To illustrate this point let us examine three kinds of
responses one might have to a work of art, or three basic
possibilities to what one can mean when the word
"appreciation" is used in connection with a work of art. It
will become apparent that two of the possibilities really
involve reactive concomitants while only one qualifies as a
genuine aesthetic response.
First, one can mean that he or she responds to the work
of art, as Dewey puts it, in the ordinary manner.^ The art
world of New York City is dominated by that phenomenon. We
read about "the world" as recognizing certain artists, but
^John Dewey, "Having an Experience," Chapter III. Art
as Experience. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1958, p. 40.

-47-
what such statements really mean is that the forty or so
people in New York who dominate the art world recognize
their work. Therefore, when a person sees a painting of
Coca Cola bottles it is recognized as "a fine expression of
modernity" or, plastic telephone booths displayed in a
museum are seen as a "profound expression of our inability
to communicate." All this means is that a person is
conforming to the conventional wisdom of the day and is
responding accordingly.
This reflection of conventional attitudes is one kind
of appreciation that people are likely to have when they are
in the process of developing tastes. That is, people tend
to follow recognized authorities for guidance. This is
particularly true in the case of some contemporary art where
what is said about a painting is really far more important
than anything else. In fact, the apprehender almost has to
have the ideology behind the painting to have any idea that
it is a painting, or indeed a work of art at all. For
example, it is not obvious that Roy Lichtenstein's
stenciling of comic strips on canvas would be viewed as high
art, while the ones that children read in the newspaper are
just amusement; or that Andy Warhol's Campbell Soup cans
would be considered a major statement about ultimate reality
(or something akin to it), whereas the soup cans that a
person opens for a meal, perhaps in desperation, are things
to be discarded. In both cases it is only the result of an

-48-
acquired sensibility that allows us to interpret them in
these ways.
Almost everyone engaged in the process of coming to
know an art type in a systematic way will find themselves
being influenced by conventional judgments. It is
conventional wisdom that says that Michelangelo is better
than most of his contemporaries, and it is the same kind of
conventional wisdom that says that Balantine Ale cans in
bronze are profound statements about modern life; and, as is
typical of conventional wisdom, neither of them is obvious.
It may well be that the product of a detailed aesthetic
analysis and evaluation will correspond to these
conventional judgments; but the point to be made is that
there is no reason for assuming that the popular views are
initially made on fundamentally aesthetic grounds. A person
may, without reflection or analysis, accept the conventional
wisdom that Michelangelo was the greatest painter of his
time, but this is very different from the person who through
understanding comes to accept that conclusion. In the
second instance the work of art is involved in the decision,
while in the first case the judgment is not made on
aesthetic grounds since the work of art is outside the
judgment and therefore it cannot be counted as aesthetic. A
judgment made on aesthetic grounds will involve responding
to the work of art itself and in this respect, there is a
distinction to be made between an uncritical embracing of
accepted clichees as opposed to a person who comes to agree

-49-
with that conventional wisdom through a recognition of the
work itself. The response in these cases always involves
the question of conventional attitudes, and unfortunately,
for certain people the differences between being perceptive
in an art type^ and being Philistine in the same art type is
whether or not the person's reactions correspond to the
conventional wisdom of the day, i.e., correspond to the
tastes of a small coterie of people involved with art and
who deal in art. It does not mean any more than that.
The second kind of response a person is likely to have
is one which is affected by other sets of circumstances
which we shall refer to here as "mnemonic devices," meaning
irrelevancies which derive from the circumstances in which
the person perceives the work or apprehends the work. This
is to say that one is likely to be affected by the context
and by the occasion of the art as much as one is likely to
be affected by the art work itself. This is the most common
difficulty in the usual appreciation of a work of art in
that works of art attract to themselves a whole complex of
C.
The term "type" is used here instead of the usual
"form" to refer to the various areas of art such as music,
poetry, painting, etc. This is to avoid confusion between
"form" as an area of art and "form" having to do with the
structural elements of a work of art. Thus, in this paper,
"type" does not refer to the "type," "token" distinction
suggested by Peirce and discussed at some length by Wollheim
where Wollheim talks about an instantiation of a work of art
as a "type" while its copies, i.e., various reproductions,
are "tokens" of that type. For example, the book U1 ysses
constitutes a "type," whereas a particular copy of it would
be a "token."

-50-
associations and memories which arise from the occasions on
which one has encountered the work of art, and in
circumstances attendant to those occasions. As a result,
this causes the work of art to be viewed as "better," "more
profound," "more moving," etc. than it would be otherwise,
or to a more objective apprehender. This is one reason why
musical works in particular which have titles are so much
more popular and so much more widely appreciated in this
sense of the term than works which do not have titles.
Titles inspire some connections outside the work and provide
the apprehender with a hinge for mnemonic associations.
Thus, in this second type of response we have a
reaction which is a direct product of the apprehender's
biography and not a part of the work of art itself. These
responses tend to be, on the whole, what might be called a
"massive reaction." This is a very strong emotional
response which is in general non-critical, and which tends
to disappear if critical examination is applied. This is
due to the fact that critical analysis tends to detach the
work of art from the context in which a person comes to know
the work of art; hence, analysis, in this case, quite likely
will result in the person's no longer appreciating the work
of art on this level. This explains why so many people are
exceedingly reluctant to engage in analysis of works of art.
This loss of appreciation of certain works is because of the
fact that it was not the work of art that had any bearing on
the response in the first place, but rather some mnemonic

-51-
irrelevancies such as the context in which one viewed or
heard the work that caused the emotional reaction. "Pomp
and Circumstance" is a piece that might be used as an
example since besides its associations, it is not a
particularly significant piece. While it is true that
people may feel certain emotions, such as pride perhaps,
when they hear the work, it would be a mistake to say that
this is what the work expressed or that while feeling this
emotion that the people are responding to something in the
work. Rather, it is that this piece of music is used on
certain ceremonial occasions and not that emotions
experienced by the listener are brought about by an
understanding of the work itself. It is worth mentioning in
connection with this point that while an emotional reaction
is not the same as a response to a work of art, people can
have emotional reactions which may or may not be the
consequence of the work of art. If it is prompted by the
work of art, the emotional reaction may be called an
aesthetic response; if it is not prompted by the work then
it is an emotional reaction which does not happen to be an
r
aesthetic response.
^The same point can be made about other kinds of
reactions one experiences in the presence of works of art
which are not emotional in character. For example, if one
views a painting and is suddenly reminded that something has
been left on the stove at home, I would call such a reaction
non-aesthetic in that I do not see how we can attribute that
response as being caused by the work anymore than one might
contend that the museum building caused it. I think it more
acceptable to say the reaction was only occasioned.

-52-
By defining these two classes of response, we have
already indicated that they would not be properly regarded
as "aesthetic" because neither of them fundamentally
involves the work of art itself. What they involve is
either the context, or what "experts" regard as valuable,
rather than the work of art; hence, they are not in the pure
sense "aesthetic" at all.
How would an aesthetic response be defined? A
necessary condition for an aesthetic response to an art work
will involve two things: (1) an approach to the work in the
sense that it exists as an object of attention to the
occasion of its apprehension; and (2) an appreciation of the
work of art to the degree that one understands it; this
latter point is one that needs some elaboration.
To understand a work means to be able to expose the
structure of that work and to apprehend in clear terms the
way it is put together; in this regard, the degree of one's
aesthetic understanding of a work of art is directly
proportional to the perception of the intelligible structure
of the work of art. This brings us to the idea that the
process of appreciation, or understanding, both being the
same, will involve analysis. The purpose of analysis is to
make clear the intellectual structure of the work itself.
As such, analysis will entail the process of decoding what
is involved in the work's structure. Analysis, then, is
fundamentally a matter of perceiving relationships between
the disparate elements of which the work is composed. Thus,

-53-
the decoding of the work of art on the part of the
apprehender and aesthetic appreciation of the work of art
are one and the same thing.7 This process of decoding will
produce an appreciation of certain configurations and mental
attitudes (which will be dealt with under the section
devoted to artistic creation) and these will be what is
experienced as the emotional response to the work of art.
Although the process described above is intellectual,
it has an emotional concomitant. This is not surprising
since other intellectual processes do have one or another
kind of accompanying emotional feature. For example,
mathematicians will frequently discover when they are able
to solve a problem, particularly one on which they have been
working for a long time, that they experience an enormous
sense of exhilaration. That is obviously an emotional
response to what is fundamentally an intellectual process.
Emotions and intellectual activities are frequently
dissociated and as a consequence it may seem peculiar to
some people that the aesthetic reaction, which is an
intellectual process, does in fact possess an emotional
facet.
While we want to say that a person appreciates a work
of art to the degree that it is understood, at the same time
it should be pointed out that understanding a work and being
able to state it in a careful analysis, as an aesthetician
7
This is to say that decoding is simply the process of
understanding, i.e., what is decoded is what is understood.

-54-
would, are two different matters. A person can understand
the work and can go about showing how it was put together,
but to be able to state the construction involves the
development of a technical language which is necessary in
the interest of precision.^ For example, many people can
hear music with exceeding ease. That is, they can hear the
structure of music so that they can take a piece and
reproduce it; this is referred to generally as "playing by
ear." That is, they can work out the harmonies but would
not be able to state the correct musical notation for the
structure.
Similarly, many people can hear poetry well; that is
particularly true in oral traditions. They can hear the
poem and can also compose a poem with the same structure,
but they would not be able to state the type of metrical
foot involved, or that they were using a sonnetic form, etc.
Therefore, the amount of detailed analysis necessary for an
aesthetic theory need not be present for a general
appreciation of the work, and, in fact, the sheer amount of
detail involved in a scholarly analysis can be exceedingly
tedious. However, while it is not normally necessary for
apprehenders to become involved in a great detailed analysis
of the work, they should be able to do it at least in a
fragmentary way so that they will be able to confirm that
O
Sentences cannot be constructed without a knowledge of
grammar, but rarely can that grammar be stated. The
aesthetician's job is in contrast to this in that their
encoding also entails stating the connections.

-55-
their judgment of the work is essentially sound and correct,
and where two people disagree, the disagreement can be
solved on some level of analysis. The point being that if
people are doing analysis for the purpose of formal
aesthetics, then precision is a desirable quality; if they
are doing it for themselves and their companions, then they
need not be anymore precise than the most cantankerous of
their friends insist that they be. Still, the fact that
detailed aesthetic analysis is not necessary for
appreciation does not rule out that appreciation can be
increased to the degree that understanding of the work is
increased. However, it is not likely that as a consequence
of aesthetic analysis people will increase their
appreciation if they think of appreciation in the first and
second senses of the term (conventional attitudes and
mnemonic i rrelevancies), but they will increase their
appreciation if they take it in the third sense, that is,
the ability to perceive the intelligible structure. Most
people seem to find it part of their experience that if
specific things about a work of art are explained they are
able to see more of the structure and therefore better able
to appreciate it.
It is a common phenomenon that people discover that
certain works of art which they "appreciated" rather
considerably when they first encountered them, come in time,
not to be very impressive at all, while other works
gradually become more impressive. Presumably, this fact

-56-
relates to the initial difficulty of perceiving the
structure of the work of art. Subsequently, a person's
tastes are quite likely to be changed, and changed markedly,
by aesthetic activity, mainly because the focus of the
person's attention when it comes to response will be shifted
by this kind of enterprise.9 The probability is that what
one later comes to regard as aesthetic is likely to be more
contemplative than heretofore. It may be that this involves
some sort of philosophic judgment that a contemplative
response is better than one characterized by involvement,
but since that would be a non-aesthetic judgment, we need
not pursue it here.
By employing the rule of symmetry, we are able to work
out a theory of how works of art are to be interpreted or
Q
It is not denied that this view leads to "elitist"
notions of art, but this term need not be a pejorative,
since we can hardly fail to notice the efficacy of teaching.
The efficacy of teaching is upheld by I.A. Richards in his
book Practical Criticism in which he maintains that
instruction can eliminate the common preconceptions which,
according to Richards, preclude aesthetic awareness. This
conclusion comes as a result of an experiment Richards
conducted among Cambridge honors English students where the
students were asked to evaluate "blindly" thirteen poems.
The results were predictably disasterous since almost to a
one, without the crutch of established authority to lean on
the students "more or less reversed all the accepted
judgments of poetic value." For example, the work of
someone called J.D.C. Pel low was preferred to Shakespeare
and Donne. The results imply that if traditional critical
interpretations of aesthetic values have any merit whatever
(and Richards does not question traditional criticism since
he points out that "the sheer idiocy of their remarks and the
plain inability to read or even to notice the simplest and
most blatant physical facts in a poem make it clear that the
fault was theirs") most works of art are either
unintelligible for most people or that they have no value
for most people. It is Richard's point that presumably
correct exposure would be sufficient to overcome these
1imitations.

-57-
analyzed, at the same time certain kinds of conclusions
about how they are created are being reached, and any
satisfactory theory of interpretation will at the same time
expose how the work was created. This idea should not be
surprising since a theory of artistic creation and a theory
of interpretation will necessarily need to be parallel in a
certain sense, unless of course, one would want to come to
the conclusion that what is understood about a work of art
has nothing whatever to do with what the artist did when
creating the work. Of course, such a theory is possible,
but otherwise any theory that contends that there is a
connection between what the artist does and what the
apprehender does when analyzing or Interpreting the work so
that it can be understood will have to insist that theories
of interpretation and creation be parallel at least. That
is, there will be a symmetry between the process of encoding
and the process of decoding. This does not mean, however,
that there is symmetry between the content of the
experiences of creation and appreciation. Rather, it is the
process of both that is the symmetry.
From this it follows that for every term in an
interpretative theory there should be an analogous term in a
creation theory, and vice versa. This parallel structure
makes it possible to test almost immediately the consistency
and adequacy of any theory. For example, if what someone
says is true about the process of creating a work of art,
then we can check what implications there are for a theory

-58-
of interpretation. If no satisfactory or useful corollary
is forthcoming, there is an inadequacy or flaw in the
creation theory that is being advanced. We can see what
implications this would have for message approaches as
opposed to structural approaches to art. Specifically, the
corollaries of a message approach in the areas of creation
and response would lead one to say that the artist has a
message which he or she communicates through the medium to
the apprehender. The apprehender then must understand the
message since it is the value of the message and the clarity
of the apprehension that makes the art. From this
perspective the intentions of the artist become important
(i.e., whether they were evil or not). But a structural
approach, as we have outlined it, is simpler and less
problematic in the sense that we do not have to be concerned
with things which are not public, such as the intentions of
artists long since dead, for example.
According to the way in which it has been worked out,
for purposes of evaluation it is not necessary to know why
artists do anything, but it is important to know the manner
in which they do it; because, if a person is going to be
able to interpret music or poetry or painting, or any other
art type, she or he must be able to discern the manner in
which it is put together. And we hypothesize that the way
in which it is put together will tell us how the artist goes
about creating in the first place. That is, interpreting is
taking apart step by step what was put together initially by

-59-
the artist. The two processes are parallel, or we might say
that each is the mirror image of the other. Thus a theory
of interpretation and a theory of artistic creation will
have certain points in common--both of them involve only the
function of the structure of the work of art. We do not
need to know how the apprehender responds to the work and we
do not need to know why the artist created it in the first
place. In other words, we do not need to interest ourselves
in why the artist did the work and we are not interested in
what happens to the apprehender when it is experienced.
Would this mean that aestheticians who understand the
process of the work's construction and what makes art
valuable would then be able to produce masterpieces in the
medium of their choice? There is no more reason for that to
follow than that mathematicians who understand the principle
of mathematics would then be able to go on and do original
and expert mathematical theses. All such mathematicians
have done is to master what others have done, and that does
not in the least imply that they will be brilliant
mathematicians. The fact that they know how a given proof
was constructed does not imply that they will then be able
to furnish fresh proofs. The fact that people understand
something does not imply that they will have further insight
in regard to that subject, and presumably a new work of art
is the product of insight. It is therefore evident that
knowing how works of art are put together in the first place
would not be the same as having the insight to produce

-60-
another one. This would be true of all human endeavors. We
cannot expect that expert theoretical knowledge of a field
will imply that one can excel in practice in that field.
For example, an expert musicologist could not be expected to
play the piano, or for that matter an expert pianist could
not be expected to compose music because what is involved is
entirely different. The expertise needed in taking things
apart is not the same as that needed in putting things
together. That is, the process of decoding on the part of
the apprehender and the process of encoding on the part of
the artist are separate operations even though the principle
involved is analogous. Keeping these things in mind, we now
turn to an examination of the encoding process, the act of
artistic creation.
Encoding; Artistic Creation
We have concluded thus far that every work of art has a
structure and that this structure is intelligible. This
further suggests that a genuine aesthetic response, or
aesthetic appreciation, entails understanding the work.
"Understanding" in this context means simply "grasping the
intelligible structure." The issue of an apparent anomaly
may be raised here in that if, as certainly seems to be the
case, most persons cannot describe the structures which they
have seen or heard in works of art, would we then not have
to conclude that most people do not understand them? Music
provides a good example for this challenge since most

-61-
people who say they like and appreciate music cannot in any
meaningful way discuss the structure of music. The issue is
resolved if we keep in mind that the problem of describing
works of art is basically a technical one not involving
understanding. That is, the difficulty in not being able to
describe the structure of music may hinge, not on a lack of
understanding, but rather on the fact that the person lacks
the vocabulary of sufficient abstraction to state precisely
what it is he or she apprehends. This fact can be tested
quite clearly by noting that a person can detect errors in
structures. In music, for instance, it is not impossible
for a listener to say with authority that a piece is played
too fast, or there is too much pedal applied to a certain
portion. The point is that one can identify the nature
of the problem as it applies to structures thus
demonstrating understanding without describing it by
technical means.
It is undeniable that certain of these talents are
physical in character. That is, musicians do in fact hear
substantially better than most people do. In particular,
many of them have a kind of accuracy of memory which is
called "perfect pitch," which enables them to determine
whether or not two notes are correctly tuned without
reference to a tuning fork. Thus, they have very often what
appears to be an uncanny ability to discriminate sounds.
This ability is something which is obviously physiological,

-62-
and which is important because it provides a background for
the kind of "talent" which is necessary to be a musician.
Keeping in mind these points we move now from the
understanding which is the result of the apprehender's
ability to decode the structure of the work, to the activity
of the artist, creation, which entails putting the structure
together initially, encoding.
Could we not simply inquire of artists how they go
about doing what they do? In reading through the letters of
Wagner for example, one is unlikely to find much information
that is useful about the relationship of artists to their
work. This should not be surprising because artists do not
really know how they create any more than orators know about
the grammar of the language they speak. Artists are unlikely
to be aesthetically sophisticated and we should not expect
them to be any more aesthetically aware than we would expect
an orator to be a fine philologist; their expertise lies
elsewhere. Expertise in being an aesthetician consists in
working out the values inherent in a work of art; the
strength of the artist lies in the fundamental process of
artistic creation itself, essentially a process of
translating the structure of thinking into some concrete
expression, i.e., the work of art. We shall refer to this
process as "encoding" for reasons which will be described
and an exploration of the possible details of this process
forms the subject of this section.

-63-
If, as we have maintained, art is an intellectual
structure, then all art involves "thinking" as opposed to
what we might describe as "spontaneous emotional reactions"
since it involves fundamentally the process of selection and
analysis which are exactly what all kinds of thinking
entail. And, without indulging in undue speculations about
the psychology of the artist, certain assumptions can be
made about the process of creative thinking. For example,
creative thinking consists of a series of causes (sometimes
called the "inspirations" or "motivations") which result in
an effect (the concrete expression, which is the work
itself). Normally this creative process is spoken of as if
it were one step; however, it is evident from discussions
about works of art that creativeness involves a double step
process. In other words, there is a difference between
factors which inspire and motivate the artist and the
artist's adapting motivations and inspirations into the
aesthetic activity. In notebooks written by artists, for
example, it is evident that the creative process can cover
vast spans of time. For example, from Beethoven's notebooks
one learns that melodic motives sometimes occurred to
Beethoven as long as twenty years before they were actually
employed; during the ensuing time they were vastly modified
and then put together. This may appear to contradict the
case of the Zen painter who has a perfectly conceived
structure before setting brush to paper, but that can
involve a very long mental process as well. Ideas seem to

-64-
occur sporadically, then are assembled into a mental
framework which enables the artist to produce the work of
art.
However, artistic creation on this level does not
differ from thinking in general, for one can find exactly
the same process, insofar as we have documentary evidence,
in the work of Newton or Leibniz or Einstein in that ideas
occur independently and then in conjunction result in a
theory, and, sometimes it is clear that the occasion of the
conjunction is fairly trivial. This is not to equate
artistic products with scientific products but simply to say
that the processes of thinking which lead to the summation
are the same.
This raises the question whether, if one were to
develop a general theory of thinking, perhaps as a
philosophical project, one would encounter any problem which
is specifically aesthetic. Is art a special type of
thinking? That is, if a satisfactory thesis of what
thinking entails were developed, would the explanation of
this thesis reveal certain varieties of thought which have
special characteristics which would have to be called
"aesthetic"?
The statement that art involves "thinking" obviously
employs the word in a broader sense that either true/false
judgments or judgments the denial of which would be
contradictory. Neither of these two criteria is required of
a mental event in order that it be called a thought. To be

-65-
a thought a mental event can merely have a coherent
structure; that is, it may not be random. What we want to
reinforce here is that rational statements are simply one
form of thinking and that there are other kinds of thinking
as well. For example, some thoughts are linguistic; others
are not.-*-® Some thoughts involve judgments of self-
consistency, others do not. Art is thinking that does not
require the criteria of truth and falsity or the criteria of
self-consistency, but it does not follow that art is
therefore "irrational." It is simply a class of thinking
which involves a certain clarity of perception regarding the
symmetries of structural relationships.Ü To say that the
kind of mental act in which the artist is involved has a
clarity superior to more ordinary mental acts does not
indicate some unique characteristic of aesthetic thinking,
since the same statement could be made of areas besides art
where some people are able immediately to perceive things as
a whole.
l®Perhaps the best example of non-1inguistic thinking
is the way children grasp the emotional aspects of a
language long before they grasp its content. As a result
children intuit the emotional appropriateness of certain
words long before they have any notion what they mean. For
example, children know what one should say when hitting a
finger inadvertently with a hammer, yet, have no idea of
what damnation means.
11 One imagines that there is only one intellect which
perceives structures the same regardless of whether they are
chemical structures, mathematical structures, musical
structures, or poetic structures. While the structures are
different; the perception of the relations is the same
whether with the eye or the ear.

-66-
The process of translating these coherent thoughts into
a concrete structure is the process which elsewhere in this
paper is called "encoding," but which is more popularly
described as "expressing." The idea that the artist
expresses something is a fundamental concept in aesthetics,
and while there is no disagreement here in using the term
"expressing" to describe the relation between artist and
product, the term "encoding" is preferred for reasons that
will be outlined after the content of the notion of
expression is explored.
Melvin Rader is correct in noting in A Modern Book of
Esthetics that although many thinkers will use words like
"communication" (Tolstoy), or "symbolization" (Langer and
Arnheim), or "embodiment" (Reid and Bosenquet), these
various terms can be subsumed under the single term
"expression." Although most modern aestheticians agree that
works of art somehow involve a process of expression, there
is a dispute as to what is expressed, how it is expressed,
and what causes it to be expressed. So, while disagreeing
on various points, aestheticians nevertheless generally
agree that expression is a fundamental key to art itself.
The term "expression" has the happy advantage of
approaching neutrality with regard to the message-structure
controversy. If, for example, the word "communication" is
used instead of "expression," the case would already be
prejudiced. To show that this is so, let us take the idea
that the artist communicates something and examine the

-67-
problem involved. When people say that the artist wants to
"communicate" something it is difficult to ascertain what is
meant by that word. In general usage the word seems to
carry the vague implication that works of art somehow
influence viewers in the sense of changing their attitudes
or the way they are as people and art is regarded as
important to the extent that it affects these changes. In
other words, the idea is that if people respond to art then
they are not unaffected by the art. What causes people to
think they are affected by art? It is possibly because of a
reaction to art which is normally characterized as an
emotional one, sometimes coupled with "pleasure." But all
of these terms are not truly informative because it is clear
that the art people like most is not necessarily the art
they regard as qualitatively best. Almost everyone, if the
matter be given reflective examination, makes the
distinction between the art regarded as important and the
art regarded as pleasant.
It is apparent that the art regarded as important is
the art that "communicates"; thus, the work of a particular
artist is regarded as being more important than the work of
another artist even though the latter's work may be
preferred. But what does the artist communicate in
important works of art? Surely, the intention is not to say
that the artist wants to convey some fact since it is clear
that art is not a way of giving information. This is not to
overlook the possibility that works of art may contain

-68-
incidental information; for example, historians often make
use of poems because they include a chance reference to some
person or event, but such information is trivial in theory.
Moreover, it is clear that the meaning is not that the
artist intends to tell something about the world so that one
may react to circumstances in the same sense that he or she
would react to warning signs or to scientific information.
That what is communicated is not ideas, theories, or facts
we can be fairly certain. It if were any of those things
the works would be true or false, and if such categories
pertained to art, it would be sufficiently clear that two
people observing the same work would know exactly what it
meant, and there would be no dispute over it. Since this is
manifestly not the case, it is obvious that when the word
"communicate" is used it should not be meant in the strict
sense of the term. To avoid the problems just stated, it is
preferable to find another term for the artistic activity
and to say that the artist expresses rather than
communicates. The idea is that we can express something
without communicating it.
The very use of the word "expression" gives rise to a
common notion that art involves self expression on the part
of the artist. Since aestheticians want to make art
intelligible, it must be pointed out that if a work of art
involves solely the self-expression of the artist, it is
fundamentally unknowable unless one knows the artist and
what she or he intended to express in the work; however,

-69-
this is irrelevant to aesthetic consideration of a work of
art.
Perhaps the difference between expression and self-
expression can be illustrated by pointing out that a perfect
example of self-expression is the babbling of an infant.
That is, the babble is simply sounds connected in a fashion
which is either attractive, or commends itself in some way
or other, to the infant who is doing the babbling. Even
after they learn to speak children sometimes make up
languages and babble on (and would anyone deny that adults
too are guilty of this kind of thing?). In any case, this
is a clear cut case of self-expression, and while the infant
may intend something by it, we cannot determine the
intention from the babbling. Eventually, one might note
that there is some regularity in the sounds, and parents who
live with children can sometimes tell that what seems like
babbling to others is actually mispronunciation of standard
words.
In the problem of expression vs. self-expression of the
artist a similar situation develops. As long as the work is
simply self-expression the artist might as well be babbling,
and babble is not the kind of thing one can deal with, since
there is no clue as to its substance or structure. Only
when we determine substance or structure can we deal with
art in any reasonable way.
Obviously if one holds art to be solely the artist's
self-expression, the inevitable outcome will be a discussion

-70-
of the artist. If one says that all art is self-expression,
art is essentially subjective, so, in a fundamental sense,
it could never be known. If, however, art involves some
kind of expression, for example as Langer says, not of the
artist's own emotions, but what is known about emotions,12
then in some dimension art is not subjective, but rather
objective or public. Thus, the person who sees the work of
art, or hears the work of art, sees as much, or potentially
as much, as the artist does.
To view art as expression, but not self-expression on
the part of the artist, helps solve some of the problems of
creation in that often the artist does not see in the
creation all that those who apprehend the work see. In
fact, sometimes artists are actually surprised that others
see things in their work that are not visible to them. By
making a distinction between expression and self-expression
two phenomena can be explained: first, how someone else can
understand a work of art better than its creator, when of
course this is impossible if one maintains that art is
purely self-expression; and secondly, the way in which a
work of art can be viewed as being public and objective
rather than private and subjective.
I O
"An artist, then, expresses feeling, but not in the
way a politician blows off steam or a baby laughs and cries.
He formulates that elusive aspect of reality that is
commonly taken to be amorphous and chaotic; that is, he
objectifies the subjective realm. What he expresses is,
therefore, not his own actual feelings, but what he known
about human feeling." Problems of Art. New York:
Scribner's, 1957 (paperback).

-71-
Although "expression" is an adequate term I have
preferred to introduce my own word "encoding" to describe
the activity of the artist. "Encoding" has been chosen for
very specific reasons. It is a neutral word which does not
imply that the artist is creative in the sense of
originality. It implies nothing about his or her
psychology. Also, the term "encoding" is very much more
positive in describing the activity. That is, if something
is "encoded" the implication is that it can be "decoded."
Moreover, the term suggests that the process of response is
akin to the process of expression, whereas there is no
necessary connection between the way someone understands a
work of art and what was intentionally expressed by the
artist. The term was chosen to make clearer the symmetry
between the activity of the artist, the product, and the
activity of the apprehender. Other than striving for a
certain clarity concerning these issues, there is no
essential difference between calling what the artist does
"encoding" or "expression"; similarly, the product, the work
of art, can be called that which is "expressed" or
"encoded."
Two kinds of ability are fundamental for an artist.
First, there is a process of selection and techniques of
organization which are mental; these combined may be
referred to as the artist's techniques of encoding.
Secondly there is the physical medium of which the work is
made and the creative manipulation which consists in

-72-
applying the techniques of encoding in a concrete work of
art. We can call this particular creative ability an
artist's technique in the material. These abilities need to
be examined in some detail and while they cannot be entirely
divorced from each other, for purposes of elaboration they
will be discussed separately.
Techniques of Encoding
In the technique of encoding artists create mental
patterns of choosing, which they translate into a particular
medium. Once these are translated into a medium they become
distinctive and recognizable and are referred to as the
artist's "style." Through style, an artist may become like
a friend whose missing word one can supply in a
conversation; that is, it is possible for one to grasp an
artist's pattern of choosing. In theory there is nothing
inevitable about the medium in which the work of art is
produced and when artists encode they gather together their
choices in such a way that the end thought has certain
identifiable characteristics or organization.
Patterns are chosen for a particular process of
encoding because of what the work of art "expresses" or, in
our terminology, "encodes." There has been much discussion
in the literature of aesthetics as to what this might be.
Unfortunately the English language, and most others, uses
words for "thoughts" and "emotions" that are discrete. For

-73-
this reason some philosophers want to say that aesthetics is
not rational because aesthetic utterances clearly involve
emotional responses. Thus, what poets do when they write
poetry, what painters do when they use visible objects, and
what musicians do when they use tones is to manipulate the
emotional resonances of these tools to create what is often
called "mood." Thus, what emerges from a musical
composition, for example, is not an idea in the intellectual
sense, but, more accurately, an "attitude" that will be
referred to here as a "constellation of mental attitudes."
The word "attitude" is chosen for two reasons. It is
much broader than the word "emotion" which is frequently
used with regard to works of art, and, on the other hand, it
is more definite than mere "feeling," which is so vague a
term that one does not have a clear idea of what is meant.
Although an attitude cannot be defined with pristine clarity
either, the term does apply to something more definite than
feeling. Attitude, of course, does not refer to what is
done but the way something is done, and is always elusive
because it involves a pattern. It may exemplify a
particular attitude of life, but it may simply call to one's
attention the way things must be constructed. That is, an
attitude can be somewhat precise, as in the case of
stylistic art which has a common attitude (that is the
reason, presumably, one can identify Renaissance art), or,
attitudes can be more general. For example, one can speak
of attitudes in the way people sit, the way they walk, and

-74-
one can even speak of the attitude of a tree or other nature
objects. The point is significant because it means that
attitudes are visible in structure ^
The word "constellation" is used to convey that what is
involved is a series of associations of attitudes which may
or may not overlap and which form a kind of pattern in and
of themselves. The word "constellation" does not pre-judge
the nature or character of the pattern, but indicates at
least some kind of organization.
This is not to deny that in many ways ordinary people
exhibit attitudes in their daily lives but only to point out
that the patterns, the constellations of mental attitudes,
which artists have are presumably more complex, more subtle,
richer in their dimensions, not that they are different in
kind. If this were not the case, if artists did not have
attitudes which are more vivid, richer, more complex, etc.,
IT..
This is not to say that when it comes to works of art
that one can easily specify the "attitude" of the work; the
descriptive language of attitudes and moods is too poverty
stricken for this. But, there are groupings of terms that
are more appropriate, or less so. For example, if one
compares Beethoven's Sonata 32 in C Minor to Mendelssohn's
Midsummer Night's Dream or Wagner's "Liebestodt" from
Tristan und Isolde certain distinctions can be made as to
what attitude words would be appropriate. The word
"stately" would not be appropriate for any of the three,
while "sprightly" might be appropriate for the Mendelssohn
but not the Beethoven or the Wagner. Whatever attitude
words apply have nothing to do with the quality of a work of
art, but only what we perceive to be the mood of the work.
While the attitudes that are expressed in a work of art are
not important for the value of the work, they make a work
appeal to us or not. For example, the attitude displayed in
Picasso's Guernica is one of the things that makes a
powerful impression on people; presumably, they concur in
the horror Picasso expresses about war and its destruction.

-75-
than the ordinary, then the works they produce would not be
different from our own lives. To say that the artist's
constellations of mental attitudes are distinctive is not to
say that these constellations are distinctive in their
rarity, only that they are distinctive in their vividness,
richness, and completeness. Even though all people have
intuitions and experiences of constellations of attitudes,
the artists have about them an intuitiveness which extends
beyond the ordinary form of awareness.
Because of the symmetry of our system, we can say that
the aesthetic response also involves the extension of
awareness. The result is that instead of art being valuable
because it communicates an idea to the apprehender, the
value of art is that it extends the range of the
apprehender's awareness. To say that a work of art is too
difficult is to say that the threshold of understanding
demanded by the work is higher than our threshold of
awareness. Similarly, what is meant when we say that the
work of art has come to be understood is that through
exposure to it we have raised our threshold to the level of
the work of art itself. Thus it is possible to say that
works of art influence people because they extend the range
of a person's awareness.
A work of art, then, gives expression or definiteness
to areas of experience which almost everyone has, but does
so in a more vivid, more precise form than one's ordinary
intuitions, since artists have the advantage of talent which

-76-
enables them to express in a way that most people are not
readily capable of doing. This brings us to the artist's
techniques in the material.
Techniques in the Material
A person can think beautiful thoughts but not be a
successful artist unless there is something else in addition
to techniques of encoding, and that is what can be called
"techniques in the material." That is, the artist must have
the ski 11 to translate the structure of thought into the
artistic medium. To be a musician one must do more than
think musically or to have thoughts that could be given
musical expression; one must have an awareness of how to
deal with the problem of what we will call the "grammar" of
music. That is, musical sounds do not follow each other
randomly. The choices that one makes in musical composition
must be made in context of certain pre-established
regularities which limit the kinds of choices which are
made. Historically, this is the style of the era in which
one happens to live. A style period in the history of art
simply means that there are certain assumed limitations on
the kinds of choices which artists can make if they expect
to be in touch with their era.
This shows two things: One is that the more distant
the epoch, spatially and temporally, from our own, the more
obscure the music is likely to be. Conversely, we are

-77-
likely to understand music of certain epochs more easily
than others. For example, if people grasp a work in one
epoch, then they are likely to grasp other works in that
epoch more easily as a consequence of having grasped the
general technical assumptions in terms of the material which
limits the kinds of choices which an artist can make.
We now have a clear statement of the role of selection
in the act of creation in that it involves both a mental and
material phase. The artist has a constellation of mental
attitudes and the process of artistic creation is the
process of selecting from amongst the elements in the
particular art type those which seem appropriate to give
expression to this constellation of mental attitudes. The
phrase here "to give expression to" means to create a
configuration, or form, that will successfully encode the
mental attitude into the work of art. By hypothesis, a
person given the same set of assumptions about the way in
which the art language works^ will then be able to
interpret these in such a way that he or she will have as
the product of the appreciation of the work of art, a
response which will be similar in structure if it is to be
considered as an aesthetic response.
â– *-^The reason for using the language metaphor is to
suggest that there are certain regularities in the various
art types that a person must learn to recognize. The
process of being exposed to art is the process of learning
to recognize these things. For example, one learns to "see"
painting and "hear" music the same way one learns language
fundamentally.

-78-
This does not mean that there are any correspondent
ideas concerning conclusions about life, nor correspondent
conclusions about the nature of the world or indeed any
objective facts at all. In other words, there is no
information involved in either case. Hence, the idea of
truth, if truth means a description of some kind of
objective reality is not something that is involved in art.
In addition to the fact that art does not transmit
information, it is evident from what has already been said
that it is not the case that it is only the artist's
psychological profile that we are getting in the work. What
happens in artistic creation is that the particular
configuration of attitudes which gave rise to that artistic
expression are transmuted into an objective form. This
objective form is what prompts the process of decoding. The
decoding has as its necessary concomitant another
attitudinal configuration. The decoded configuration most
likely will not be the same in its content as the original
configuration of the artist, and actually they may have very
little to do with each other, but the structures will be
analogous. The intellectual structure involved in the
response, if it is an aesthetic response, and the
intellectual structure involved in the artistic expression
will be similar in the geometric sense of the term. Though
the content of the response may well be different from the
content of the inspiration, the form of the inspiration and
the form of the response will be the same.

-79-
This means that insofar as the aesthetic significance
of the work is concerned the work of art is not a catharsis
for the artist, a venting of emotions, just as aesthetic
response is not an arousal of emotions. Expression is
giving form to attitudes while the response is coming to
understand those attitudes. Thus, an artist need not be sad
to understand human sadness; a person need not be sad to
respond to human sadness. A tragic work of art is quite
possible without the person hearing or seeing it being
affected or for the artist creating it to be affected.
Works of art represent a view, an understanding, an
intellectual appreciation of some configurations of
attitudes and not the attitudes themselves.
In this section we have said that the act of creation
is fundamentally twofold: (1) an intuitive sense of the
appropriateness of elements and the organization of elements
into the mental constellations which gave rise to the
expression, and (2) the mastery of a language implicit in
the way artists and their contemporaries look at and make
art. This last fact is important because along with the
artist's own vocabulary which determines personal style,
there is also the language which characterizes the style of
a period. That is, the general population as well grows up
with just such a language in terms of which they look at and
are exposed to art, so that while the particulars of a
language of a given art type are not easy to articulate, it
is clear that virtually everyone is exposed to them in the

-80-
course of growing up. For example, in the course of
learning to play an instrument or learning to paint or
becoming familiar with any type of art, as a process of
learning technique, a person picks up certain kinds of
vocabulary about the way in which the art type functions.
This vocabulary is a kind of primitive criticism, the intent
of which is to give clues as to what the elements of an art
type are, and clues as to the preferred way of organizing
according to the style period in which one happens to live.
In some style periods these specifications are very
exacting. We happen to live in a period of artistic
activity where they are exceedingly indirect because of a
stylistic preference of non-verbalizations, but in earlier
periods there have been virtual rule books written as to how
the artist should go about creating. For example,
Polyclitus, along with Phidias one of the most celebrated
sculptors of antiquity, is credited with describing a canon
of ideal proportions which he then used in his work.
Similarly, the current mode of analysis of traditional music
is based upon the textbook written by Rameau who articulated
the basic rules of harmony. Even though these rules are
antiquated by contemporary standards and have been updated
by people like Schoenberg and Hindemith, these rules serve a
kind of narrow purpose, and that is to give clues and
references to the art language and to give historical
perspective so that a person can relate what occurs today in
contemporary composition to earlier composition.

-81-
This situation is not restricted to any art types since
the same thing occurs in criticism of all sorts. Rules are
developed which are intended to refer not only to one style,
but to several styles or to a whole tradition--normally the
tradition of European painting. A limitation of this
situation is that criticism becomes entirely culture bound.
Thus, the criticism which we find in painting and in poetry
and in music is normally confined to those activities of
artists who lived in Europe since about the year 1000. And
although this criticism is sometimes applied to classical
artists as a kind of afterthought, the antecedents of Greek
art before the year 1000 (Summerian and Egyptian cultures)
are excluded.^
It is evident, however, that this kind of vocabulary,
while it enables one to deal more or less effectively with a
limited style period and art type, is not successful in
encompassing various types of art of different cultures or
with diverse art types themselves. Thus, there is not a
vocabulary of painting which will apply uniformly to Indian
painting, Chinese painting, Persian painting, and Western
European painting-*-^ or which would permit one to speak of
painting, music, and poetry in a uniform way.
15They are often not considered art at all, and instead
referred to as "iconic."
1 ft
For example, the vocabulary of Chinese and Indian
aesthetics (e.g., yugen, aware, rasa, etc.) make some
interesting insights, but they are not helpful in enabling
one to analyze western painting.

-82-
Considering our fundamental rule of commonality, that
all aesthetic judgment and description must be general and
applicable to all types of art, it is apparent that a major
difficulty that must be met in Chapter III, when the work of
art is considered, will be the creation of an abstract
vocabulary for the analysis and description of art works
that will not be restricted to a particular style period or
by any single type of art.

CHAPTER III
THE WORK OF ART: TOWARD A COMMON DESCRIPTIVE VOCABULARY
IN MUSIC, POETRY, AND PAINTING
It seems clear that whatever conclusions one ultimately
comes to regarding art, the only area which can be discussed
with any degree of clarity is the work itself. For example,
if one begins aesthetic inquiry by dealing essentially with
the problem of artists and their communication, then the
very practical issue of information arises; although artists
and their creative endeavors are interesting, there are no
hard data regarding the creative process. There are reasons
for this. First of all, the amount of information available
from artists on how they go about the act of creation is
very small. Secondly, there is no reason to believe that
the information we have is reliable.1 Careful self¬
observation is not the object of artists' endeavors, and
their attention is rarely directed to that question. Of the
information they do provide, little is of the kind that
^E ven if we were to grant the reliability of artists'
accounts and choose the intentions of the artist as the line
of approach to aesthetic value, we face the difficulty of
not being able to deal with works of art that are not
contemporary (the intentions of dead artists being almost
impossible to establish) and if we take an extreme position
on this point, only works of art where the artist is known
can be dealt with.
-83-

-84-
would be helpful.2 Artists are not trained scientists who
are detached from what they do sufficiently to provide an
adequate explanation for their operations. In addition,
encoding is primarily an internal mental process; therefore,
even if a person were sitting in the studio of an artist no
insight would be gained into the creative process because
there is no way of determining why the artist selects the
things in the way that she or he does and in the order in
which they are selected.
If the word "adequate" has any meaning in aesthetics at
all, that is, if we believe that there are interpretations
of works of art that are adequate, then certainly one of the
minimum things an explanation should be able to establish is
that where two conflicting interpretations are encountered
one of them is inadequate or less adequate than the other.
As explanation based on what the artists meant or why they
did what they did will be fundamentally unfruitful for we
have seen even asking their help will not solve the problem.
In contrast to taking artists and their intentions as
the focus of aesthetic value and interest, there is a
certain advantage in looking to the response of the
9
A compilation of what artists say about their creative
activities is Artists on Art by Robert Goldwater and Marco
Treves, Pantheon Books, Inc., New York, 1945. An example of
the sort of description that artists give of creation that
aestheticians find of little help is Picasso's account that
"The painter goes through states of fullness and evacuation.
That is the whole secret of art. I go for a walk in the
forest of Fontainebleau. I get 'green' indigestion. I must
get rid of this sensation into a picture" p. 421.

-85-
apprehender in this regard since here there is the advantage
of an abundance of information. This approach, however, is
not problem free in that oddities result. For example, we
do not want to say that Rembrandt, who was widely
appreciated until about the time he was fifty, was a great
artist, and then suddenly was no longer great when he ceased
to be appreciated toward the end of his life. This position
is especially untenable since the works that Rembrandt
produced after he ceased to be appreciated are those that
today are regarded as more valuable, while the earlier works
are at present regarded as less significant.
A phenomenon which must be taken into account when
considering responses to art is that our responses and the
responses of others vary one from another. One thing that
has been established in the realm of aesthetics is that what
different people say a work of art means to them, in terms
of their responses, is radically divergent. Responses
differ to the degree that if we were working only with a
person's response to a work of art it would not be possible
to determine what work elicited the response. Works of art
that are supposed by conventional wisdom to be extremely
sad, strike some individuals as ecstatic, and works that
some people view as joyous are thought by others to be
profoundly tragic. Thus, as when emphasizing the artist's
intent, we are faced with the puzzle of establishing which
of two conflicting interpretations of a work is correct.

-86-
Aside from the multiplicity of responses that exist
among people, it is not unusual for the same individuals to
report that their own responses to a work will vary over a
period of time. It is not uncommon for persons to realize,
after several years acquaintance with a work, that what they
come to respond to is totally different from what they
responded to initially. Many people have the experience of
realizing that the works which immediately attracted them to
some type of art often turn out to be, in terms of value,
not very good. They come to realize that their initial
responses were in some respect uninformed or at least
incomplete. This is presumably because they develop some
better acquaintance with the mechanics of the art type. For
example, almost everyone who has come to like Tchaikovsky's
1812 Overture does not have difficulty in liking other works
by Tchaikovsky, and from there Romantic music in general.
However, most people who are at this early stage of
developing musical knowledge rarely respond positively to
early Renaissance music where the mechanics of composition
are less familiar, and it would also be doubtful that they
would like late Schoenberg whose work, to the uninitiated,
seems incomprehensible. If someone in their initial musical
development regards Schoenberg as a hopeless pedant, who by
introducing exotic theses of the twelve tone scale ruined
modern music, how could this judgment be evaluated? In
other words, using response as value criteria, it would be
impossible to determine whether Schoenberg is not liked

-87-
because the intricacies of his work are not fully
appreciated, or that his composition is understood but his
work is aesthetically inferior.
Due to these kinds of difficulties in using either the
artist or the apprehender as the criterion for aesthetic
value, it is sometimes suggested, and rightly I believe,
that the value of the work of art lies not in the response
or in the artist's intentions, but in the work of art
itself. The work of art has the advantage that everyone can
apprehend it at some level. Thus, if a person says
something about a certain work of art "x", then others can
judge whether the statement does or does not reflect the
reality. We have the advantage of ver ifiabi1ity. In
focusing on the work of art we are saying that there are
certain kinds of intellectual structures in the work of art
which are identifiable and inherent values that can be
determined. The identification and evaluation of these
structures in a way which will be applicable to various
media will be the goal of the next chapters.
A fundamental axiom that was adopted at the outset, to
ensure adequacy of our system, was that for a distinction to
be aesthetically significant it must be applicable to every
art type. It was pointed out that it is this feature of
commonality of approach that will distinguish aesthetics
from literary criticism, music criticism, art criticism,
etc. By using the feature of commonality to build an
aesthetic vocabulary, the mistake of saying that something

-88-
is distinctively aesthetic which may be only a part of some
medium or an accidental characteristic of a particular art
type, such as rhyme in poetry, can be more easily avoided.
If rhyme were an aesthetic essential it would make sense to
speak of rhymed paintings and rhymed music; therefore, by
applying the rule of commonality it should be possible to
show those elements which are fundamentally insignificant
and to avoid errors as the one perpetuated for decades that
rhyme was an essential condition of poetry.
After solving the problems of describing the manifest
structure of a work of art so that any two people can agree
on the descriptive features, we need to determine what
function the structure fulfills. Is the structure simply a
structure per se in the way in which a crystal is regarded
as a structure or does it function structurally as does the
grammar of a sentence? That is, grammatic structure is in
itself unimportant but conveys something which is important,
namely, the idea. For example, most people would say that
Wagner's Ring cycle is in some sense better than his Rienzi.
The value question is does the value inhere in the structure
and its properties or does the value inhere in the idea
expressed through the structure?
It should be evident that with the requirement of the
rule of commonality that "aesthetic terms be general to all
art works," both descriptive and value terms are included.
The conjunction of the two statements that descriptive and
value terms are universal to all types of art produces the

-89-
conclusion that all art works are comparable. Thus, there
is no theoretical difference between comparing a painting, a
poem, and a piece of music or comparing two examples of the
same art type since the identical processes of analysis and
evaluation are involved.
At present, however, such universal analysis and
evaluation are not possible because there is no
interchangeable vocabulary applicable to all types of art.
For example, if we read the works of painting critics, we
will discover that a great deal of our aesthetic vocabulary
is metaphorical. Critics of painting constantly use words
like "movement" and "rhythm" which, unless the metaphors are
"unpacked," seem inappropriate since both movement and
rhythm imply a temporal sequence and it is manifestly
obvious that paintings do not possess this dimension of
time; hence, there cannot be any temporal events in their
organization. On the other hand, poets regularly use words
like "balance" and "proportion" and those are visual terms
obviously maladapted for poetry without explanation. The
point here is that a great deal of art terminology is
metaphorical and, if these terms are to be aesthetically
useful, the metaphors need to be deciphered.
This is precisely where the problem of descriptive
aesthetics is so critical, for we want to say that whatever
aesthetic values there are, are the same for music and
painting; but, it is clear that the descriptive language
used in painting is not the same as that used in music.

-90-
Thus, there is a technical problem, for if we believe that
values of works of art appear in the structure of the work,
there needs to be some means of comparing structures of
different types so that the same values may be discerned in
them. It is necessary to give an account of how the
metaphoral language of art criticism works, refining the
vocabulary in such a way that it is possible to understand
precisely the relationship between elements of various art
types, so that if a word like "rhythm" is used in connection
with painting, one knows its corollary with respect to
overall structure in music. Our fundamental task here will
be to create a general vocabulary for the description and
analysis of the various art types—painting, music, poetry,
etc.--so that, being able to describe them in comparable
terms, a uniform set of value categories may be applied to
works of art. However, having uniform tools with which to
describe and evaluate the various media does not imply that
everyone will necessarily agree on the way in which these
tools should be applied in any particular instance. At
least, however, when there is disagreement, there will be a
common vocabulary with which to disagree, thus laying the
foundation for debate and dialogue which may lead to mutual
understanding if not to eventual agreement.
An aesthetic based on a common vocabulary depends upon
establishing what a work of art entails; in other words,
what kind of account can be given of generalized features of
works of art? One way of going about this is to examine the

-91-
levels of response to works of art and the hypothesis
presented here is that there is a certain hierarchy of
levels of response.^ To begin, it is obvious that our
responses to works of art differ from responses to
scientific works in that for works of art the medium of the
work is significant. This would mean that the physical
properties of the medium, which we shall call the "primary
elements", are connected with the aesthetic values in the
work of art. There is presumably a sensuous appeal to the
art, and this is somehow thought to be an important part of
its characteristics. Apparently, it is this which makes it
difficult to conceive of the transferrence of medium. A
work of art has certain sensual qualities which other
intellectual products do not entail. It is also presumably
the sensual qualities of a work of art which account for the
fact that responses to works of art in certain traditions
are conceived to be vaguely erotic.
Sensual appeal does not seem to be all there is
however, and there appears to be an intellectual appeal as
well. The intellectual appeal appears to have three
different aspects which correspond to what artists do when
they encode in a medium; that is, the structure of the work
of art consists of (a) the selection of elements by the
Ducasse also suggests that there are distinct levels
of appreciation. Unfortunately, he only briefly suggests
what these levels of appreciation might be (cited in Melvin
Rader, A Modern Book of Ethics. New York: Holt, Rinehart &
Winston, Inc., 1960, pp. 69-72).

-92-
artist, the arrangement of the physical or primary elements
into patterns which are identifiable, (b) the relations of
the patterns to each other by means of organizing
principles, (c) the inter-relationship of the patterns with
respect to the totality of the work.
If we are correct that all types of art involve these
levels of appreciation, both physical and intellectual, then
we can anticipate that it should be possible to identify
factors corresponding to each of these in the various art
types that exist, and from this point derive a vocabulary
which should be more or less common from art type to art
type.4
The importance of attributing hierarchical levels of
appreciation to works of art is that we have a starting
point from which to go about organizing a descriptive
vocabulary. Thus a task of this chapter will be to test out
the levels in a selection of art types involving the major
sensory modalities to determine the soundness of the
hypothesis set forth above.
In naming the divisions of the arts, or setting forth
an order in which they can be arranged, it is immediately
apparent that the various arts are sensually presented and
4Two kinds of vocabulary words will be involved in this
descriptive vocabulary: (a) words which describe the
physical elements themselves and (b) words which describe
the relationships among the elements or the intellectual
aspects. Whereas the words describing the physical elements
will differ from art type, to art type the vocabulary
describing the intellectual relations will be essentially
similar.

-93-
can thus be demarcated according to the sensations involved.
For example, visual arts based on the sense of sight include
painting, sculpture, architecture, and photography; while
auditory arts, based on sound, include music, poetry, and
novels.5 in addition there are "composite" art types based
on both auditory and visual sensations: opera, dance,
theater, and films.
In addition to the hierarchy of levels of appreciation,
it can be anticipated that there will be corresponding value
terms appropriate to each of the levels. That is, there
will be different qualities, or values, which appropriately
characterize the primary, or physical aspects, of a work and
there will be values which characterize the intellectual
aspects, namely, values which are the product of the
selection process of the artist and the creations of
patterns, values appropriate to the organizational aspects
of patterns relating to patterns, and values which have to
do with the structure as a whole. Working out values which
might be appropriate for the various levels will be the
subject for Chapter IV, "Devising a Common Vocabulary of
Aesthetic Value Terms."
Towards a Common Descriptive Vocabulary
As we begin working out the family resemblances between
arts on which to build a common descriptive language of art,
The reasons for including poetry and novels under
auditory arts will be explained in the section on poetry.

-94-
and eventually common standards for evaluation, we notice
straight-away that individual arts will differ. Music
cannot possess elements in common with a painting because we
hear music and we see paintings. It is not possible to hear
a painting and it is not possible to see music; hence, there
is no overlap of sensations. There can be an overlap of two
types of art only where there is an overlap of the sensory
basis of the arts. This will not rule out, however,
elements of an auditory art type performing the same
function as elements of a visual art type. If we are
successful in working out similar functions between art
types, each art type will be totally comparable to every
other art type. It will not matter that the primary
elements are different, it will not matter that the
arrangements are different, it will not matter that the type
of associative relationships which may be involved in the
art type are different; the fact is that if they all have
these similarly functioning elements, then they may be
inter-calibrated from one art type to the other, quantified
in common, and hence compared. What this means in terms of
vocabulary is that instead of a uniformity of vocabulary,
the true goal will be one of regular rules of
transformation.
A good part of what is understood about a type of art
deals with the senses and with what the senses themselves
supply. To say that understanding of any art type is
necessarily rooted in sensations or sense organs is simply

-95-
to point out that the physiological qualities of the senses
relate to, and determine, the elements of that art type.
It is necessary to explore the implicit order in the
way things are perceived and the way in which artists
exploit these implicit relationships--some to a greater
degree than others, depending on the medium in which they
are working. Thus, in theory, every art type involves some
physical basis which is dependent on the physics of the
phenomenon and our sense organs. Since the physiological
qualities of music play such an obvious role in the elements
of music we shall begin with that art type and then expand
the discussion to include poetry and painting.
As a description of poetry and painting develops, the
question may be asked why the language of music is employed,
but this is simply to facilitate the goal of establishing a
common language of aesthetics. However, if family
resemblance relationships can be established among the
various media it will make no difference whether (a) we
describe poetry in terms of music or music in terms of
poetry, or (b) both of them in terms of painting, or
(c) construct a language using none of the vocabulary now
used to describe any of them. Music has been chosen simply
because the language of music criticism is more carefully
worked out than either literary criticism or art criticism
(i.e., there is more nearly general agreement as to what
the terms mean).

-96-
Music
Primary Elements
The primary elements of music can be defined as those
elements which fundamentally appeal only to the senses, and
which are not capable of direct structural type analysis.
Music makes use of the four characteristics of sound as the
raw material of the art. In the case of music primary
elements may be determined by examination of sound and its
distinctive characteristics or properties; consequently,
everything in music can be reduced to the characteristic
properties of a sound wave. The statement that music is
reducible to its primary elements does not mean that a
recognition of the physical elements of sound is to be
equated with understanding a symphony, but only that the
contrasts and tensions which account for musical
relationships are made up of the building blocks of the
medium's primary elements.
To begin an examination of music's primary elements,
all sound will involve vibration in a three part
relationship: (a) a source that produces the sound, such as
a vibrating string; (b) a sound transmitting medium, such as
air; and (c) a receiving mechanism, for example, the human
ear. Musical tone may be distinguished from mere noise by
comparing the sound produced by plucking the string of a
stringed instrument with that made by dropping coins on a
flat surface. In the first case, the sound will be produced

-97-
by a regular and relatively simple vibratory motion which we
call "tone." In the second case, the sound is produced by
an irregular and relatively complex vibratory motion, thus
creating noise or heterogenous sound.
Exploring musical tone in more detail, let us take the
string bass as an example. If one were to pluck the
thinnest string and then the thickest one it would be
obvious that the thinnest string vibrates faster and
produces a higher sound than the thickest string which
vibrates slower and produces a lower sound. Thus, the
frequency of the vibration (the number of back and forth
cycles that the string makes per second) determines what we
call pitch. Since each vibration is equivalent to one
wave length, it follows that the faster the frequency, or the
more the number of wave lengths per unit time the higher the
pitch.
A second element of sound can be observed by plucking
one string first very lightly. In this case, the vibrating
motion will be very narrow and the sound produced will be
soft. If the same string is then plucked with some force,
the vibration will be wider and the sound will be louder.
The width of the vibration is the characteristic of
amplitude which is a measurement of the strength of the
disturbance caused by sound waves. It produces what we
refer to as volume or loudness; the wider the amplitude of
the sound wave the greater the volume. (Figures 1 and 2
illustrate these concepts of pitch and volume.)

-98-
Wave 1
/f\ A /
\ A Á A Á A A
Deviation Wave 2
from /
\J \J 1 Vy v
!\ L /
\ A
equilibrium
\7T\J\\y
v|\
Figure 1. Sound wave: Pitch. The pitch of a sound is
determined by the frequency of vibration of the
sound source. The faster the vibrating body is
caused to vibrate the higher the pitch.
Conversely, the slower the vibrating body is
caused to vibrate the lower the pitch. In the
above diagram, two vibrations of Wave 1 occur for
each vibration of Wave 2. Thus Wave 1 represents
a tone whose pitch is higher than that of Wave 2.
Deviation
from
equi1ibrium
Wave 1 a
Lines a--b, c--d, e--f, and g--h show how amplitude is
measured.
Figure 2. Sound wave: Amplitude. Since amplitude is a
measurement of the disturbance caused by sound
waves, the greater the agitation the higher the
amplitude of the wave and the louder the sound
sensation. In the diagram, Wave 2 represents a
louder sound than Wave 1.

-99-
The third element of sound is that of duration. This
depends on the length of time over which vibration is
maintained, and it is the relative duration of a sound
alternated with silence which determines rhythm. In this
respect, the absence of sound plays an important, though
often overlooked, role in music.
The fourth and last element in music may be
demonstrated by plucking the lowest string on the string
bass and then striking the same note on the piano. It will
be apparent at once that even though the pitch and loudness
of those two sounds may be the same, they sound very
different. This difference is caused by the overtone
structure. When the string of the bass is plucked, the
string is vibrating not only as a whole unit, but also in
halves, quarters, and other proportional units. The string
vibrating as a whole produces the tone that is heard most
clearly, the "fundamental" or dominant frequency, while the
smaller vibrations of the string produce what are called
"overtones" which are of higher frequency. Overtones are
usually not heard as separate pitches; instead, the number,
position, and relative strength of the overtones above a
given tone will differ from instrument to instrument. It is
this combination of fundamental or dominant frequency
together with the many overtones which gives each instrument
its characteristic quality of sound and this is called
timbre. A horn, such as a trumpet, which is rich in

-100-
overtones has a very different sound from a flute which
gives a very pure note and is much less rich in overtones.
The significant point is that by totally describing
music in terms of physical properties, those elements which
are referred to here as "primary elements," we shall have
produced an exhaustive description of music in the sense
that the themes which make up musical composition are
nothing more than the manipulation of these primary elements
of sound. Understanding the music involves perceiving the
patterns that have been imposed on the physics. Each of the
senses has a physical set of properties corresponding to
these we have mentioned in music, so that here are the
foundations for creating a language which will ultimately
enable us to set forth a fully comprehensive descriptive
system for aesthetics.
Thematic Elements and Development
Putting together a particular combination of primary
elements in such a way as to exhibit an intelligible
structure is to create themes. The themes of any art work
will be composed of the physical constituents of the medium.
In music, a theme is composed of distinctive patterns of
pitch, volume, duration, and timbre. These patterns of
primary elements will be referred to as "thematic elements,"
and they are melody, rhythm, and orchestration.^ For
^Harmony will not be considered as a separate pattern
since it is the combination of tones occurring together
whereas in melody the notes occur in succession.

-101-
example, melody consists of patterns of pitch formed by a
succession of tones of varying pitch. There are examples in
musical compositions that illustrate explorations of pitch
patterns in which there is a quotation of a folk tune or
melody from another composer which is then systematically
developed by the composer. Such a work is Beethoven's last
work for the piano, Op. 120, the "Diabelli Variations."
While Diabelli's own melody was insignificant, he invited
other composers (including Schubert) to write variations for
it, and Beethoven responded with not one but thirty-three.
Another famous example is Paganini's "Caprice for Solo
Violin." The theme of this last Caprice (24th) was taken by
Brahms for his "Variations on a Theme by Paganini" for solo
piano and by Serge Rachmaninoff for his "Rhapsody on a Theme
of Paganini" for piano and orchestra. The Brahms is
particularly ambitious in that he uses the Paganini theme as
a point of departure and concentrates on treating his
variations in the spirit of Paganini. The result is a
comprehensive statement in the art of composition in which
every technical possibility and every device of variation
technique has been exploited.
Another example of experimentation with melody is
Schumann's Abegg Variations (Theme sur le nom Abegg),
variations in F Major Op. 1. He wrote the composition for a
young woman, Meta Abegg, and the opening theme is a musical
anagram derived from the letters in her name and containing
the notes A, B, E, G, and G. The variations are not typical

-102-
of their day in that they are based on an original melody
rather than a popular piece or the work of some other
composer.
Rhythm is a pattern produced by a manipulation of the
primary elements of duration and, to a lesser extent,
volume. A piece exemplifying a specific and noteworthy use
of rhythm is Stravinsky's Le Sacre du Printemps. Stravinsky
shifts metrical patterns in such a way that he creates an
exceedingly agitated rhythmic pattern that is appropriate to
the sense of frenzy of the piece.
Orchestration is the manipulation of timbre contrast or
tone color. Tone color can be produced by the use of
different instruments in a composition, or it can be
produced in the same instrument. Different effects are
created in the same instrument by different pressures that
can be put on keys or by various manipulations of pedals.
These techniques allow for different coloration. Most
pianists will play an impressionist like Debussy differently
from the way in which they would play Brahms, so there is a
different color effect, even though it may be very subtle.
An enlightening example of orchestration is one in
which piano compositions have been orchestrated. The most
famous example of this type if Ravel's Pictures from an
Exhibition by Mussorgsky, originally a piano piece. The
effectiveness of Ravel's work is that in setting
Mussorgsky's piano work for orchestra, Ravel did not

-103-
proceed merely to transcribe it, he re-thought the whole
work in purely orchestral terms.
In the making of a composition, each of the primary
elements of pitch, volume, and in the case of non-western
percussive music such as Balinese, timbre, is potential ly as
important as the other, and music can be constructed based
upon the contrast of any of them. Themes could be composed
almost exclusively on contrast of rhythm (as for example a
drum which does not have variation of pitch) or upon melodic
contrasts or upon difference in sound color; however, in
most instances normally one of these will dominate and
others will be used for support.
Some alterations can be done without significantly
altering themes, but other changes will result in the loss
of its identity. For example, when one hears a melodic
theme in a musical composition, what is heard is a
distinctive pattern of changing sound levels, or tones.
Certain alterations can be made, such as playing or singing
it faster or slower, and the result will be regarded as the
same melody, but if the internal pitch is altered, the
melody will not be heard as the original. Similarly, it can
be played on a piano, or sung by the human voice, or played
on a violin and the change in timbre is not regarded as
significant. One can also make certain modifications of the
primary rhythmic structure and there will not be regarded as
a significant change. On the other hand, there are certain
motifs in musical compositions which are primarily rhythmic,

-104-
and if one changes those, the theme will have been changed.
For example, if the time of the notes of the theme of
Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is changed so that the last note
is not held longer than the first three, or if all four
notes are played at the same tempo, the result will not be
regarded as the same theme. Thus, sometimes themes involve
both rhythmic contrasts and tonal contrasts.
The important point here is that themes involve a
distinctive pattern where some elements are subsidiary and
others dominant. But this structure is not unique to music
since the construction of themes in any art type is based on
the organization of the physical properties of the medium so
that some become more prominent than others and thus more
significant to the integrity of the theme. Themes are then
modified by changing the supporting elements and limited
modification of the dominant ones, so that while the
identity of the theme is never lost, it undergoes
considerable variation. In music this modification is
called "development."
Different musical traditions will exhibit different
stresses amongst these physical properties and their
corresponding organizational patterns. Except for
Indonesia's wide variety of percussion instruments, no other
musical tradition has as large a range of instruments as
does Western music. Modern music has been exceedingly
interested in exploiting the differences of timbre, or the
properties of the overtones of individual instruments.

-105-
However, while tone color is explored, the timbre of various
instruments turns out to be not the true source of the
structure in Western music. Most people do not regard the
orchestration of the piece as materially different from the
unorchestrated version of it, or at most it is seen as a
difference involving only minor changes. Illustrations such
as Beethoven's Hammerklavier sonata, Opus 106, may be cited
in this regard. Most people do not regard Weingartner's
orchestration as more significant than the Hammerklavier on
the piano. Conversely, there are reductions of Beethoven's
Fifth Symphony (Liszt's, for example). In each of these
cases, changes of tone color are not regarded as the primary
part of the aesthetic structure, and changes in tone color
are not regarded as significantly altering the structure of
the work itself. Instead of timbre contrasts, our tradition
is preoccupied with harmony and thus Western music is based
primarily on pitch differences. Therefore, if a piece is
played with the wrong degree of contrasts in loudness or it
is played too slow or too fast, even if it is played on the
wrong instrument, the piece is still recognizable.^ There
are other musical traditions, however, in which pitch is
unimportant and the contrasts are rhythmic and not harmonic
contrasts. These are those traditions in which percussion
•7
Insofar as timbre is important, authenticity of
instruments becomes an issue, but most people are willing to
concede that Bach played on the piano is not Bach defiled.
However, there are purists who will say that if one really
wants to play Bach archaic instruments must be used.

-106-
instruments dominate as in Indonesian music, African music,
and to a certain extent archaic Chinese music. Indeed, most
musical traditions are rhythmically considerably more
complex than our own. We admit into Western music only a
very few signatures (typically 2/4, 3/4, 4/4, or some
variant), and as a result have an exceedingly restricted
rhythmic base.
The significant point of this analysis is that based on
the physical properties of sound, we can account for the
kinds of contrasts and tensions which occur with regard to
musical composition itself. This will be true not only of
music, but of all art types in that there are certain
physical characteristics of the medium. It should be
remembered that the only thing this thesis is concerned with
is the physical instantiation of the work and no other
entity which people have sometimes called "work of art,"
e.g., Collingwood. The artist must exploit these physical
properties whether it is done so explicitly or not, and by
making fundamental choices he or she establishes the pattern
of the work. Even so-called "atonal" music makes use of
certain kinds of relationships that are analyzable in these
terms, and these relationships are established from the
initial choices made by the composer. As they select a
series of relationships, composers decrease the range of
possibilities and their succeeding choices are not entirely
random. For example, while any two notes can be played
together, the addition of a third note dramatically

-107-
restricts the possible choice of the next one, and once the
fourth note is decided then the order or sequences of chords
is in part fixed.
If the composer simply repeats, it becomes boring very
quickly. Therefore, by means of manipulating the types of
contrast (loud, soft, fast, slow, close, far apart, etc.)
the number of possibilities as to what the next chord will
be is enlarged. After the artist has put these together in
a sequence, these units establish a certain directionality,
so that in the composition note relates to note, and also
chord relates to chord, and sequence of chords relates to
other sequences of chords; each unit produces analogous
kinds of organization and expectations. Expectations are
aroused in the audience because of the connections perceived
between sounds. Most people can hear the connections but
they are probably not explicitly aware of them because they
do not have the technical vocabulary to deal with them, or
they lack musical sophistication. Nonetheless, people can
hear the relationships^ even though they might be unable to
state that the relationship is one of a number of notes that
the two scales have in common and which determine the degree
of contrast. In effect, one absorbs the connections by
being a member of a certain culture and musical tradition.
This means that the use of identical melodic contours, all
O
And as explained in Chapter II, perceiving the
relationships will constitute understanding; being able to
verbalize this appreciation in a technical vocabulary is
another matter.

-108-
of which may be called "themes," are based on certain
primitive relationships, the physics of music. Their
recurrence is recognizable to the ear. They are
recognizable at different tone levels, for example, and
while one is aware that they are not the same, they will
nonetheless be regarded as equivalent. The listener will
see a succession of patterns, each of which is different, as
nothing more than variations on themselves.
Within the context of a developed tradition these
organizational relationships have regularity which is called
"style." Thus, the thing which constitutes a style is a
restricted range of choices amongst the possible ways of
organization. We can show, for example, that in some
historical periods certain chord patterns are artistically
extremely rare while other chord patterns are extremely
common. In music one can characterize a style by noting the
combinations of various types of elements such as rhythm,
harmony, phrasing patterns, etc., and as one restricts the
choices, the organizational outline becomes progressively
clearer. This is true of all art types, not just of music.
If in poetry the artist is working with a restricted range
of meters (or in painting, a restricted range of colors) a
poem will be produced which, given the familiarity of the
audience, will be instantly recognizable and interpretable.
Thus, styles function as a point of reference in terms of
which one can appreciate a work of art, the style providing
the key to the way in which the potentialities of that art

-109-
type are exploited systematically in terms of that
tradition.
Regularities of a tradition can be learned and these
regularities produce what amounts to a "symbolism," the
recurrence of motifs becoming recognizable. We can show how
this is done in music by noting that in music the same
combination of pause, acceleration, and movement occurs that
is possible in speech itself. In speech, there is no
visible punctuation, so that the way the hearer knows to
divide language into words and so understand what people are
saying is by pause and the beat of accent. Similarly,
pauses and beats of accent provide musical groupings which
then become intelligible structures in the composition
itself.
Wagner, with his leitmotifs, developed this technique
to its highest degree, so that a single interval in the
octave becomes symbolic of the sword of Nothung, and it
occurs again and again in the piece. Even though the
listener does not know the German or what is being said, the
recurrence of that distinctive interval is instantly
recognizable as the "sword motif.The audience
intuitively grasps the "sword motif" or the "blood brother
motif" or any of the others because of the way in which
Wagner points (by means of time signatures and cadence of
Q
Even though Wagner did not name the motifs, I am using
the names which musical scholars have attached because of
the occasion of the motif's first appearance.

-110-
harmonic scheme) to these as intelligible units, and he
modifies these intelligible units in regular ways.
It should be pointed out that the word "symbolic" here
does not indicate that these motifs are referential; that
is, these musical intervals do not refer to anything, and
thus are not a symbol in that sense. While in their logical
organization, their "syntax" it can be called, the symbolic
relationships of music become rather like a language, that
analogy is not complete.^ The symbols of music are not
instrumental to a semantical function as is the case in
language, and as a result, musical structure need not adhere
to the rules that are necessary to make semantic
interpretation possible. Thus, unlike language whose
primary function is referential, the symbols of music do not
refer to something extrinsic; they are not about anything.
Nonetheless, what is similar about music and language is
analyzable structure, and it is this rational structure of
music that is emphasized here.
The symbols of music are non-referential, except
internally so, and are akin to mathematics, since the
logical relations in mathematics do not refer to anything
exterior to the mathematical formula. A mathematical
formula may be used to describe external things, but the
^A thorough discussion, to which I am indebted, of the
limitations of the analogies between music and language and
music and mathematics can be found in Roger Scruton's Art
and Imagination; A Study in the Philosophy of Mind,
London: Methuen and Co.,Ltd, 1974, pp. 169-170.

-Ill-
logical properties of mathematics are not derived.
Mathematics does not "tell" us anything, just as music does
not; however, as is the case with language, the analogy is
only that and not an identity. Here the analogy breaks down
at the level of rules and coherence. The connections
between thematic elements in music are not necessary or
universal in the way mathematical and logical relationships
are. One may say of a particular series of notes in a piece
of music that it is "right"^ that the notes follow each
other as they do, but it would not always and inevitably by
the case that the notes should follow the same pattern.
Instead, it is by means of regular kinds of recognizable
units which are introduced very early in the composition
that the apprehender is able to understand certain kinds of
things about what may be called the "logic" of the
composition. It is that which enables us to see what the
composer is doing and to anticipate it, but this "logic" of
the piece of music pertains to that particular composition
and no other.
This brings us to the difference between musical
understanding and the understanding of mathematics.
Mathematical understanding involves grasping the manner in
^Conversely, a "mistake" would be the misordering of
things in such a way that the structure is rendered
unintelligible. In music a "mistake" can be heard as the
introduction of an unintelligibility into the musical
composition, but it is conceivable there would be such
things in painting, poetry, and sculpture as well, although
there has been a less clearly defined appreciation of the
relational structure in these arts.

-112-
which one step necessarily follows from the preceding one,
and given the initial premises, the conclusion could have
been no other. That is, one begins in mathematics with a
certain axiomatic system, which after once being
established, rules out all conclusions save one. In music,
however, the initial statement only limits the possibilities
of the development of a composition, it does not determine
structure.^ The expertise of composers is demonstrated in
the way they develop the possibilities of the original
statement. This means that musical understanding entails
decoding the structure as a whole, coming step by step to
see how the piece was constructed and this entails
recognizing the themes and then understanding the way the
themes are developed and inter-related to form a totality.
It is the difficulty of decoding the structure,
unlocking the symbolism, that makes it virtually impossible
for people to understand music outside their own tradition.
Those who can claim to appreciate Arabic music, or Indian
music, or Chinese or Balinese music are very few, and I know
of no book on music criticism or music aesthetics which
makes any concerted effort to take into account these
alternate traditions in a coherent way. Even encyclopedic
works and the standard works on the history of music neglect
them because they are not intelligible in Western terms.
1 9
While an initial impression might incline one to
accept mathematics as art, closer examination reveals that
although inevitability is a characteristic of art, this is
different from the logical entailment of mathematics.

-113-
That means that music has developed into a particular
"language" which is culture bound. Thus, the intricacies of
stylistic use of symbolic elements is the reason it is
almost impossible for most Westerners to have any meaningful
appreciation of non-Western music. Westerners have no
experience whatever with the techniques of encoding which
are appropriate to the exploitation of the physical
properties of the music which are entailed in these
traditions. One can master them, of course, and then one
can listen to Indian music and Chinese music so that after a
length of time, one can begin to detect what would be called
regularities, and one can anticipate developments and make
associations between groupings. Detecting regularities is
the first step in deciphering or decoding works of art, and
the same could be said of any art type.
Art which in theory is "universal," in that it is
theoretically readily available to everyone, in practice is
not the least universal, but rather is exceedingly elitist.
While there is nothing in the encoding process which is not
potentia1ly understandable by everyone, there may be
unfamiliar encoding techniques; hence, the process of
decoding might be more difficult. Because it is not
predictable in ways anticipated by audiences unfamiliar with
its language, 20th century music has been difficult for
audiences to accept. Composers like Stravinsky and
Schoenberg reject the kinds of traditional harmonies
everyone has become used to hearing and the types of

-114-
melodies with which audiences are familiar and attempt to
set up new patterns of predictability.
Thus, there is a kind of language to an art type. The
process of learning music, for example, is the process of
learning the language, the traditional associations within
it. 13 New works of music are particularly difficult because
they do not use language in the expected way and until we
become accustomed to this kind of language and are able to
anticipate the new relationships we are illiterate in that
art. Therefore, by analogy, the process of becoming
acquainted with an art is the process of learning more
"words," so we can lay bare the symbolic relationships.
Poetry
Primary Elements
In the discussion of the primary elements of music the
point was made that the physical basis of music is the fact
â– *-^The musical language which a person learns as a
member of a culture becomes associative so that certain
kinds of sounds have clear cut relationships and this
probably, in part, answers the question as to why people
feel that music speaks directly to emotions. When people
hear certain chords, for example, they hear a difference in
emotional quality; and so, music of that sort has some kind
of connection with the way in which people feel. The image
in Baudelaire's line from Les Fleurs du Mai, "the minor of
what we feel" makes use of what we hear as the difference
between a major chord and a minor chord, since most people
detect a noticeable difference in mood or feeling between a
major key and a minor key. However, the major and minor
distinctions which contemporary Westerners feel are not

Thematic Elemtns and
Development Primary Elements
Music
pitch....
amplitude
timbre...
duration.
rhythm
melody
orchestration
themes creased by
rhythmic contrasts
plus mfelodic contrasts
Figure 3.
Music
Figure of resemblances.

-116-
a vibrating source (e.g. a single string) produces
resonances. Also, the themes that make up music can be
described in terms of those primary elements of resonance
since the thematic relationships that arise are
manipulations of those primary elements. In this respect,
music can be said to be relatively simple since an account
of what occurs in music can be given solely in terms of the
physical properties of that medium. Poetry is more complex
in this respect, even though poems will be discussed as
though they were fundamentally meant.to be heard.
The question of whether poetry is an auditory art might
be raised.-*-4 Until fairly modern times, poems were composed
to be heard and not to be read.-*-^ The idea that one
recorded to have been significant for the early Greeks, for
example, who found other modes not thought to be of
consequence today. This lack of appreciation on our part is
probably due to the fact they are not part of our
traditional musical language.
â– 'â– ^It might be said that one has first to read a poem
silently in order to understand it and only later can one
get the rhythms right since the meaning of the line
determines the rhythm. Actually this is more a problem of
performing than experiencing a work of art since what is
being dealt with here is similar to the kinds of things
musicians face when they are confronted with a fresh score.
They may well have to look at it for a moment or two
initially to be able to construe it, but that is different
from experiencing the music. When one talks about reading a
poem silently before reading aloud, the process is probably
akin to a musician's examination of a score in preparation
for a performance. In such cases aesthetics is not
involved.
^In fact, most of the poetry being written today is
written in a verbal mode. For example, questions of value
aside, the lyrics of popular music are derived from the
spoken language and the popular poetry of most of the world
is designed for auditory appreciation.

-117-
fundamental ly reads poetry is a modern notion and most of
the historical poems that are regarded as fairly significant
were written to be recited aloud. Before the invention of
movable type neither literacy nor printing was sufficiently
common in the West to make a literary audience possible;
thus the notion of writing poems to be read is a recent
innovation. -LD
However, poetry remains an auditory art and whether it
is heard or read silently is immaterial. What jj; germane is
that the thing which distinguishes the poet from the
ordinary prose writer is the poet's exploitation of certain
qualities of language in a deliberate, self-conscious way.
While we need not perceive the poem aurally to appreciate
this, we must be acquainted with the pronunciation and
rhythms of language. Otherwise, we could not detect the
poetic qualities of a work and distinguish it from prose,
for simply to print words in broken lines does not make a
poem.
To illustrate the point of poetry's dependence on
auditory effect, one need only to consider the case of
Chinese poems which are dependent on T'ang pronunciation to
produce their auditory effect. Centuries after their
writing, one must go about memorizing those ancient rules of
pronunciation. While it is true that one can pronounce
1
An exception to this is in China where poetry happens
to have been read from Sung dynasty times, roughly from the
year 960 on.

-118-
these poems using contemporary pronunciation (or for that
matter, English, German, or Italian pronunciation) one would
hardly argue that to do so, even silently, would be
appreciating the T'ang poem as it was meant to be
experienced.
As this discussion moves away from music and focuses
upon the search for family resemblance relations between art
types, straight-away it becomes obvious that the amount of
stress placed on primary elements will vary among art types.
For example, in "pitch" the human voice is naturally tenor,
baritone, alto, or soprano, but poets do not take that fact
into consideration when, for example, they make use of group
chorus poetry. Nor is it normally said that it matters
whether a female or male reads a poem aloud, for this is
considered trivial and insignificant in the appreciation of
a poem. Thus, the conclusion may be drawn that pitch is
less important an element in poetry than it is in music.
In discussing "duration" in music one sees a functional
equivalence to the length (and shortness) of a sound in
poetry, while what we call "amplitude" in music will be
similar to a stress/unstress of sound in poetry. In
themselves these elements are less important than they are
in music in that they take on significance depending only
upon the particular language in which the poem is written.
This point will be developed below.
Upon close examination it becomes evident that what was
referred to as tone color, or "timbre" in music, resembles

-119-
the sound qualities which are distinctive to a particular
language, i.e., the phonemes. Phonemes are the distinctive
speech sounds which make up the complexion of a language,
varying from language to language. Humans are capable of
producing a large number of sounds, and languages employ
only a small percent of the possible sounds. Those who
learn a foreign language find that they must pronounce
sounds they never made in their own language, and that
certain things occur in one language that do not occur in
another. For example, the German language is capable of
combining large numbers of consonants which appear together
and, by comparison, the number of vocal sounds is relatively
few. When English speaking persons encounter this in German
they are not nonplussed because similar combinations occur
in English, although not in such proliferation. The flow or
"speed" of a language is a function of the number and
spacing of the consonants and vowels of which it is
composed. Because of its consonant/vowel structure, German
is not commonly thought of as a flowing language, but it can
be made flowing by the use of particular sounds. On the
other hand, Italian has very few consonants and no
consonantal clusters; thus, there is a dominance of vowel
sounds resulting in an extraordinarily smooth language which
lends itself particularly well to the bel canto style of
opera. French is in an intermediate position because it has
nasal sounds which are semiconsonants; that is, consonantal
sounds which interrupt the flow or liquidity of the

-120-
language, but not nearly to the degree as in German.
English exhibits an unhappy combination of the two making it
. . . 1 7
difficult to sing.
This discussion of functional resemblances demonstrates
that poetry, being an auditory art type, involves the
characteristics of sound found in music, although the
emphasis on these primary elements is not the same. But is
sound aJLi^ that poetry involves? I_f what is meant by poetry
is simply the sounds of what is spoken, then the themes of
poetry, like those in music, consist only in the
manipulation of the physical characteristics already
discussed. If that view were taken the implication would be
that the behavior of a person sightsinging a text is not
materially different from that of people reading the sounds
of a foreign language they do not know in an alphabet with
l^it has been my own experience that English, when sung
becomes an extraordinary blur particularly formal
pronunciation as might be used in opera. I have interviewed
numerous colleagues, other native English speakers who enjoy
opera, and find that they concur with my impression that
even if one is only modestly knowledgeable of Italian, a
chorus sung in Italian is more easily understood than a
chorus sung in English. Examples of modern operas such as
"The Ballad of Baby Doe" or even the more straightforward
"Porgy and Bess" seem to me to illustrate this point about
the difficulty of deciphering English sung in bel canto
style. Why should this be the case? A possible explanation
for this phenomenon was suggested to me by linguist Frances
Aid, Chairman of the Modern Language Department at Florida
International University, who pointed out that English is a
language with a large number of syllables that end in
consonant groups whereas languages such as Italian and
French have a large number of syllables ending in vowels.
When singing in bel canto style, these sounds would be
extended and exaggerated, giving an added emphasis to the
word.

-121-
which they are familiar.18 For example, singing a series of
notes such as those in Figure 4^-9 would not differ from
reading aloud "Mega biblion, mega kakon,"^ for those
untutored in Greek. If the symbols of language function as
do the symbols of music, then these two lines are equivalent
in that they simply inform us as to the correct rhythm of
the sound, and one can determine whether an error is made in
singing the wrong note or pronouncing the wrong syllable.
What needs to be determined is whether poetry consists of
anything more than correctly reading "mega biblion, mega
kakon?" The question which will have to be answered is "To
what extent do poems involve more than what is just heard?"
or, more pointedly, "How do poems differ from music?"
I O
In other words, learning to read poetry would be like
learning to read with the aid of the international phonetic
alphabet. We can write out the way we are supposed to
pronounce the language, proper intonations and phrasing, and
it would appear as though we were speaking. This would be
akin to sight reading in that we would have mastered the
technical skill of reproducing correctly a thing, and just
as we can look at a note or line and say that it was not
sung correctly, we can look at the sounds in the phonetic
alphabet and say it was not read correctly.
1 9
"Che faro senza Euridice," the famous 18th century
aria from Christoph Willibald Gluck's opera Ofero ed
Euridice.
? 0
This was considered the finest work by the
Hellenistic Greek poet Kallimachos and was lionized in its
day. In English the line reads, "A big book is a big evil."

-122-
Figure 4. Ofero ed Euridice
A difficulty in dealing with poetry, as opposed to
music, is that the sounds do occur in language and the
sounds of a poem frequently have references which evoke
images. Thus in poetry we normally understand that the
sounds of a poem are not the poem, and if one hears the
sounds of poetry in an unknown language, it could not be
said that the hearer understood the poem. That is, one
would not have experienced the poem, but would only have
perceived the sounds. This observation means that the
thematic elements of poetry, unlike those of music, do not
reside simply in the physical properties of the work. What
these thematic elements entail will become evident as the
thematic relationships of poetry are examined in the
following pages.
Thematic Relationships
As in music, the rhythm^! of poetry involves both
dynamics (amplitude) and duration. Consequently there are
two kinds of rhythm in poetry: (a) one based on volume or
O I
In poetry this is called "meter"; that is, poetry
involves metrical patterns which have a certain intricacy.

-123-
stress rhythm as occurs in English, and (b) a duration
rhythm which is based upon the length of the syllables
involved, characteristic of Sanskrit and Greek. Thus, when
what is called "rhythm" in poetry is dealt with, actually
these types of contrast are being considered. Therefore,
the regularity of rhythm, or its repetitive aspects, lead us
to regard a work as poetry as contrasted to prose. While
prose does have rhythm, the absence of regularity
distinguishes the prose from poetry.
A very interesting rhythmic device can be found in the
opening lines of T.S. Eliot's "Lovesong of J. Alfred
Prufrock." Assume for the moment that those lines were
written in the following manner:
Let us go, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky.
As it is written above, this is a proper Victorian poem.
There is a certain symmetry within it as it stands and the
rhyme enables the two lines which are of unequal length to
be, nevertheless, comparable. However, that is not the way
Eliot actually wrote the poem. Eliot introduces a
dissonance in the very beginning which destroys this nice
Victorian balance since the actual lines read:
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky.
The important thing about the word "then" is not so much
what the word means, but what it does to the rhythm of the
sentence. While it is not being suggested here that any
word which would not change the rhythm could be substituted,

-124-
it is obvious at the same time that the primary function of
the word is one of emphasis. It is the dissonance created
by the "then" that makes an incongruity between the first
two lines and therefore makes possible the third line:
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table.
Without the interjection of the "then" the three lines
when read together sound like one long line. The "then" is
critical because only with its use does the third line make
sense. "Then" creates a rhythmic dissonance akin to the
dissonances of the image "Like a patient etherized upon a
table." The image is dissonant since if one were not
prepared for it by the "then" which interrupts the Victorian
style smoothness of the first two lines, the image would be
as jarring as a wrong note in music. "Let us go, you and
I / When the evening is spread out against the sky" is very
smooth and flowing with perfectly recurring features, but
"Like a patient etherized upon a table" introduces a
shattering note. However, "Let us go then you and I / When
the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient
etherized upon a table" is not shocking, since "then" breaks
the symmetry of the first line. Altogether, it is the
congruity of the dissonances which make the third line
compatible in a very important way.
There are numerous examples of this kind of device in
poetry, and modern poetry abounds in them. Eliot

-125-
particularly makes regular use of this kind of rhythmic
alteration. For example, in his "Burnt Norton" he writes:
Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence.
Here the important word is "only" by which he relates things
in an image sequence. Rhythm here is like movement through
t ime.
There is a twelve syllable line from Racine's Phaedre
which shows the dramatic effect that a change of rhythm can
have: "Le jour n'est pas plus pur que la fond du mon
coeur."22 in spoken French the line would be read: "La
jour n'est pas plus pur que la fond du mon coeur." But,
this is not the way the line is read as poetry. This is the
line in which Hippolyte protests that he is innocent of
incest, so what happens is that "la" and "du" are not
emphasized as they would be, but, instead "fond" and "coeur"
are the important words: "La jour n'est pas plus pur que la
fond du mon coeur." There is a shift of natural stress
pattern in the middle of the line which emphasizes the
dramatic necessity of the line in the play. The drama of
the poetic line is that it begins with iambic pentameter and
then following "que," which breaks the rhythm, dactylic
follows. It is this change of stress in the middle of the
line that adds emphasis to what is said.
22
"The day is not more pure than the foundation of my
heart."

-126-
The same thing occurs in English. Keeping in mind that
many Elizabethan lines are written in iambic pentameter and
that no one ever stresses "the" in spoken language expect
for some special purpose, consider some of the most famous
lines in the language: "To be or not to be that is the
question." If any Hamlet delivered those lines in iambic,
"To be or not to be that is the question" his reception
would be less than enthusiastic. Instead, a more accepted
reading would be "To be or not to be, that is the question"
since the focus of Hamlet's consideration on living or dying
dictates the stress of the line. From the above examples it
is evident that poets employ rhythm as a device for creating
various effects.
In music, as has been demonstrated, melody plays an
important role.^ Its equivalent in poetry, patterns of
intonation and pitch, are less important; however, an
exception may be Chinese poetry, in which pitch patterns
form the basis of the rhythmic structure of the line. In
that particular case, the way in which a verse is
constructed, and that which gives the verse its particular
rhythm, is the pitch at which a word is uttered. In
contrast, orchestration (patterns of different tone colors)
which play a less significant part than does melody in
music, becomes the important element in poetry where this
element can be called "patterns of phonemes." That is,
O') .
With the exception of some traditions such as the
Javanese, Ancient Chinese, or African.

-127-
patterns of consonants and vowels, i.e., alliteration,
assonance, and rhyme.
There is a particularly good example of phoneme
patterns in Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, Act II,
Scene II, 11.195-202, where Cleopatra's barge is described.
The whole section is quite extraordinary because of its
sound color; for example, the use of the "B" and "N" sounds
which then give way to "S" sounds: "barge . . . burnished
throne, burn'd . . . beaten" then, "sails . . . sick . . .
silver . . . stroke":
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten
gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars
were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and
made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes.
Thus, the pattern of phonemes, as illustrated here, is
functionally equivalent to orchestration in music and
consists of the particular distribution or the distortion of
the natural distribution of the sounds which occur in the
language.
Certainly one of the most remarkable examples of sound
quality in the poetry of any language occurs in a line by
Rilke in his "Sonnets to Orpheus," Second Part, xiii:
sei ein klingendes Glas, das sich im Klang schon
zerschlug24
24"Be a resonant glass that shatters while it is
ringing."

-128-
In reading this line, notice the recurrence of certain kinds
of combinations; for example, the analogous vowel sounds in
"sei ein kling . . and then a change "Glas, das . . .
Klang" and the constant modification of consonant patterns
like the change from "s" to "sh," "des . . . as . . . das"
to "schon/zerschlug." Also, in the "Klang" there is the
full "g" sound and in "zerschlug" the "g" becomes equivalent
to "ch."
From what has been said thus far about poetry, we can
see that poetry depends on certain kinds of manipulations of
rhythmic patterns and certain kinds of manipulation of
phonetic patterns as well, but as was suggested earlier,
this is not all. If it were all, one would appreciate poems
in languages that are not understood, and this is obviously
not the case. On the contrary, knowing what the line means
greatly increases the value of the poem. One cannot truly
grasp the structure of the poem from hearing only the sounds
of the poem. So, one comes hard against the critical
problem of poetry; that is, the problem of "meaning." The
words in a poem do have meaning as Nietzsche correctly
observed in The Birth of Tragedy. To use Nietzsche's
language, a poem is not Dionysiac. If one did not know the
meaning of the words, a line of poetry might be Dionysiac.
The line might be a kind of melody which one could imagine
was sung or spoken in some unusual way, but unless one knows
what the words mean the line does not really become poetry.
Thus, the phenomenon of not appreciating poetry in a

-129-
language one does not understand can be explained by
remembering that the words of the poem have intrinsic
meanings unlike musical notes. Because of this the thematic
elements of the poem, in addition to rhythmic patterns and
phonetic patterns, depend on what we shall call "image
sequences";^ and the sequence of images constitutes the
meaning of the poem. Just as there is a contour of rhythm
and there is a contour of sound, we can speak of a kind of
contour of image in a poem.
Image sequence proves to be problematic for if a
message approach to poetry is adopted this approach seems to
imply that poems have important offerings in the way of
ideas. If a structural approach is adopted a difficulty of
explanation arises, since images sound distressingly similar
to message. To eliminate this problem differentiation needs
to be made between the image sequence in the poem and the
message of the poem. One should keep in mind that image
sequence is a neutral term and discrete from any message a
poem may have.
As an illustration, the Rilke line quoted above will be
examined. Translated into English this line would read "Be
a resonant glass that shatters while it is ringing." The
image sequence here involves seeing the world a certain
2 S
The word "image" may be too precise, too clean an
outline, in that poetic images can be auditory as well as
visual, but we shall use it since image is the word
traditionally used in literary criticism. By "image" we
have in mind a word or phrase that appeals to the senses so
that it forms a very vivid impression.

-130-
way; they are one and the same thing. That is, grasping the
image sequence is seeing what Rilke means. Seeing the image
of a glass shattering is not to get the impact of the poem
since the command to "be a ringing glass" is omitted. The
imagery in this line is perfectly clear and can be
translated from language to language without difficulty, but
the strength of the imagery lies in its interrelation with
the sounds of the German. Specifically, up until the word
"klang" there is nothing unusual, but in "zerschlug" the
turning point occurs, and that point is what is involved in
aesthetic consideration.26 Thus, at the end of the line the
image is completed and the view of life that Rilke is
expressing becomes clear. However, there is a difference
between experiencing the structure, seeing what it is like
to look at the world that way, and considering looking at
the world that way as right, valuable, or good. When one is
experiencing art he or she does not have to agree with the
artist, nor accept the point of view, to see what it is like
to view the world from a certain position, i.e., understand
what the poem means.
Thus, I suggest that the image sequence _is the meaning
of the poem, that there is no distinction between the
meaning and the images of the poem; however, this is a
different consideration from that of the message of the
poem.
9
What in Japanese aesthetics is called the "oddness"
of it, the aware as in the phrase "mono no aware."

-131-
Consider the result of saying that the message of the
poem consists in some literal meaning; that is, the passage
should be read as an objective recommendation that we become
like glasses even though it means we will shatter. Since it
is patently obvious that no one would seriously advocate our
shattering, someone who values message in poetry would not
take the position there is a literal meaning to the line,
instead it would likely be suggested that it be taken
"metaphorically." That is, the Rilke line is some sort of
recommendation about how a person should live life. Thus,
interpretation from a message approach involves taking an
image sequence and ascribing it to some "philosophical"
meaning. In the case of the Rilke example, the message
might be that a person can be compared to a glass, living
life can be compared to the ringing of the glass and the way
life should be lived implies taking a risk even though the
life might be shattered.
The important question that needs to be answered is, if
we translate this message into English, would we have
captured what was valuable about the poem? In other words,
is poetry different from ordinary speech only in that poetry
is an embellishment of ideas which could otherwise be
expressed in ordinary speech? Thus, is iambic pentameter,
or rhyme scheme or sonnet form merely an embellishment, a
decoration of no greater significance than the fine leather
binding on a book? If we assume that the message is the
important aspect of the poem and the structural aspects

-132-
merely embellishments of the message, then the prose
paraphrase of the poem is not less valuable than the poem
itself and there is no good reason for rejecting translation
or paraphrases, for the translation of a poem should be
performed in just the same way that the translations of an
equation in physics or a mathematical proposition is
performed. For any equation (like E = MC^) the verbal
statements which correspond to that equation (namely that
energy is equivalent to mass times speed of light squared)
are identical in significance to the equation itself; so
that transposition of an equation to a verbal statement
diminishes neither the significance nor the value of the
original utterance. In addition, if the message approach is
correct and there is something valuable about the message of
the poem, not only will a prose translation which adequately
conveys that message be useful and valuable, but the
implication surely follows that the more profound the
message, the more valuable the poem.
Putting aside for a moment the difficulty of trying to
offer an example of a profound poem, what could be said of
poems that contain factual error? Normally we do not
consider something to be valuable we know to be false. On
the other hand, it is quite clear that a large portion of
the world's poetry would have to be called "false." That
is, the "truth" statements contained in poems are certainly
invalid. Would one then want to conclude that the line of
poetry that contains the falsehood is valueless because of

-133-
factual error? As a case in point, consider Keats' line
from Ode on a Grecian Urn, "Beauty is truth and truth
beauty. That is all ye know on earth and all ye need to
know." That is surely false, since it is perfectly evident
that "beauty" (whatever that happens to be) and "truth"
(whatever that may be) are not equivalents (presumably what
the word "is" in that line means); thus, the line as an
epistemological assertion is unconvincing. Or, consider "A
thing of beauty is a joy forever." That line is
demonstrably false since there have been beautiful things
which have been lost, destroyed, or decayed. The question
is "Can falsehood be considered valuable"? If it can, then
it would make sense to say that a poem can deceive us, which
is exactly what thinkers like Plato and others have
maintained and why they advocate censorship and the
banishing of poets, because their works are a process of
spinning one long lie.
What can we say then about the profundity of poems?
Generally speaking poetry does not contain profound thought
at all.27 Consider for example Shelly's line from Ode
? 7
In saying that most poems are not profound I mean
that whatever empirical truth claims poetry makes are
trivial since from an information point of view most poems
are quite banal. However, the objection might be raised
that while it may be that the messages of poems are
frequently erroneous and, if taken literally, trivial, poems
can be profound in the sense of "deep." This claim seems to
me to go back to an old Hericlitean notion that apparent
connections are not the real connections and "deep" means
that a real connection which lies beneath the surface has
been established. This seems to be only a circumlocution
for an underlying truth of some sort. Another defense for

-134-
to the West Wind (11.69-70), "Oh, Wind / If Winter comes can
Spring be far behind"? As a meteorological forecast this
falls short, and the idea that Spring comes after Winter is
banal to say the least. Most poetry, from the point of view
of message is silly, trivial, or nonsensical to a modern
audience.28 For this reason, there is no point in studying
poetry if one wants to understand the world, and why science
does not look to poetry for support of hypotheses.
The suggestion could be made that the value of a poem
consists of a combination of both structural aspects as well
as message. Although distinctions would have to be made
between their individual views, some of the critics who came
to be associated with the literary critical movement known
as "New Criticism" hold precisely this combination view.
Names such as "aesthetic formalism" and "analytical
criticism" have sometimes been suggested as being more
fitting to describe the work of the group but such
appelations fail to take into account basic theoretical
assumptions that clearly distinguishes the orientation of
using the word "profound" with regard to poetry might be
that while we would not say that what a thinker like
Bertrand Russel said is "true" or "right," we would still
want to say that his work is "profound." That is, we can
say that there is a kind of view about the world that we
might want to call "profound" but this does not mean that
the message is factually correct or one we would agree with.
In this case, "profound" is being used to convey approval,
and not descriptively.
9 Q
Consider Hamlet's exclamation in Act III, Scene 1
(11.7-8), "When he himself might his quietus make / With a
bare bodkin? who would fardels bear. . . ."

-135-
this group of critics from a structural approach to
criticism. Certainly their disclaimer of the didacticism of
Victorian poetry and the Marxist attempt to use literature
as propaganda, their opposition to what they felt to be an
overemphasis on the background and environment of literature
and concentration upon the author rather than the work
itself, along with their close textural analysis and desire
to "illuminate the center," i.e., the work itself,^9 aii
point to their concern with structure. However, along with
their emphasis on structure some of the New Critics have
argued that poetic language supplies knowledge or truth,
albeit a knowledge or truth distinct from that provided by
science. The idea is that poetry and imaginative literature
make possible a unique mode of apprehending reality. Ransom
announced in The New Criticism:
I suggest that the differentia of poetry as a
discourse is an ontological one. It treats an
order of existence, a grade of objectivity,
which cannot be treated in scientific dis¬
course. . . . Poetry intends to recover the
denser and more refractory original world which
we know loosely through our perceptions and
memories. By this supposition it is a kind of
knowledge which is radically or ontologically
d i stinct.
Although T.S. Eliot rejects the idea of poetry a_s
knowledge, Eliot concludes that the quality of a poet's
belief or philosophy is a factor in the criticism of the
O Q
Vernon Hall, Jr., A Short History of Literary
Criticism. New York: University Press, 1963, pp. 172-176.
3 0
Walter Sutton, Modern American Criticism. Englewood
Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, Inc., 1963, p. 100.

-136-
work. He says, "We can hardly doubt that the 'truest'
philosophy is the best material for the greatest poet; so
that a poet must be rated in the end both by the philosophy
he realizes in poetry and by the fullness and adequacy of
the realization."3-1- Similarly, in a famous passage from
"Religion and Literature" Eliot writes, "The 'greatness' of
literature cannot be determined solely by literary
standards; though we must remember that whether it is
literature or not can be determined only by literary
standards."33 In Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Jerome
Stolniz includes a good discussion on this unsatisfactory
attempt on the part of Eliot, and many of the New Critics to
"face both ways; that is, to extol the importance of
structure in aesthetic value, insisting all the while upon
the 'importance of the moral profundity, truth,
philosophical coherence and the like.'"33
What would be the implication of a combination view of
aesthetic values? If a poem is such a combination, and
there is an "X" which is composed of "A" plus "B," then by
calculating "X" we should be able to determine what possible
combination of "A" and "B" ought to produce "X." In other
words, if a poem is the sum of structural value plus
3-*-I_bid. , p. 105.
"Religion and Literature," in Essays Ancient and
Modern. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1936, p. 92.
O Q . ...
Jerome Stolniz, Aesthetics and Art Criticism.
Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1960, pp. 484-485.

-137-
message value, we should be able to calculate the percentage
of each for any given poem. Thus, a combination theory
consists in two assumptions: (a) we must be able to
determine what constitutes message value with regard to the
poem, so that we can quantify it, and (b) we must do the
same for structural value. Thus we could say of a poem that
it is eight parts message value plus one part structural
value. If the message of the poem were perfectly translated
the result would contain eight parts message value, in which
case the product would be 8/9ths as good as the original.
Calculations such as these would be perfectly possible if
the poem is the sum of its parts as a combination theory
suggests, since to affirm that a poem is such a sum is to
say that it may be broken down into its components.^
(There is only a slightly different result if someone were
to suggest the relationship is a product one since it could
still be factored.)
A structural point of view falls into no such
difficulties since no claim is made that a poem possesses
any value beyond the structural ones. Additionally, such a
point of view is free from the encumbering problems of a
^The suggestion is not being made here that we have to
be able to compute the precise contribution of various
values in the total value of a work. The point I wish to
make is that sometimes people who hold message to be
important talk as though the value of a work of art is
really a combination of message plus structure. My example
involving the calculations here is only meant to show the
difficulty with that view.

-138-
combination theory in that there is nothing beyond the image
sequence which is "message" that needs to be considered in
the manner that in addition to the grammar of a sentence
there is the message of the sentence that needs
consideration. Poetic lines do not function in that way.
The succession of image sequence jjb the meaning or attitude
of the poem, and this is part of the structure. From a
structural position, in interpreting the image sequence of
the Rilke line as some sort of advice as to how to live your
life is to produce a trivial meaning. Such advice is, at
best, impractical, and, at worst, so poorly stated as to be
unfol lowable. Thus, from the view of someone who places the
locus of value on structure, a prose translation of the poem
is practically worthless; instead, what jjs significant about
a line like Rile's is the correlation of phonetic, rhythmic
and imagery patterns, i.e., the structural elements, and the
way they enhance and reinforce one another. Value lies in
the interplay among the sounds of the poem, the rhythms of
the poem and the image sequence of the poem,35 an¿i in really
fine poetry there is a close inter-connection among them.
Sometimes this inter-connection can be seen in a very vivid
way, as for example in the Rilke line.
The effectiveness of the Rilke line consists in the way
in which the poem exhibits the onomatopoetic transformation
Since the value of work has nothing to do with its
message, a poem might be written by a fascist poet, say Ezra
Pound, and from the structural position the aesthetic value
of Pound's fascist poems would be independent of their
political viewpoint.

-139-
of sounds, for example, the transition from the "klingendes"
where one imagines the sound of the ringing glass to be
"klang" and then the "zerschlug." The "g" in "zerschlug" is
akin to a "ch" in German because of a mode of pronunciation
and that sound indicates the moment of shattering. Thus,
the effect of the Rilke line is achieved through a
particular use of sounds which are very abrupt "ringing,"
"clanging," and "shattering" sounds so that the sounds of
the line reinforce the imagery. It is here that the poetry
lies and not in some advice about how to live one's life.
The connection of the pure sound to the image is
particularly unique in this line and there is no way that
this line may be rendered into English without some loss,
for to make the line intelligible it is necessary to add so
many words and so many qualifications that the line is
rendered unpoetic in the attempt to show what a curiously
nice image it is.
For this reason the ideal of translating poetry is
fundamentally one that cannot be realized. Other literary
works may be adequately translated, but the idea that poetry
is simply an especially difficult case of translation is
erroneous. It should be kept in mind that the most esoteric
and difficult religious texts have, without difficulty, been
translated from language to language. It is exceedingly
unlikely that poetry approaches that level of cognitive
difficulty. Some difficult philosophic tracts have, without
a significant difficulty, been translated from language to

-140-
language and even between languages which are not akin to
each other. So, one must hypothesize either that poetry is
the most difficult example of human intellect ever
encountered (in which case it probably is not understood by
most people who read it) or that the significance of the
message of the poem has been exaggerated. From a structural
point of view, if we admit that the structure of poetry does
not lie in the sounds alone, we are forced to admit that
poetic structure is inextricably rooted in the language.
Since we know that the language itself has certain unique
properties, then we can see that the translation of poetry
is virtually impossible. Of course, another poem making use
of analogous image sequences may be made in another language
but it will be a very different poem from the original.
And, indeed, an interesting fact is that those poems which
are usually successful as translations are, from a language
scholar's point of view, exceedingly unsatisfactory because
they have been particularly free translations.
In summary, the crucial difference between a message
approach to poetry and a structure approach is one of
degree. Both approaches agree that in the process of
creating a work of art, the artist, in effect, encodes
certain kinds of things in the work of art. The process of
interpreting the work of art is the process of decoding.
However, in addition simply to decoding the work, that is,
laying bare the structure of the work of art, if one takes a
message approach then there needs to be a second decoding;

-141-
that is, one must discover what the true message in those
symbols is. This seems to be the fundamental difference
between the two positions. The message theorist, while
agreeing with the structuralist that image sequences and
phonetic and rhythmic patterns are part of the value of the
poem, will want to say that the ultimate value of the poem
rests primarily, or in combination with, the particular
message which is contained in the poem and conveyed through
the image sequence, and that the beauty of the phonetic,
rhythmic, and imagery patterns are merely enhancement of
that message. That is, the message conveyed in the grammar
of the poetry gives the poem its ultimate, sublime meaning.
All message approaches are at least in one regard more
complex than all structural approaches because they involve
at least one additional step which no structural one will
contain; that is, the second phase of interpreting to
uncover the view, position, or "message" which is the "real"
value of the poem.
Examining the implications of that position we see that
a message approach is defective because it places an undue
stress on doctrine or idea and causes us to neglect that
poetry lies not in what is said, but truly in how it is
said, and that what is said is trivial as far as the poetry
is concerned. In poetry it is clear that the organization
of the poetical structure does not lie in the ideas or
doctrines espoused but rather it lies in the relationship
between the image sequence, the rhythm, and the sound

-142-
patterns. We can say then that poetry is comprised
fundamentally of three things working together: (1) a
distinctive pattern of rhythm which is visible with regard
to the background of the language, that is, one cannot hear
the rhythms of a poem unless it is heard in terms of the
regular spoken language (or in cases where the language is
no longer spoken, the inferred spoken language); (2) all
poems involve sound patterns, that is, there is a peculiar
relationship between the values of the sounds themselves
which is not found in ordinary speech; and (3) the image
sequence which is the meaning of the poem. Poetry consists
in the coordination of these things.
This kind of analysis demonstrates that poetry differs
from music in that music exploits sounds that contain an
inherent structure while poetry does not. The physics of
poetry emphasizes the particular structure which is inherent
in the language of the poem as well as the meaning of the
words. The point is that a kind of structure is inherent in
each language. Poets create special patterns of structure
which take their importance from the contrast between the
poem and the language in which it is written. To appreciate
the poem one must know both. This means that one must be
exceedingly sensitive to not only a poem's most obvious
elements, the image sequence, but also to the sound values
of the poem. This is because not only does the structure
lie in the meaning, but it also inheres in the reverberation
of individual words against the background of the language.

-143-
Although poetry is the literary form which has been
chosen as our focus of attention, in this chapter something
needs to be said about the ways in which what has already
been said of poetry might be applied to other literary forms
such as the novel. These remarks will be intentionally
brief and intended only to suggest lines of inquiry as to
how novels might be treated.
So far as sensations are concerned, novels are not
different from poetry and may be regarded as an auditory art
type. Like poems there is nothing in a novel that the
reader must experience through sight; that is, one might
perfectly well apprehend a novel if it were only heard.36
By saying that novels are an auditory art form, I do not
have in mind that they must be listened to as though one
were listening to a story, even though novels originated in
storytelling, and their early prototypes were read or
recited aloud. Instead, like poetry, whose characteristics
they share, it is sufficient that the sound of the words are
heard in one's head. This is not unlike a person adept at
reading music where the piece is heard silently. Nothing is
contained in novels that cannot be found in long poems. For
example, the Iliad and the Aeneid can be construed as
novels, and in prose translations they are read as novels.
JDThis is not the case when novels are adapted for
films. While one would not want to say that reading a novel
was different from hearing a novel read, one would want to
say that seeing the novel in a film j^s different from
reading it.

-144-
In all the arts there are properties of the medium which the
artist exploits and forms into patterns and then themes.
For the poet, the medium is language and he or she exploits
the sounds of the language and the images evoked. This is
also true of the novelist; however, since we are not in the
habit of approaching novels in this manner, some examples
may serve to illustrate this point. Harry Hatfield in
Thomas Mann cites a particularly effective use of phonemes
in Buddenbrooks to create a musical effect;37
Soft and clear as a bell sounded the E-minor
chord, tremolo pianissimo, amid the purling,
flowing notes of the violin. It swelled, it
broadened, it slowly, slowly rose: suddenly
in the forte, he introduced the discord C-sharp,
which led back to the original key, and the
Stradivarius ornamented it with its swelling
and singing.
Another example, from the same novel, is Mann's description
O O
of a warm day in winter:
The pavement was wet and dirty, and snow was
dripping from the gray gables. But above them
the sky stretched delicate blue and unmarred,
and billions of atoms of light seemed to glitter
like crystals in the azure and to dance.
Other illustrations of interesting phonetic patterns in
prose may be found in the opening passages of Poe's Fall of
the House of Usher and the Penelope soliloquy at the end of
Joyce's Ulysses.
â– j 7
J Harry Hatfield, Thomas Mann. New York: A New
Directory Paperback, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1951, p. 46
38Ibid., p. 47.

-145-
Examples of rhythm beyond that ordinarily encountered
in prose can be pointed out in other novels. Hatfield, in
discussing Death in Venice suggests that "Evocations of
antiquity in the novella, like the use of dactylic lines
which approach the hexameter, emphasize that Aschenbach is
fleeing from the harsh German world to the classic
Mediterranean. . . ."39
While, as the examples show, novels make use of the
devices of meter, alliteration, onomatopoeia, etc., the
degree to which they are exploited makes the novels' prose
different from poetry, on the one hand, and ordinary prose
on the other. While novels, like poems, employ language, it
is clear that the language in which a novel is written is of
significantly less importance than that of a poem. That is,
the contrast between ordinary language and the language of
novels is far less than that between poetic language and
ordinary language. In most of the passages of a novel
ordinary prose is used, that is, ordinary rhythm and
unremarkable phonetic combination. Nevertheless, it is
possible to point out a few places, usually climactic or
especially significant passages, where poetic language is
employed. Thus, poetic effect (that is, the effect of sound
and language rhythms) are secondary to the overall quality
of the novel. This explains why translation does less
damage to a novel than is done to a poem. Hence, even the
• /
39Ibid
p. 62.

-146-
more poetic novels can be translated with some degree of
success. This indicates the important fact that the
structure of the novel does not lie so much in the sounds of
the language, but rather in something else--the sequence of
images in some cases, and action or events in others.
Basically, there seem to be two kinds of novels, those which
can be called "reflective" novels and those that can be
described as "action" novels. These differ from each other
in the relative emphasis placed on sequences of images or on
sequences of events.
In reflective novels the unifying feature is the
sequence of images; that is, leitmotifs of recurring vivid
identifiable phrases in constant variation. Laurence
Durrell's Alexandria Quartet series will serve as a good
example of an effective use of image sequence. The same
character is differently portrayed in the different novels
in this series and this is the point of interest rather than
action involving the character. For example, in Justine,
what Justine does in the novel is not important; rather, it
is the contrast between Justine as an image as compared to
her image in Mounto live that is interesting. In other
words, what one sees is a kind of icon which undergoes
continual change in each of the novels. All four of the
novels that constitute the Quartet series involve precisely
the same events involving exactly the same characters seen
from different perspectives. Speaking metaphorically, it is
as though one were looking into oddly placed mirrors in the

-147-
same room. One could infer from various reflections that
the same room is seen but the room looks very different from
different perspectives. In reflective novels characters are
developed in an almost portrait-1 ike sense. The character
is the composite of the images, or the image sequence. The
almost intuitive grasp of the nature of characters in a
novel, akin to the intuitive grasp of a musical theme,
enables the reader to determine whether something is
appropriate or inappropriate, thus making it possible to see
the relationship between the original form of a theme and
its development in music, and the original image of a
character and the succeeding variations.
Hatfield comments on Mann's skill in this type of
development:
. . . The leitmotiff, as Mann first used it,
was nothing new in German literature. The repe¬
tition of a few words to characterize a given
person or situation was a technique well under¬
stood by Otto Ludwig and Fontane; Mann might have
hit upon it even without knowing Wagner. Gradu¬
ally, almost imperceptibly, the leitmotiff is
used both more subtly and more extensively until
in Joseph or Doctor Faustus a whole situation
may be repeated, more or less varied; or a basic
type of character returns under another name:
Ishmael as Esau, Abraham as Jacob. . . .
In The Story of a Novel Mann recounts the genesis of
Doctor Faustus and his enjoyment in working out image
patterns:
. . . like, say the erotic
and black eyes; the mother
of the landscapes; or more
motif of the blue
motif; the parallelism
significant and
40
Ibid., p. 3.

-148-
essential, ranging through the whole book and
appearing in many variations, the motif of cold,
which is related to the motif of laughter.4^
Perhaps this almost pictoral aspect of reflective
novels, that they are a succession of images, explains the
close affinity between novels and films which makes
translation from novels to films so seemingly appropriate;
for example, Mann's Death in Venice, in which, so far as
action goes, nothing happens. Throughout the novella, and
the film, Aschenbach moves through images of death and
disease which, scattered through the work, continually
reoccur like variations on a musical theme. The images are
linked together by a common referrent, "death," albeit death
remains unmentioned except for the title.4^ However, this
illustrates Santayana's point about the evocative powers of
associations.42 instead of "naming" the artist "evokes"
associations through a sequence of associative images. In
Little Herr Friedemann Mann evokes a certain tone through
the patterns of images, as Hatfield points out:
42Thomas Mann, The Story of a Novel. New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, Inc., 1961, pp. 70-71.
42In novels, like poetry, the image sequence has to do
with seeing the world in a certain way. It is true that in
this example the image sequence does not possess the purity
of the incredibly striking Rilke line quoted earlier, but
this is because the poem is much more concentrated than the
novel. The same situation occurs in a long narrative poem
which relates to a lyrical poem, the techniques of narrative
poetry and the techniques of novels being essentially the
same.
42George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty. New York:
Random House, The Modern Library, 1955, p. 196.

-149-
. . . the repetition of "gray" in Little Herr
Friedemann . . . combined as it is with words
like "faded," "gentle," and "faint" which have a
"gray" emotional tone, establishes the tone econom¬
ically and with finality. 4
This associative sequence of images so pronounced in
reflective novels is akin to the same device in poetry.
Yet, novels differ from poetry in deemphasizing other
thematic relationships essential in poetry: rhythmic
patterns and patterns of phonemes. Thus, while the thematic
relationships of poetry and reflective novels are the same,
poetic themes are composed of the tight inter-relationships
of the three elements, image sequences, rhythmic and
phonetic patterns, while in reflective novels image
sequences are far and away the most important—the themes
being primarily a succession of images.
On the other hand, in action novels events form the
sequence and it is the events that are important. "Event"
novels are those works which are strung together by
depiction of what happens to the characters, with a decided
absence of emphasis on such techniques as images, rhythms,
or phoneme development. Detective novels and mysteries are
the best instances of this kind of novel. Here stock
characters participate in stock situations although a
surprising twist of events may occur. The Agatha Christie
novel, for example, which does not fit this pattern would
disappoint the reader who is looking for an "action" story.
44
Hatfield, p. 17.

-150-
The disclaimer was made earlier that the purpose here
is not to prepare a taxonomy of novels, but only to suggest
how the types of novels that manifestly do exist might be
critically dealt with, detective stories at the one extreme
to works by Proust,^ Mann, etc., at the other. Of course,
there are many possibilities between these poles and more
frequently a work shows a dual aspect where both reflective
and action devices are combined, such as in Tolstoy's War
and Peace. In this example there are not only images in the
form of very vivid characters and long sections of the novel
which are quite contemplative, there is also a great deal of
action. The action, however, is not what makes War and
Peace the masterpiece it is, and not a single example comes
to mind of a great novel whose themes are based primarily on
action. Some ideas as to why this may be the case may
suggest themselves to the reader in Chapter IV where
criteria are proposed for evaluating works of art.
Although the primary concern of this thesis is the
evaluation of work of art, and describing works is treated
as preparation for that task, it is still appropriate to
pause briefly to mention some of the more recent
developments in literary criticism that, while not sharing
^Two tests arguing against the popular notion that
Proust's novel, Remembrance of Things Past, has no plan, and
for the view it is a carefully constructed work tightly
pulled together by sequences of images are Victor Graham's
The Imagery of Proust. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1966, and
Howard Moss, The Magic Lantern of Marcel Proust. London:
Faber and Faber, 1962.

Elements and Primary Elements
MUSIC
POETRY
—»• pitch voice pitch
—amplitude stress/unstress
timbre phoneme
duration duration (length/shortness)....
(image)
o
â– rl
+J
ifl
e
0)
x:
â– p
c
0)
e
a
o
rH
Q)
>
^ Q
rhythm rhythm
(a) stress
(b) length
melody patterns of intonations.
and pitch
-♦-orchestration patterns of phonemes....
(image sequence
themes created by themes created by
rhythmic contrasts structure of poetry
plus melodic contrasts against the structure of
the language
-151-

-152-
that goal, do make possible some contrasts and comparisons
with the position developed here.
As described above, the approach of the New Critics was
to take a particular poem, analyze it and talk about the
form and content as being one, but their emphasis remained
on the discrete poem. This focus on the autonomy of the
individual work has more recently been thought of as
constrictive in literary criticism and subsequently there
has been an effort to break down the boundary around the
individual text.
One such approach has been what can be described as the
"structural-semiotic" approach, referred to here as
"structuralism."^ Structuralism, a continental tradition,
in applying the linguistic methods of Claude Lévi-Strauss
and Ferdinand Saussure to literature, found fertile ground
in the American of the 1950s and 1960s since it was easily
adopted to formalist interests. Both New Critic formalism
and structuralism moved away from earlier preoccupation with
the author^ to focus instead on the meanings conveyed by
A C
A distinction between "structuralism" and "semiotics"
is not developed here since, while there are slightly
different emphases between them (structuralism focusing on
"systems" and semiotics on "signs"), both share the
underlying assumption that a sign cannot signify outside of
a system. The terms actually have more to do with the
historical moment of the writer than they do with some real
difference in actual approach.
^While the author was rejected as an object of
interest, it was done so for different reasons. For the New
Critics all we need to know of the author is apparent in the
text itself; whereas for the structuralist there is no
author in the sense of an individual self, a substantive
person with an identity. Instead, for the structuralist,
the author is simply a relationship of codes.

-153-
the text.48 These similarities aside, there are major
differences between structuralism and the reigning New
Critics.
One conflict centered on the fact that the theorizing
of the New Critics was ultimately at the service of
practical criticism, or the interpreting of individual
works, also a project of this thesis. The thrust of
structuralism was not, however, to provide interpretations
or the meaning of individual texts, but rather, to provide
an account of how texts become meaningful. This is to say
that as opposed to producing, as a structuralist might say,
"yet another" interpretation of King Lear, critics'
priorities, it was thought, should shift to accounting for
how literature signifies; that is, toward analyzing the
codes49 and conventions that make meaning possible.
48For the New Critics the text is seen as being
objectively independent of the reader's experience or the
historical context. In contrast, structuralism considers
not only the text but its relationship to all the other
texts that give it meaning.
A q .
Robert Scholes in Semiotics and Interpretation
describes codes in the following way, "Semioticians hold
that all intelligibility depends upon codes. Whenever we
'make sense' of an event it is because we possess a system
of thought, a code, that enables us to do so. Lightning was
once understood as the gesture of a powerful being who lived
in the mountains or the sky. Now we understand it as an
electrical phenomenon. A mythic code has been displaced by
a scientific one. Human languages are the most developed
instances of coding that we know, but codes exist that are
sublinguistic (facial expression, for instance) and
supralinguistic (literary conventions, for instance).
Interpretation of complex human utterances involves the
appropriate use of a number of codes simultaneously." New
Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1982, p. 143.

-154-
Not unlike the position developed here, structuralism
begins with the idea that surface phenomena, often seen as
chaotic and in need of explanation, can best be understood
by looking at the ordered and coherent underlying structure.
There is the assumption that there is a deeper system which
explains the meaning of surface occurrences; the
interpretive strategy, therefore, is to move from surface to
deep structure.
What it is the critic is looking for in interpretation
has dramatically shifted, and Roland Barthes offers a
metaphor that is particularly apt in contrasting the
interpretive rhetoric of traditional criticism with that of
structuralism:
. . . if up until now we have looked at the text
as a species of fruit with a kernel (an apricot,
for example), the flesh being the form and the pit
being the content, it would be better to see it as
an onion, a construction of layers (or levels, or
systems) whose body contains, finally, no heart,
no kernel, no secret, no irreducible principle,
nothing except the infinity of its own envelopes--
which envelop nothing other than the unity of its
own surfaces.50
Barthes' point is that the usual way of looking at
interpretation or looking at the meaning of a text is to
penetrate the form to get at what it rea 1ly means. His
suggestion as a way to avoid this bifurcation is to view
literature as consisting of the codes, or metaphorically,
the layers of onion skin, which when peeled away leave
50Roland Barthes, "Style and Its Image" in Literary
Style: A Symposium, Edited by Seymour Chatman, London and
New York: Oxford University Press, 1971, p. 10.

-155-
nothing at the core. The task of the critic from a
structuralist perspective is not to ferret out some illusive
message but instead becomes one of trying to give an account
of those codes that allow the text to signify.
The onion with its levels of layers is a metaphor that
could be used to describe the thematic elements that are
developed and organized in works of art as described in this
chapter. If, however, one were to compare the analysis of
W.H. Auden's poem presented in Chapter V with the
Beaudelairean analysis by Jakobson and Levi-Strauss, a
structuralist would want to say the Auden analysis suffers
by the comparison. From a structuralist perspective, the
Auden analysis would not be exhaustive enough. To use
another metaphor from Barthes' interpretive rhetoric, it
would have ignored part of the plurality of voices speaking
in the text^2 in that it leaves unexamined all the
distinctions, opposites, and relationships a structuralist
analysis would yield.
51Roman Jakobson and Claude Lévi-Strauss, "Les Chats de
Charles Baudelaire," L'Homme 2 (1962), pp. 5-21, and
critiqued by Michael Riffaterre in "Describing poetic
structures," in Structuralism, Edited by Jacques Ehrmann,
New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1970.
S/Z Barthes says, ". . . each code is one of the
forces that can take over the text (of which the text is the
network), one of the voices out of which the text is woven.
Alongside each utterance, one might say that off-stage
voices can be heard: they are the codes: in their
interweaving, these voices (whose origin is 'lost' in the
vast perspective of the already-written) de-originate the
utterance: the convergence of the voices (of the codes)
becomes writing, a sterographic space where the five codes,
the five voices, intersect. . . ." New York: Hill and Wang,
1974, p. 21.

-156-
There is an even greater difference, however, between
the task of the structuralist critic and the goal of this
dissertation. While both projects involve descriptive
analysis, for structuralism the task ends there and to go on
after a descriptive analysis and evaluate works, as in Part
II, would be considered an extra-structuralist activity.
Painting
Primary Elements
We come now to the problem of painting and determining
what painting entails. There are two factors which comprise
the primary elements of painting, the physical properties of
light and the properties of space.
All painting involves some kind of differentiation of
shading; that is, contrast between objects and the
background of the painting. In principle, this really means
"color" but frequently there is a misconception of the word
"color." "Color" possesses three characteristics that are
inseparably involved: hue, saturation, and value. Although
these characteristics may be discussed as separate entities,
they are nevertheless experienced together in various
combinations.
These aspects of color can best be understood by
examining them in terms of the physical properties of light.
In the process of such a discussion reference will be made
to what was said earlier about the physics of sound in
describing the components of music.

-157-
In viewing any area of shading one is made aware of its
hue or pigmentation; that is, its redness or blueness, a
characteristic determined by the frequency or the wavelength
of light reaching our retina from the area. Red is
characterized as being of lower frequency than blue, for
example, which is of higher frequency. The visual arts are
concerned with what may be called the local color of
objects. Local color is the name given to the apparent
color of surfaces; in other words, the color of the light
reflected from the surfaces of paintings. When light
strikes a surface, certain wavelengths are absorbed while
others are reflected. Only those wavelengths which are
reflected and are registered on the retina of the eye are
seen. A red surface reflects only the lower frequency
wavelength while giving the sensation of hue called red; a
blue surface reflects only the higher frequency wavelength
and blue is seen. In each case all the other wavelengths
are lost to vision. If all wavelengths are absorbed, the
surface appears black; if all wavelengths are reflected, the
surface appears white.
Keeping in mind the earlier discussion about music, it
is apparent that the common characteristic of light and
sound is that they are both forms of energy which travel in
waves. If the nature of wave motion is examined certain
features which will help to describe similarities in the
manifestation of these two forms of energy must be
identified. This will enable comparison between the physics

-158-
of auditory and visual arts; for example, in the case of
light, hue is determined by the frequency of the wave which
is analogous to sound energy in which the frequency
determines the pitch. Thus, both pitch and hue are
functions of frequency, or wavelength, of waves (Figure 6).
Hues have the attribute of both saturation (sometimes
called "intensity") and value; that is, saturation and value
are terms relating to variations of the same hue, and like
hue, their qualities will have their analogous counterparts
in sound.
Every particular hue can exhibit a lighter or darker
value, value referring to the lightness or darkness of hue.
Some blues are lighter than other blues, while some yellows
are darker than other yellows. When the value of a hue is
referred to, the reference is to its relative lightness or
darkness on an ideal scale of grays which range between
white and black. Another way of considering value is to
think of it as the amount of light energy reflected by a
surface. This can be demonstrated by exposing a disk of a
certain saturation of green, for example, and systematically
increasing and decreasing the amount of light falling upon
it. The observer will experience the color as lighter or
darker depending on the amount of illumination falling upon
the disk. This phenomenon demonstrates the impact of
brightness upon the value of a color and is a manifestation
of the amplitude of the light wave. Again, a comparable
situation in music may be described in which the quality of

-159-
I
Deviation
from
equilibrium
Wave 1
/K A /
\ A Á A Á A /j\
Wave 2
/
\J \J
\ /
v v!v viV V¡'
¡\A A zN
VIVI V/
Figure 6. Light wave: Hue. The hue of a color is
determined by the frequency of vibration of the
lightwave (photon). The higher frequency wave¬
lengths within our perceptual field are seen
as blues, while the lower frequencies cluster
around the reds. Thus, in the above diagram,
Wave 1 would be more characteristic of a bluer
hue, and Wave 2 more representative of a redder
hue.
Lines a--b, c--d, e--f, and g--h show how amplitude is
measured.
Figure 7. Light wave: Value. Amplitude involves the
displacement or "strength" of a lightwave, and
the higher the agitation of the wave the brighter
the value of the hue; and conversely, the lower
the amplitude the darker the value of the hue.
In the diagram, Wave 2 represents a brighter
color than Wave 1.

-160-
sound that is referred to as amplitude is aurally detected
as volume (loudness or softness). Heightening the amplitude
of light waves results in the experience of increased
brightness, and a manipulation of amplitude in sound waves
would result in increased or decreased volume. Thus, both
volume in music and value in color are the function of the
amplitude of the corresponding wave. We can demonstrate
these characteristics of hue and value, as we did those of
pitch and volume, by a wavelength diagram (Figure 7).
In addition to hue and value, every color also exhibits
saturation or intensity. The terra saturation refers to the
dullness or brilliance of the hue. When a hue is pure and
at its highest saturation of pigment, it is said to be at
its maximum intensity and cannot be made more brilliant,
although it can be made duller. Our experiences with sound
and light involve being exposed simultaneously to mixtures
of various wavelengths or frequencies. We characterize the
particular proportion of energy coming at the dominant
frequency as the degree of saturation of a pigment. Again
the similarity to music should be emphasized. In the
earlier discussion on the primary elements of music it was
pointed out that a musical tone consists not only of the
fundamental tone, but also overtones. Similarly, in the
case of color, there is not a single frequency; rather, a
color is a composite of many frequencies of light which co¬
exist with the dominant one. The degree of saturation is
determined by the proportion of the dominant frequency to
the others. Thus, the characteristics of timbre and

-161-
Table 1. Summary table of the wave form characteristics
of light and sound.
WAVE CHARACTERISTIC
SOUND
LIGHT
Frequency
Pitch
Hue
Amplitude
Volume
Value
Proportion
of dominant wave
Timbre
Saturation
length to composite
of wave length

-162-
saturation both involve proportions of a mixture of
frequencies to the dominant frequency, and therefore can be
expressed as the degree of purity of the dominant
wavelength.
It should be noted that a painting can be monochromatic
and involve contrasts between intensity and value though it
would be of only one hue. Such paintings are relatively
rare in Western art where the normal use of color is to make
contrasts of hue. However, Chinese paintings are
characteristically monochromatic. These paintings involve
the application of ink to a background, and as a result,
exhibit no difference of hue, but only differences of
intensity or saturation and value, sometimes in combination.
Besides the very brief statement on color and the
physics of light just outlined, it was mentioned that
paintings also make use of the characteristics of space in
their primary elements. Space functions in painting as time
does in music; that is, both define boundaries. However,
music, insofar as the possibility of structure is concerned,
will be simpler than painting, because music, being a time
organized art, is one dimensions 1,5_3 while painting, being
~^Since music is one dimensional it involves only one
kind of contrast, duration; whereas in painting, there is a
question of location with respect to each of the two
dimensions. This is why painting involves complexities that
cannot occur in music. However, saying that music is
simpler in this respect does not mean, for example, that the
Goldberg Variations are simpler than the Mona Lisa. We are
not talking about composite structures, but rather the
possibilities of structures.

-163-
space organized, is two dimensional.-^ Because
paintings are two dimensional, painting space makes use of
two characteristics: (a) contour, and (b) outline, thus
increasing the possibilities of contrasts.55 The
distinction being made here is between things that derive
from the color masses in the case of contour, and things
that are derived from the delineations in the case of
outline.56 Contour is indicated fundamentally by means of
the variations in the grey scale, although sometimes
variations of hue are used as well, so that objects that are
seen to be lighter are characteristically inferred to be
nearer, and darker ones are assumed to be farther away.
Chiaroscuro is the classic Italian example of this
technique, which corresponds to the way objects appear in
natural light. Outline, on the other hand, involves the use
of an edge or line as drawn to delineate shape.
The difference here between the boundary defining
characteristics of painting and music are due to differences
S4 ... .
While it is true that some contemporary painting
makes use of three dimensions in that it has sculptural
properties, this is because for such artists painting has
become quasi-sculptura1. However, in traditional painting
around the world, the third dimension is irrelevant, and
although paint has always had some thickness, it was not
aesthetically significant until very recent times.
55if the art type is three dimensional, such as
sculpture or architecture, then a third property of space,
i.e., volume, would have to be added.
C
One might, of course, say that color masses themselves
are delineating things, and that is true in Japanese painting
and many of contemporary paintings because in these cases
the artists use color like line, sharpened edged or hard
edged color.

-164-
in the physics of the medium and in the properties of the
particular art types; nonetheless, space in painting and
time in music are comparable in terms of function.
Color (keeping in mind that this entails hue,
saturation, and value) in combination with the spatial
characteristics of shape and contour are the primary
elements that are used to create the thematic elements of
painting, out of which themes are developed.
Thematic Elements and Development
As musical contrasts derive from the physics of the
music, so contrasts in painting derive from physical
properties of the medium. However, in the case of painting
we have an oddity in that the structural relationships in a
visual field acquire properties of their own. In terms of
music, tension arises out of a degree of contrast with
reference to some point. In Western musical composition
this would normal ly have to do with pitch, for the "key" or
"tonic" is the point of reference.^ in terms of painting
this is not the case, for the hues of a painting, which are
equivalent to pitch in music, are less important than their
musical counterpart.
There are exceptions in which what is loosely called
"color" is important; for example, in impressionist
paintings, which in black and white reproductions may be
c n
In poetry the reference point is the language in
which the poem is written.

-165-
even be visible (a case in point is the Rouen Cathedral
series of Monet). With this qualification, and remembering
what was said earlier concerning the presence in paintings
of all primary elements, even though some are emphasized
more than others, for most paintings it is possible to
understand and grasp the aesthetic values of a painting from
black and white reproductions. Certainly since the
invention of the photograph, a black and white reproduction
has been accepted as being an adequate study of a work of
art itself for purposes of aesthetic analysis. Moreover,
black and white reproductions have the advantage of
maintaining the correct relationships of color saturation,
while in color reproduction the hues are rarely correct.
Leaving hue aside for the moment as being less important in
paintings than the organization of space, we shall begin our
examination of thematic elements in painting with an
explanation of the way space is organized.
Paintings may not have formally conceived borders, but
all paintings are limited in size. However, within this
limitation, irrespective of its shape, space nevertheless
has certain properties which may be exploited uniformly
without regard to the type or subject matter of the
painting. That is, there are certain characteristics as to
the way space is organized which give certain hints about
the space, and it is interesting to note that cultures can
be characterized by the way in which they habitually show
preferences for organization of space.

-166-
Space in a painting may be viewed as a rectangle and
may be imagined as divisible in several possible ways. The
usual tendency is to divide it into quadrants so that the
focal point of the painting is the intersection of an
imaginary horizontal and vertical axis which is purely
geometric. Thus, the geometric axes of a painting are
determined by the space of the painting itself; that is, the
relationship of the enclosed space to the frame such that
the space is divided into equal quadrants.
"1
i
L
Figure 8. Geometric axes of painting—Horizontal and
vertical.
Vertical axis. One of the most important visual
abilities acquired in infancy is the ability to orient
ourselves with relationship to the vertical in the
environment so that we can maintain our balance and move
through the world. Similarly, our natural tendency to
orient ourselves with regard to a painting is done by the
vertical axis which in the general case splits the painting
down the middle from the top to the bottom. The importance

-167-
of verticality can be demonstrated simply by hanging a
painting sideways. In such an instance viewers will almost
invariably tilt their heads so that they may adjust
themselves to the frame of reference of the painting.
Horizontal axis. In addition to the vertical axis, a
horizontal axis bisects the painting, with half the space
above and half below. The horizontal point of reference is
of the utmost significance because this defines foreground
and background with respect to the painting itself. This
became particularly apparent with the introduction of
perspective in Western painting.
In addition to the two axes just described, it is of
course geometrically possible to divide the painting from
corner to corner in a diagonal axis. Such a division will
not admit a picture window perspective, and thus is not
typical of Western painting. In Western painting, typically
the neutral axes are the diagonal axes (the Baroque
paintings being an exception), but Chinese paintings
typically make use of diagonal axes to such an extent that
it becomes a cliche.
Figure 9. Geometric axes of painting--Hori zonta 1, vertical,
and diagonal.

-168-
Paintings have all four axes whether or not the axes
are significant to the organization of a particular work.
They should be considered as possible means of organization
of space, and when painters actually construct a painting
they choose among these possibilities. Thus, they normally
arrange objects in the painting about one or more of these
axes or about some combination of them which will be visible
through the painting itself. Axes will be considered
"dynamic" if objects are arrayed with respect to that axis,
and "neutral" if they are not. If axes are moved from the
geometric location described above, they are called
"organizational" or "functional." This shift will result in
the painting becoming one-sided rather than divided into
equal quadrants.
Figure 10. Functional axes of painting,
Tension, in any art type, is determined by the
relationship of elements to a neutral point. In painting
there are several types of tension. First, tension arises
with respect to the functional axes of the painting. An
object is tense in proportion to its distance from the
intersection of the functional axes of the painting. The
closer the object is to the intersection the less tense it

-169-
is, while the further from the intersection the greater the
amount of tension it exhibits. Secondly, tensions may be
created by the sheer size of objects. An object in a
painting may be said to be tense in proportion to the amount
of the total area of the painting it occupies. Hence, the
larger the object, the more important it is to the painting;
therefore, the higher its tension values. There is a
proviso here, however, for the degree to which an object
contrasts with the average object in the painting must also
be considered. An object may be exceedingly small, but also
exceedingly bright, and therefore be very tense. Thus, it
is in contrast to the average, or the inferred average, that
an object is tense. A third type of tension pertains to
shading or color. We may say that a painting has either a
background of average color saturation or brilliance and
that an object is tense insofar as it is darker than the
average or lighter than that average.
The manner in which these tensions of variations of
values and spatial characteristics are manipulated creates
rhythm in painting. Rhythm in painting is similar to rhythm
as we have discussed it in music and poetry in that rhythm
is formed by tensions that create interests. However, there
will be necessary differences in the construction of rhythm
in auditory and visual arts. While all music must have
rhythm, because it is a time oriented art, its rhythm will
be in terms of the temporal order of music. Similarly, as
there can be no music without rhythm, there can be no poetry

-170-
without rhythm, but again, rhythm in poetry inheres in the
temporal organization of the work. Paintings will have
rhythm, but here the organization is spatial, so rhythm will
be a function of spatial organization.
What rhythm means in the various art types may now be
more precisely defined. Movement through time is rhythm in
music and poetry, while movement through space is rhythm in
painting (and architecture and sculpture) .58 Specifically,
what is meant by movement in painting is directionality
created by patterns of contrasts. That is, elements can be
regarded as comparable, or moving, which can be arrayed by
uniform standards from less to more with respect to any of
the three kinds of tensions which have been developed. What
may be called primary themes in painting, therefore, will be
patterns of tension contrast which create a directionality.
In addition to the rhythm of painting, the equivalent
of melody will also be found in painting, and this will have
to do with color harmonies. Here one is dealing with the
relationships of different hues. Color harmonies are more
CO
Since paintings are static entities, it is obvious
that when we use terms like "movement" and "rhythm" we have
chosen to use metaphorical language. Of course this
difficulty could be overcome by introducing an entirely
abstract vocabulary. However, this would mean that no one
would know what we were talking about unless they mastered
our system. Thus, even though such a solution would be
feasible, it would not be worth the effort because of the
complexity it would introduce without providing any
meaningful results. All that is really needed is to show
that on the levels of primary elements and thematic
relationships commonality of function is possible and
therefore the same terms are applicable to all works of art.

-171-
than just a pleasant arrangement of color, actually
referring to the balance of complimentary colors, which is
physiological in origin. Due to the physiology of the eye,
certain combinations such as red and green are perceived as
complimentary; that is, the presence of one requires the
other for a sense of completion. Some paintings use this
phenomenon to great advantage. For example, in Bellini's
Portrait of Doge Leonardo Loredan the relationship of the
blues and oranges shows a particularly effective use of
color harmonies. It should be pointed out, however, that
while pitch is extremely important in Western music, its
equivalent in painting, color harmonies, are not and one can
easily imagine a painting without color, as indeed, color
harmony is not significant in most Chinese paintings. On
the other hand, there may be a dissonance of color harmony
which also creates interest, and this is very often
exhibited in Fauvist paintings.
Joseph Albers has described this technique very well:
According to most color systems, harmony depends
on the constellation of colors with a system. I
go further in saying that, first, harmony is not
the main aim of color. Disharmony is just as
important in color as in music. And second, I say
that every color goes with every other color if
the quantities are right. This, of course, leads
to a new seeing of color.^9
The themes of a painting are simply patterns of
elements; that is, they are elements that are seen as
comparable. Their comparability is due to the
C Q
As quoted in The Artist's Voice, by Katherine Kuh,
New York: Harper and Row, 1960.

-172-
directionality of their arrangement which is a result of the
kinds of tension factors already described. It is
interesting to note how similar the construction of musical
themes is to the construction of themes in painting. In
music there are no shapes as there are in paintings, so in
creating themes what the composer must do is to establish
early certain kinds of regularities. These regularities can
be heard without difficulty and they are established by
controlling the tension factors. For example, the first
series of notes of a composition will establish a key
signature and a time signature for the piece, and these will
serve as a point of reference. These points of reference
are equivalent to the two axes in painting so that, in a
sense, in music we have a tonic axis and a rhythmic axis.
Thus, the minimal requirements for a theme in music will be
a series of contrasts in time and a series of contrasts of
pitch (pitch being heard to be primary and time contrasts
being heard to be secondary in typical Western music).
Therefore, everything assumes significance as it advances
toward or proceeds away from this point of reference.
Poetry, it must be remembered, cannot be so strictly
systematized since each language is different; therefore,
the structure of the poetry versus the structure of the
language creates tension and interest. This is the
criterion by which we hear and define poetry as poetry and
not as prose.
Finally, there is the equivalent to orchestration in
painting, chiaroscuro. The function of orchestration,

-173-
basically, is to make use of the timbre values of the
instruments in the orchestra to enhance the structural
effects of the work. The same can be said of chiaroscuro or
the variation of shading of a particular hue^O in the
painting—it is primarily an ornamentation. While the
structure of the painting will not hinge on the shading,
chiaroscuro does give depth and subtlety to the colors and
the way they are used.
Paintings are not easy to analyze. The reason they are
not is that most of our experience in dealing with a
painting relates to what is depicted in the work. In this
regard, paintings tend to bring out, as do poems, the
message/structure controversy. However, in paintings the
controversy has a slightly different characteristic in that
here it involves the problem of "verisimilitude." What
needs to be answered is "To what degree, if any, is the
literal accuracy found in paintings of aesthetic interest"?
As has been mentioned earlier, different cultures place
different stresses in their artistic traditions. In the
case of Western painting until recently there has been a
preoccupation with literal accuracy, or verisimilitude.^1
fi 0
Sometime when making use of saturation or brilliance
artists (the Impressionists, for example) will use a series
of related hues as a spectrum.
^There is the famous example of Zeuxis, the Greek
painter, whose picture of a boy carrying grapes was said to
be so remarkable that birds were fooled and flew down to
devour the fruit. For a review of the predominance of
verisimilitude in the visual arts of the West, see Chapter
II of Osborne's Aesthetics and Art History.

-174-
Before the invention of the photograph it was thought that a
painting should capture the physical countenance of its
subject, but the development of photography enabled people
to see that literal accuracy is not necessarily what one has
in mind with good painting. This can be illustrated by the
fact that to say a photograph is a good likeness of a person
suggests that it accurately reproduces the configuration of
the face, but to say a portrait bears a likeness to the
sitter means something else, that it captures the nature of
the person.
The question should be addressed as to why
verisimilitude seems to be unrelated to the value of a
painting. For example, how important is it that a painting
entitled "Winston Churchill" resemble him when the work is
aesthetically evaluated? It is the view here that objects
depicted in a work are not part of the structure of that
work. That is, the structure of the painting is unaffected
by the verisimilitude since verisimilitude will relate to
the informational content and, as will be seen, paintings
can be appreciated without reference to whatever information
they may contain.
This problem of verisimilitude in painting reintroduces
the question of titles. Entitling a painting "Winston
Churchill" produces expectation that it will look like
Winston Churchill. If, however, the painting were entitled,
"Painting #10" the objection would not be raised that it did
not bear a resemblance to Winston Churchill. The important

-175-
point, of course, is that the painting will not have changed
whether it is called "Winston Churchill" or "Painting #10."
Literal accuracy in paintings is not limited to the
depiction of objects. The depiction of events is also
included in the problem of verisimilitude, but the same
objection to placing value on the informational content of
the work still applies. In the same way that photographic
accuracy is not what is demanded in a painting, neither is
historical accuracy necessarily expected. For example,
there are numerous instances of people dressed in medieval
and early modern clothes in some resurrection pictures, and
in paintings depicting the Last Supper, the wine service and
the decoration of the room are almost always historically
wrong. Since our appreciation of such works does not depend
on the accuracy of these details, it is evident that
historical veracity in one sense is immaterial. Thus the
conclusion may be stated succinctly that verisimilitude in a
painting is unconnected with aesthetic value.
The conclusion that verisimilitude is not an issue of
any consequence in painting has its corollary in music and
poetry as well. For example, it is clear that poets do not
imitate nature in any meaningful sense of the term. No one
expects a poet when describing the sound of an animal to
record it literally, and if a poet tried to imitate the
sound of the wind by some odd concoction of syllables, it
would be regarded as an eccentricity. Similarly, many
people regard experiments as have been made from time to

-176-
time in attempting to render one or another sound naturally
in music in what is called "tone poems" as misguided at the
very best. Such experiments with literal accuracy as do
exist might be considered as quaint and perhaps as
interesting, but nothing more.
Some may want to suggest that while it is agreed that
literal representations are not important, the value of a
painting lies in its symbolic meaning. The symbolic
significance of objects, most of which is now lost, was well
developed in the early history of Western painting where
virtually every object was vested with some esoteric
significance. A very famous example of this kind of
symbolism is in the Merode Altarpiece (Figure 11) in which
one side of the triptic (Figure 12) shows Joseph making a
mousetrap. Scholars had long puzzled over the
interpretation of this picture. It was finally related to
an obscure passage in one of the letters of Augustine in
which he says that when God created Joseph he was making a
mousetrap for the devil. For several centuries that little
bit of esotérica had been lost and it was not until much
later that it was once again possible to understand the
message in that particular panel of the triptic. The Merode
Altarpiece demonstrates that the iconography of a painting
can remain obscure, but the work may still be significant.

-177-
Figure 11.
The Merode Altarpiece. The Master of Flemalle,
Robert Campin. About 1425-28. The Metropolitan
Museum of Art, Cloisters Collection, Purchase.

-178-
Figure 12. Detail Merode Altarpiece: Joseph panel. The
Master of Flemalle, Robert Campin. About 1425-
28. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Cloisters
Collection, Purchase.

-179-
There is also evidence that people can appreciate
paintings even where they cannot decipher a work as possibly
containing symbols. For example, people who do not believe
in the Buddhist faith are nonetheless able to respond to
Buddhist sculptures and paintings, or they can respond to
Muslim works of art, i.e., mosques, without regard to
function in a religious context. It is to be remembered
that within a religious context the information contained in
these works are considered true judgments, though they are
not empirical in the usual sense of the term, and even if
Westerners were knowledgeable as to the symbolism they
contained, they most probably would not be sympathetic with
it. The fact that we can appreciate such works, in the
sense of understanding the encoding process, indicates that
a work need not be regarded as incomplete even though the
idea behind it, its function in society, or what it stands
for is unavailable.*^ Nor must its value be diminished if
the message is one with which we disagree, one that is
patently false, or one whose usefulness is outlived.
A particularly interesting example in our own tradition
to illustrate this last point is Van Eyck's painting
Giovanni Arnolfini and His Bride (Figure 13) where we can
say there are different levels of messages. This painting
illustrates quite well what we have been saying that what
6 2
If this were not the case, we would have to regard
historical works of art, where the culture has been lost, to
be incomprehensible or virtually incomplete, as in the case
of the Indus Valley sculptures.

-180-
Van Eyck, Giovanni Arnolfini and His Bride.
1434. The National Gallery, London.
Figure 13.

-181-
the painting is supposed to say is irrelevant to the piece
as a work of art. What this particular painting is supposed
to convey operates on different levels and is no easy matter
to determine.
First, this painting is a legal document, in fact a
marriage certificate. We must remember that the idea of
needing a license to marry is a modern notion. Before one
needed priests or ministers to consecrate the ceremony all
that was required was that there be a witness. At first
glance the couple in the picture seems to be alone, but if
we look carefully into the mirror on the wall behind them
the artist and another person beside him who serve as
witnesses may be seen. Since Giovanni Arnolfini and his
bride are long since dead, the usefulness of this painting
as a marriage contract is finished and has no more interest
than would a certificate of any unknown person from the same
period. Such documents might be of research interest but
would not be art. So, we can say there is no relationship
between art, so judged, and function or use, and if the
function of a particular piece is obsolete or is
unsuccessful, the piece can still be counted as being of
aesthetic interest.
While some may quickly agree that the usefulness of the
painting can be easily dismissed as being of no aesthetic
interest, a more difficult question might concern the
importance of the objects we see in the painting, dog,
candle, fruit, shoes, etc. Are these to be considered of

-182-
aesthetic interest, and if so what is their aesthetic
function?
In keeping with what we said about verisimilitude we
would not want to contend that seeing the candle qua candle
is what matters because in fact this object like most of the
other objects of the painting are really disguised
symbolisms having to do with the ceremony of marriage. In
this instance recognizing the candle as a candle is not
recognizing it for what it is. It is not a candle but
rather the holy spirit, and to say its being a candle is
somehow important is to misinterpret the object. This is
also true of the other objects in the room, since nothing
symbolically is as it is literally portrayed to be. The dog
is not a dog, it is the faithfulness of marriage; the shoes
which have been removed show the holiness of the ground on
which the bride and groom stand; the fruit is not fruit, but
the fruitfulness of the union, and calling it a "peach" is
really to misinterpret what it is in the painting.
These observations are not at odds with the fact that
knowledge of, and agreement with, the message or idea of a
work does add a dimension to one's enjoyment of the work.
The point being made here is that an aesthetic dimension is
not added. The reason the added dimension would not be an
aesthetic one is that it could not be part of the structure
of the work. If it were part of the structure, the work
would not be intelligible without it. That this is not the

-183-
case will be demonstrated in Chapter V in which specific
works of art are analyzed and evaluated.
However, a dismissal for aesthetic purposes of the
symbolic aspects or the literal accuracy of the objects in a
painting does not lead to a dismissal of the value of their
representational qualities, but here we must be clear to
point out what we mean by representation. "Representation"
is not being used in what Gombrich refers to in "Meditations
on a Hobby Horse" as "the traditional view of
representation," i.e., the work of art replicating or
copying a motif in the outer world or in the artist's inner
world; rather, when we use the term here we mean to denote
the grouping together of the expressive modalities of a
painting. More specifically, what we take representation to
be is the expressive configuration of gesture. These terms
need explaining. "Gesture" is defined in The Concise Oxford
Dictionary as "significant movement." However, the word
"gesture" in our definition of representation is being used
as a way of saying "an identifiable object which functions
as an element in the composition," and thus only
analogically pertains to movement since movement in painting
is used to mean consistency of direction. Thus, in
Picasso's Guernica there are geometrical shapes which are
nonetheless interpretable as horses, people, lightbulbs,
etc. However, that they are horses, people, and lightbulbs
is not the focus of aesthetic importance; the function of
this grouping of elements is to assist the viewer in working

-184-
out the expressive configuration of the painting. By
"expressive configurations of the painting" we mean those
configurations which are structurally functional in the
painting, i.e., themes.
If one looks at pastoral scenes in which there are
trees and cows, or at still lifes of fruits and flowers, or
at pictures in which human figures appear, these objects are
gestures, identifiable objects, elements grouped in
expressive configurations which serve as keys in decoding
the structure. One might ask what representation would be
in abstract paintings. Because of the absence of gesture,
there is very little to distinguish an expressive
configuration from non-express ive configuration; however,
the point could be made that there are no non-expressive
configurations in abstract paintings because there are
seldom any unimportant objects.
To illustrate the point made above about
representation, the expressive modalities of a particular
painting, Cardinal Don Fernando Nino de Guevara by El Greco
(Figure 14), may be examined in some detail. The
traditional way of talking about this work is to deal with
the personality of the man who is portrayed. When the
painting is a portrait this is the common approach. In this
vein, one might say that the Cardinal is maintaining
external composure while inwardly he is in a state of
turmoil, and in fact, this is the type of analysis that is
usually made of this work.

-185-
14. El Greco, Cardinal Don Fernando Niño de Guevara.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Mrs.
H.O. Havemeyer, 1929. The H.O. Havemeyer
Collection.
Figure

-186-
Let us assume for a moment that this interpretation is
correct. How would the artist achieve this effect? If he
wants to depict the Cardinal in a state of turmoil while
maintaining a general calm how might he go about assembling
structural elements to realize his intention? And, if
viewers want to describe the work in this way, what might be
pointed to in order to support their conclusion? There must
be present somewhere in the structure of the painting sets
of thematic elements which are in tension with one another
in that one set will tend to suggest composure while the
other set tends to suggest agitation or turmoil. In an
attempt to determine why this painting conveys such tumult,
the focus of attention is often directed toward the hands,
the one clutching the chair while the other is very relaxed.
But surely the painting is not composed just of gestures of
this type, and if somehow the Cardinal's hands were not
visible, would one nonetheless not still have the same
impression?
It is sometimes observed that the chair is placed oddly
with respect to the frame of the painting. The Cardinal is
not looking directly at the viewer, but is at an angle.
Some suggest that an imbalance is created by turning the
Cardinal away from his audience, and that this is one of the
things that creates the attitudes of tension expressed by
the work. However, all of these suggestions about the hands
and the angle of the chair are based upon interpreting the
painting merely as a real event and not as an intellectual

-187-
structure. If seriously considered, one would hardly want
to maintain that all El Greco did was simply to pose the
Cardinal the way a portrait photographer would have done.
Portrait photography is not commonly accepted as one of the
great art forms of history and surely what El Greco did is
not what one would do in taking a photograph of a friend:
putting him in a chair, turning the angle of that chair, and
having him clutch one arm of the chair while the other
dangles down relaxed. Would we then have this painting?
Surely not. While one would answer "no" to this question,
aesthetics must be prepared to say why the answer is "no,"
or at least to suggest the clue.
A closer examination of the axes of the work and the
background and floor pattern demarcated by the axes will
provide the answer. If one examines the El Greco closely,
it will be seen quite clearly that the artist has stationed
the Cardinal exactly at the geometric vertical axis of the
painting. In other words, half the Cardinal is on one side
of the axis and half is in the other side. Even more
important than this are the backgrounds on either side of
the axis. There is a very marked and obvious difference
between the background on the left side and the background
on the right side. The background on the left side is in
muted dark tones of a single continuum and in terms of its
geometric structure is organized into panels which are
square. There is calmness and repose and regularity of
geometric organization in the background which enhances the

-188-
effect of the limp hand. The gesture of the relaxed hand in
combination with the tone of the background and the
recurrent square elements reinforce this impression of
relaxation.
The same is true if one moves down to look at the
floor. The floor on the left side is defined by regular
geometric shapes and that contrasts with the floor on the
right side which is very vague in its treatment. On the
right, the floor disappears as a clear cut pattern so that
all one sees is spots of colors and it is difficult to
determine that it is the same kind of tiled floor that it
quite clearly is on the left hand side. The same
formlessness of the right side floor is evident in the
wallpaper on the Cardinal's right side. The wallpaper is
filled with sinuous curves, the tortuous, undulating floral
pattern being a way of describing turmoil and agitation.
The chair is placed at odd angles with respect to the
walls so one has the incongruities of the trapezoidal
relationship between the chair and the wall, a positioning
which creates anxiety. On the one hand the background
reinforces the sense of relaxation in the limp hand; on the
other side there is the extravagance of the wallpaper and
the clenched fist.
The regularity in the occurrence of these opposing
elements demonstrates that their appearance is not
accidental or exotic but that they are an integral part of
the technique by which El Greco creates impressions. Thus,

-189-
when attitude words such as in this case "anxiety,"
"repose," "calm," etc., are used, what is being discussed is
a relationship between elements in the painting which in
turn give an impression of these attitudes. In this El
Greco painting we have an excellent example of how
structural elements create attitudes as they were described
in Chapter II.^ Attitudes were described as
characteristics of structure and here one clearly sees how
the agitation and turmoil and tension in the painting are
encoded by the artist. Attitude we now see is a product of
structural relations. Also in the El Greco as in any
painting, we have expressive configurations and the
important factor is the way in which they are handled. That
r o
There is an interesting similarity between El Greco's
Cardinal and the Portrait of Doge Leonardo Loredan by
Bellini which was mentioned earlier. If one reads the
traditional books of criticism this painting by Bellini will
be described in phrases almost identical with those used in
describing the El Greco. Except here, the degree of
contrast is less tumultuous than in the El Greco, and
Bellini does not achieve contrast by any obvious means,
e.g., there are neither limp hands nor hands clutching the
edge of a chair. Yet, the complexity of the man's
personality is thought to rival that of the El Greco. How
does Bellini achieve it? If one looks at the painting very
carefully and compares the left side of the man's face with
the right side, what one discovers is that in terms of light
and shadow, in depth of color, and geometric forms which
oppose each other, the technique is almost equivalent to
that which El Greco used. The contrast between the two
sides of the face gives the impression that there is a
person of "two minds." It is a common view that what an
artist does is to give the viewer some insight into the
personality of the man whose portrait is being painted, but
it would be more accurate to say that what one interprets
that way is, in fact, the mode of structure in the painting.

-190-
the object happens to be a Cardinal or a hand, etc., is no
more important than the background or the floor or anything
else, for as elements they function similarly; however, the
representational objects are significant in that they give
clues for decoding since they are landmarks of expressive
configurations in the work.
While the descriptive analysis outlined thus far has
been limited to one and two dimensional art types, some
suggestion needs to be made as to how what has been said for
music, poetry, and painting can also be extended to include
three dimensional arts.
It has been said that, theoretically, the arts have a
physical basis which depends on our sense organs as well as
the physics of the phenomenon. In music it was proposed
that the sound provides the primary elements, in painting
light and space are the building blocks. In three
dimensional arts, such as architecture and sculpture,
volume0^ must be added to form the physical basis of the
medium.
The themes which make up aesthetic structures, no
matter what the medium, are composed of the art type's
physical constituents. Understanding any art type depends
on perceiving the themes, or particular patterns of primary
ft 4
Volume provides the apprehender with the impression
that he or she can be surrounded by the work of art,
penetrate it, or move around it.

-191-
elements, which the artist has manipulated to form
intelligible structures.^
Using architecture as an illustration of a three
dimensional art, the themes in architecture are created
primarily by the variations of rhythm which are composed of
variations of linear patterns (lines and planes) producing
the effect of light and dark. These variations are actually
the product of one, two, and three dimensional contrasts and
they are usually so conceived by the artist in the encoding.
For example, in early Sumerian buildings bricks are used in
a decorative way to create dramatic effects. The architects
understood that the recesses and crenelations in shifting
daylight would create an interesting effect and they used
their medium to take advantage of this. The sun keeps the
patterns from being static and makes the patterns more
elaborate, producing a complexity and subtlety which the raw
patterns by themselves would lack. A clear example of the
rhythm of linear pattern is found in the tomb at Qarragan in
Iran (Figure 15). Similarly, transparent screens, such as
the one at Fatehpur Sikri (Figure 16) are actually
elaborately ornamented linear patterns.
Hue variations and contrasts, from which most of
western painting is derived, is of no great consequence in
architecture. The Taj Mahal, for example, one of the great
ft c:
As far as creating aesthetic structure from these
physical components, it will not matter if a statue is made
of marble, plastic, or papier machee. What does matter is
that the work is not in paint or sound.

192
Figure 15
Tomb at Qarragan,
Iran

193
Transparent
Screens,
Figure 16
Fatehpur Sikri

-194-
jewels of architecture (Figure 17), is for all intents and
purposes, white. This is not to deny that there are some
cases where color does play a part, such as the Friday
Mosque at Herat in Afghanistan (Figure 18), but it is
clearly a minor consideration. While color adds richness to
the facade (even the architects of the Taj Mahal realized
the wonderful effect of the tropical sun on the white
building particularly at sunset when it turns the facade
extraordinary colors of rose and orange) it is not the part
essential to the design of the building, rather, it
functions more like orchestration in music. In this respect
we have a situation more akin to Chinese paintings where hue
is really of no consequence except in trivial painting, the
important structural features being rhythmic.
Works of art in which color is not primary can still be
described as melodic. We can say, for example, that there
are melodic features in architecture, motifs, or regular
relations between primary elements that are identifiable
subobjects. In Islamic architecture there are minarets,
domes, and the relations between arches and rectangles in
which the elements are varied just as a melodic theme is
varied in the course of musical composition. Unlike music,
however, these elements do not become rhythmic through time
but depend on spatial contrasts to create rhythm. These
functions can be appreciated more fully by considering their

-195-
Figure 17. Taj Mahal at Agra.

196-
Figure 18.
Friday Mosque at Herat,
Afghanistan.

-197-
importance in a particular building, such as the above
mentioned Taj Mahal.
The Taj Mahal, as a typical Moslem building, has as its
primary unit or structural vocabulary element the arch
within the square. More specifically, there is the pointed
arch within an inscribed rectangle (in this case several
rectangles making a series of borders around the arch) with
two triangular areas within which there is decoration. The
arch is itself then elaborated so that the arch boundary is
actually a series of arches. Thus, the Taj is a relatively
simple building (in an evaluative sense "elegant") in that
it is a large rectangle or rectangular cube defined by
certain properties not unlike those found in music. Its
linear patterns of occupied and unoccupied space function
rhythmically as do the musical properties of sound and
silence. There is also the repetition of the effect of
perspective, similar to the effect of musical acceleration
where the elements become closer and more dense.
It is the recurrent use of patterns such as these that
become rhythmic and give meaning to the metaphor that
architecture is frozen music. The comparison is
particularly apt when one thinks of the constant elaboration
of architectural motifs, as illustrated in the Taj Mahal,
which is reminiscent of the structural development in a
fugue.
We have said from the beginning that the task of
aesthetics with regard to the work of art is twofold:

-198-
first, to interpret works of art which means to analyze
them, describe their properties and uncover their
organization. This task has been the subject of the present
chapter; however, we also said that this work is simply
preparatory to our second task, evaluating works, or the
making of aesthetic judgments.
Aesthetic judgments require additional steps in that
the judgment of a work of art involves the application of
value categories to it.®® It is quite possible to analyze
and understand a work of art without applying to it any
value terms whatsoever. One can analyze a piece of music or
a poem or a painting entirely in terms of its structure and
never say anything at all about how good it is. But we
cannot evaluate a work of art if we cannot adequately
describe it and uncover its structure. Any kind of
evaluative statement concerning the work of art must rest
upon understanding the actual structure of the work of art.
For these reasons it is first necessary to be able to
describe works in order to apply a uniform set of value
categories to them.
Having worked out a satisfactory vocabulary for
describing works of art, we can, in the next chapter,
fl fi
It is not unusual for people to find, when
encountering a work of art for the first time, that they
have an immediate attraction (or aversion) to it. Liking or
disliking a work, however, is not evaluating it, since the
response may have been occasioned by something other than
the work of art itself, e.g., a pleasant ambience or
agreeable company. A judgment rests on grounds and a
response need not, though the grounds may indeed have
occasioned the response.

-199-
proceed to the problem of value categories. Additionally,
within a value framework we shall offer a definition of art.
It will be suggested that structures must achieve a certain
level of value before they may seriously be considered as
art. The question may be raised as to why one would choose
this stipulation rather than simply base a definition on
certain family resemblances which obtain between structures.
The reason is one of economy. The family resemblances, when
one deals with objects, is so vast that it is impractical to
use family resemblances as grounds for a definition;
therefore, using a level of value is a rule of practicality
or perhaps prudence.

y Elements
MUSIC
POETKY
PAINTING
(color)
a
a
—m* pitch. . . .
—w~ amplitude
-m- tlnibre. ..
-»• duration.
rhythm
«. melody
voice pitch r hue
atreas/unstress value
phoneme intensity, saturation
duration (length/shortneBs) (space)
contour, line
configuration, shape
(lmaye) (gesture)
rhythm rhythm
(a) stress (a) variations of value (light i dark)
(b) length (b) variations of contour and shape
patterns of Intonations hue variation and contrasts
and pitch
-«• orchestration patterns of phonemes saturation, intensity, harmonies
(image sequence) (expressive configuration of gesture)
themes created by themes created by themes created by variation
rhythmic contrasts structure of poetry of the two types of rhythm
plus melodic contrasts against the structure of primarily but occasionally
the language by color harmonies
interrelationship of interrelationship of Interrelationship of
themes (themes themes (themes themes (themes
relating to themes) relating to themes) relating to themes)
totality of the
composition
totality of the
poem
totality of the
painting
-200-

CHAPTER IV
DEVISING A COMMON VOCABULARY OF AESTHETIC VALUE TERMS
The uniformity of relationships which obtains, despite
the variance of medium, makes possible the discussion of
common features of works of art and also provides the basis
for common standards of evaluation. In the previous chapter
it was observed that a work of art consists of multiple
levels, the physical level consisting of the material
elements of the particular medium, and the intellectual
level where themes are developed and related by principles
of organization. We can imagine that each of these various
levels will have certain characteristics, and it remains for
us now to work out what those characteristics might be.
By examining the way in which people respond to works
of art one sees that there are levels of response to a work
and that the nature of a person's response, in terms of
appreciation, changes through time if he continues to
apprehend the work of art. This means that the aesthetic
response is a gradual process, and the presence of these
various levels of appreciation makes it convincing to
suggest that a work of art also has a hierarchical value
system. One can posit that each of these levels will have
its corresponding values, but the problem is to create an
evaluative vocabulary which could appropriately be used for
-201-

-202-
all types of art and levels of response, a requirement in
order to satisfy our rule of commonality.
In attempting to work out such a vocabulary it may be
well to examine works of critics in a variety of areas of
art. If one makes a list of the evaluative terms used in
the criticism of various art types, along with a short
description of what the writers using the terms seem to have
in mind, it then becomes apparent that no matter what area
of art is under discussion certain value terms regularly
recur. If value terms collected from the criticism of
various art types are assembled, it becomes strikingly
obvious that the list is composed, not of independent terms,
but rather of groups of terms which correspond to levels of
appreciation of a work of art. So, in this chapter, terms
that have heretofore been simply aesthetic terms in the
sense of value terms of a non-specific sort, will be
reclassified in such a way as to correspond to one of the
levels of structure as we have worked them out in the
preceding chapter.1
lrThe question may be raised as to why these particular
value terms were selected as opposed to others. The answer
is simply that the chosen terms are introduced as terms that
occur frequently in the literature and seem representative
of the kinds of values that are commonly singled out. If a
further question were raised about why there seems to be a
general agreement for example that balance is to be
preferred over imbalance, or complexity is more valuable
than the obvious, the justification for those preferences
would I think lie in psychology and not in philosophy. My
own suspicion is that these terms relate to certain kinds of
patterns of thinking which we regard as significant.

-203-
Primary Levels of Appreciation
Some of the values that may be possessed by a work of
art appear to be values which correlate with the primary
elements described in Chapter III. The initial response is
an appeal to those material elements in that one's immediate
experience and pleasure in works of art lies in the
pleasantness of the raw material of the medium. For
example, people enjoy sound, qua sound; color, simply as
color; and words as they are spoken, not for any particular
meaning they may have, but as sounds alone. At this level
the word "beauty" is often employed as a description, as in
"beautiful sounds" and "beautiful colors."
There is a certain entertainment value inherent in
primary elements which seems to appeal to the senses. Some
artists exploit this appeal more than others. For example,
in music one enjoys the sensations of Wagner's sound in a
way in which one does not enjoy the sensations of a Bach
sound. In the case of color, there is thought to be
something sensual about the colors of the Impressionist's
palette that is not true of Early Renaissance frescos, even
though, in their time, these frescos were considered
remarkably sensual when compared to what went before.
Giotto, for example, in his frescos of the Life of Christ in
the Scrovegni Chapel at Padua made use of color in a way
that struck his contemporaries as oddly sensual. In the
context of his time he was using color in a very vigorous
way, but compared to the way color was used by the

-204-
Impressionists, or the way color is routinely used today,
Giotto's work seems very restrained. The foregoing
discussion illustrates that sensual appeal is contrastive,
becoming so in terms of context. In the context of medieval
colors, the yellow of Judas' robe in the Giotto frescos, for
example, was an exceedingly sensual color; however, as
compared to Venetian oils, it does not appear sensual.
Clearly the notoriety of certain styles of art, when
they are new, is due to just this sensual appeal, but a
fundamental issue is whether this sensual appeal is
aesthetically significant. Although these sensuous
qualities introduce a very direct pleasure which accounts
for the appeal, akin to eroticism in general, the works of
art have for many people, enhancing enjoyment of art, the
important issue is whether one can assume that this sensual
pleasure is the fundamental part of the aesthetic response.
In connection with this question, it is very clear that
certain commentators regard the sensual qualities of the
work of art as a possible impediment to its value, and this
position is held by both message advocates and
structuralists. For one who holds that the message is the
valuable thing about a work of art, the sensual qualities of
the medium can serve as a detraction from that message; on
the other hand, if the relationship between the elements is
of primary value, undue attention to materials may result in
over valuing a work simply because of surface attraction.
It is also clear that those works of art to which tradition

-205-
has ascribed greatness are works which, by and large, do not
have any significant sensual appeal. For example, late
Beethoven quartets are works of art in which the sensual
appeal of the work is, as music goes, minimal, unlike the
lavish sensuality of a composition such as Debussy's L'Apres
midi d'un faune. And no critic would hold that one of the
Dutch masters of still lifes with his extraordinary skill in
rendering the sensual qualities of the translucence of
glass, the softness of velvet, or the quality of fur is
equivalent to the late Rembrandt in which the sensual
properties of the medium are, comparatively speaking,
minimized. In contrast, Rembrandt's later work is almost
monochromatic, the colors ranging from shades of gold to
shades of brown. The de-emphasis of sensual qualities in
such works of art and the high value placed on them raises
the question whether response to a work's sensuality forms
the essence of the aesthetic experience.
Let us examine more closely the kinds of values
inhering in colors and sounds. On this level of response
the qualities found desirable are also shared with natural
objects. For example, the properties most admired about
precious jewels are those which pertain to certain kinds of
color; we prefer colors to be vivid rather than faded, clear
rather than muddled, and precise rather than diffuse.
Characteristics such as vividness, clarity, and precision
are also terms that could be used to refer to sounds. While
no claim is made that this is an exhaustive array of terms

-206-
for the qualities which are significant in sound and color,
they are at least a representative list.^ Thus, instead of
characteristics such as hazy, dull, or indistinct, it is
more likely that the terms encountered to praise beauty of
sound and color would fundamentally give the idea of
intensifying or heightening the effect.
The response to these qualities of vividness,
precision, and clarify is pleasure; that is, pleasure
results from seeing clear, vivid, and precise colors and
hearing sounds with the same qualities. In the selection of
the materials, the artist may enhance the effect of the work
by choosing materials which are attractive and to which
audiences will respond.^ The reason they respond is that
they take pleasure in the primary elements of the work of
We can hypothesize that value terms like "vividness,"
"clarify," and "precision" are common to all media.
However, there probably are in each medium certain
additional terms which could be used. That is, since each
of the arts is perceived in one of two basic ways, either
visual or auditory, there might be certain characteristics
which are distinctive to those art types.
^It should be kept in mind that this is the fundamental
difference between works of art and other intellectual
activities. Thus, no mathematician would give the slightest
thought to the material of a book of mathematics.
Similarly, one does not respond to the colors which might be
involved in a book of scientific theory. However, the
sensuous qualities of primary elements are more obvious in
some media than in others; for example, the primary elements
of music and painting are much more obvious than the primary
elements of architecture or of poetry where they seem to be
less interesting. Thus, people who exclaim that they
experience enormous sensual enjoyment from a poem are much
rarer than those who get a sensual enjoyment from music or
painting. Sculpture seems to fall somewhere in between these
two.

-207-
art. This also explains why delight is taken in hearing
language pronounced certain ways. Vie find that persons who
speak so that their speech is vivid, clear, and precise
enhances what is said. People who take acting lessons learn
to project in such a way that they are able to incorporate
these qualities into their voices.
Specific examples of the characteristics under
discussion as they occur in musical compositions and
paintings will be useful. Vividness in music is exemplified
in the brightness of the opening trumpet in Ravel's
orchestration of Pictures from an Exhibition while vividness
in painting is found in the vibrancy of a Van Eyck or the
intensity of a particular bottle green sometimes used in the
background of a Hans Memling. Clarity of sound is apparent
in the lucidity of tone in Wagner's Rhinegold; while in
painting, clarity of color is seen in the lustrousness of
the Bellini Doge, or again, in the translucent details of a
Van Eyck such as the Adoration of the Lamb panel of the
Ghent Altarpiece. Precision in sound reaches its height in
almost any selection from the ouvre of Mozart, while in
painting precision, or purity of hue, is illustrated in
Broadway Boogie Woogie by Mondrian.
Demonstrably these lush qualities of sound and sight
are the sensual parameters of a work of art and encoding is
not involved. Notice that if sensual qualities are lacking,
the aesthetics of a composition is not affected. A musical
piece may be judged to be good even if one has the

-208-
misfortune of hearing it in a bad seat or one hears a
performance in a defective music hall. In such an instance,
we only miss those aspects of good sound quality.
Similarly, in painting, we would not want to say that those
Rembrandts with their vast layers of varnish distorting the
original colors are any less masterpieces than those
paintings which have been restored. In both cases the
structure of the work remains unaffected^. Thus, while
response to the sensual qualities of a work's primary
elements may be pleasurable nothing that is intelligible is
involved. This response is not, in the fundamental sense of
the word, part of the aesthetic pleasure of the work of art
because it does not depend upon encoding nor upon decoding.
Thus, when a badly orchestrated portion of a composer's
symphony is reorchestrated, the result is regarded as a
technical improvement, but not a change in the work of art.
A great many composers in the past made mistakes in
orchestration; that is, they misjudged the aural effect of
related issue is that of the "aesthetic difference,"
if any, between an original work of art and a faithful copy
or forgery of it. For approaches to this question see
Nelson Goodman, Languages of Art; An Approach to a Theory of
SymboIs. Indianapolis, Indiana: Bobbs, 1968. pp. 99-112,
and Thomasine Kushner, "The Status of the Aesthetic Clone,"
Journal of Value Inquiry 14:309-318 (1980). Goodman argues
for a world of difference between the two because he says
knowledge of the discrepancy is evidence there is a
difference one can learn to perceive, assigns apprehending
the work to a training activity in perceiving that
difference, and consequently modifies one's experience in
apprehending the two. Kushner asks if whether the value of
a work of art is exclusively wedded to the original and
concludes that since the difference between originals and
their "clones" lies outside the structure they are not
important so far as aesthetic value is concerned.

-209-
the orchestration. Consequently, conductors with great
regularity changed the orchestration so that the music would
sound "correct," meaning "vivid," "clear," and "precise,"
rather than off key. The point is that works having on ly
these characteristics are enjoyable and nothing more. We
enjoy them as we would good wine or a great meal, but this
enjoyment is not aesthetic since such pleasure
does not involve the intelligible structure of the
c:
work.
More needs to be said about the fact that value terms
which apply to the sensual or primary level of appreciation
in works of art are also value terms used to describe
natural objects such as gems, in the earlier example, or
sunsets, sea shells, or previous metals. In this respect,
responding to the sensuousness of an artistic medium is not
unlike responding to the sensuousness of natural objects.
Because natural objects in their appeal and aesthetic
objects in their appeal share the same material properties
it becomes an easy leap for some to suggest that the
pleasures which sunsets give are akin to the pleasures which
paintings give, and it is clear that the doctrines of
^1 do not mean to imply here that the intelligible
structure does not, or ought not, to produce pleasure. As
discussed in Chapter II, a consequence of coming to
appreciate a work involves a certain pleasure in the
decoding, but this pleasure is of a rather more
contemplative sort than the more immediate pleasures of
reacting to the sensuous qualities of primary elements.

-210-
pleasure which aestheticians develop do in fact spring from
an emphasis on these material elements. The emphasis on
material qualities creates certain expectations about what
art should do and reintroduces the question of
verisimilitude.
There are in each art type certain possibilities of
verisimilitude to natural objects, and while these are not
entirely ignored in music and poetry, they are more
frequently exploited in painting. However, the issue of
verisimilitude in painting is really the issue of the
clarity of the primary elements of the painting. When one
talks about the tactile values (for example, the fuzziness
of a peach, the furriness of an ermine cape, etc.) of the
painting, one is using a confused linguistic way of saying
that the work of art is vivid and sharp. We find the
success of the illusion exciting, but what we are really
reacting to is the exploitation of sensual elements. In
painting the tendency is to associate it with the objects
portrayed rather than with the elements of the painting
itself.
The connection between material, or primary, elements
and verisimilitude can be illustrated with a painting that
was celebrated in its day for its extraordinary
verisimilitude, Caravaggio's Bacchus. The technical
vertuosity of the work is obvious especially in the glass of
wine. Extraordinary skill is required to paint, behind a
transparent glass stem, the folds of a garment, or to show

-211-
the softness of the skin of the fruit, or the texture of the
leaves.
Since the material qualities of paintings can be used
so effectively to create an illusion, impressions arise
about what a painting ought to do. That is, paintings can
imitate or mimic the world by portraying natural objects.
From this point one might leap to the conclusion that the
goal of painting is to portray nature, while additionally
refining nature in some way to eliminate that which is
untoward. Although going down the wrong path altogether,
those who hold this view start from the fact that naturally
occurring objects provide the onlooker with pleasure simply
upon observation. The overlooked point is that such
pleasure is not significant from an aesthetic point of view
since the sensuous qualities that produced it do not apply
to organizations or structures; that is, they are not part
of the process of encoding.
In summary, the apparent aesthetic qualities of natural
objects may be explained by the fact that, like aesthetic
objects, they do contain sensual elements. That is, the
apparent similarity between works of art and natural objects
is explained by the presence of sensual elements in both and
by the fact that people respond to the physical properties
of works of art. In fact, it is this sensuous level which
links together natural objects, crafts, and fine arts for
all of them have the appeal of sensuality; however, there
are additional values which correspond with other levels of

-212-
appreciation which these groups do not share, thus
demarcating them one from another. These will be examined
as the value terms which correspond to the components of the
structure of the work are explored.
Thus far we have said that the pleasure one enjoys as a
response to the primary elements of a work is not aesthetic
since, on the pre-aesthetic level of sensuous qualities,
there is no involvement with decoding structural
relationships which, according to the view here, is what
aesthetic understanding entails. In terms of structure,
however, a work of art consists of at least three parts:
(a) what may be called the "themes" which form the basic
elements out of which the work is constructed, (b) the
organizational principles which go into creating the total
structure, and (c) the totality of the work itself. Just as
the primary elements had their corresponding values, these
higher levels will also have their appropriate value terms.
Thematic Elements and Their Development
into Themes
Beyond a mere appreciation of the non-structura 1,
sensual aspects of an art medium is the next stage of
awareness. This is one in which the structural
relationships of the elements become apparent. One sees
"how the work was put together"; that is, one becomes aware
of rhythms and recurrent patterns. Thus, the tendency is to
move from those things which are fundamentally material

-213-
elements with regard to the work of art, to those things
which may be called "thematic." All works of art are
composed of thematic elements; that is, there are
identifiable sub-structures which recur in such a way that
the patterns of their recurrence are significant. Creating
themes involves putting together a particular combination of
primary elements in such a way that there is intelligible
structure. This may involve, for example, contour of line,
contour of rhythm, recurrence of shape, etc.
At this level of themes the point is reached at which a
kind of participatory insight into the work develops rather
than a mere passive appreciation of it. One really "hears"
or "sees" the work rather than simply being exposed to it.
On this level one is no longer just aware of the beauty and
sensuousness of the material elements, but recognizes their
manipulation and organization. At this point one leaves the
material of the work and enters into its structure. That
which is thematic is the product of thought. The thematic
is a product of encoding and not something which is inherent
in the materials themselves. A theme need not be pleasant
or appealing in the way color or sound which is vivid,
precise, or clear is appealing or pleasant.
The "atomic" elements, they may be called on this
thematic level, are "rhythm," "melody," and "orchestration,"
and we need to keep in mind that these thematic elements are
not restricted to music only, but have their functional
equivalencies in poetry and painting as well. However, the

-214-
value terms appropriate to these thematic relationships are
still only those same values that are appropriate for the
materials, or primary elements, of the medium. When these
atomic elements are developed into themes another set of
value terms is required.
What kinds of characteristics could themes possess?
Subtlety, what we call "nuance" is one of the things which
is interesting about a musical composition, a poem, or a
painting, subtlety being defined as the minimum degree of
contrast where contrast remains discernible. A work of art
is said to be subtle if the first time we apprehend it we
are not immediately aware of everything that occurs within
it.
In addition to subtlety of nuance, a theme can also be
complex. The complexity of the work of art is a function of
the intricate interrelationships among the various elements
of which the work is composed and the term refers to the
manifold number of possibilities expressed in the
construction of a theme. The difference between the two
characteristics, subtlety and complexity, can best be shown
by an example. In Bellini's Portrait of Doge Leonardo
Loredan the difference in the shading of the two sides of
the face is subtlety which in turn makes the work complex.
That is, the subtle differentiation, or the fine
discrimination, increases the number of perceived
connections. The same can be said for El Greco's Cardinal
in that the subtle differences that become apparent between

-215-
the left and right sides of the picture open up many
hitherto unseen connections.
Subtlety and complexity seem to be a pre-condition for
another quality, richness; this is to say that there is a
logical entailment of richness in subtlety and complexity.
Richness applies to the overlapping character of the
relationships, that there are many interrelationships
between the elements. The richness of the work of art is
that which gives the impression that the work is infinitely
variable and inexhaustible. That is, one feels that one
could read, or listen to, or look at the work innumerable
times, never tiring of it and never exhausting the
possibilities of combinations inherent in the work. It is
true that no work of art is inexhaustible; inexhaustibility
is only an impression related to the richness. The richness
of a work makes it possible for us continually to apprehend
the work without growing tired of it; therefore, the
judgment that a work of art is "timeless" is nothing other
than the judgment that it is rich.
The next factor to be dealt with is the organization of
the work. The organizational principles of a work of art
encompass that area of the work which possesses the
operational properties which other intellectual products
share. The virtues to be considered here are economy,
fecundity, and elegance.
One of the anomalies of criticism is that the same work
of art may be praised for its magnificent simplicity and for

-216-
its incredible complexity. When a critic states that a work
of art is simple, it does not mean that it is apparent,
commonplace, simpleminded. What is meant is that the work
shows a higher order of simplicity, that behind the surface
richness, complexity, and subtlety there is economy of
structure. When a work of art is described as economical,
the statement means that the principles of encoding entailed
in the work, as primary assumptions of the work, are very
few in number. For example, Chinese works of art exhibit an
extraordinary degree of economy by Western standards, while
by contrast Respighi's Pines of Rome lacks economy.^
Economy goes hand in hand with the fecundity of a work
of art. Fecundity in this case refers to the impression of
infinite possibilities which derive from a very few primary
terms. These are, of course, the same properties that we
find admirable in all intellectual systems: economy of
assumption and fecundity of implication. So, what one is
dealing with here are two levels of characteristics. While
the surface is complex, subtle, rich, so that it captures
and sustains interest, further analysis and acquaintance
with the work of art reveals that along with its apparent
richness, it is in fact logically tightly organized in such
a way that its economy, its direct simplicity, its
fecundity are evident upon extended acquaintance.
^Japanese aesthetic vocabulary has long included this
concept of economy in yugen where one subtracts everything
except what is absolutely required.

-217-
To show how these organizational terms of economy and
fecundity differ from the crucial term of the preceding
level, richness, the point that richness refers to the
thematic presentation of the work while these terms refer to
its logical structure must be kept in mind. The implication
is that the impression of richness may exist without
economy, in which case, one would ultimately judge that the
work of art is a failure on the intellectual level. For
example, especially long works of art, as in music, might
give the impression of enormous richness, but that richness
might not be the product of fecundity and economy (the
logical structure) in which case the composition would be
regarded as an inferior work of art. There may be
"richness" without "economy" and "fecundity," but economy
and fecundity will certainly be accompanied by richness.
Oddly enough, there are some works which show
extraordinary examples of the structural characteristics of
economy and fecundity which are not particularly beautiful—
Moslem buildings. The Seljuk Turks discovered that if
bricks were properly shaped and standardized, every element
in a structure could be related to the measurements of the
brick. A brick has three measurements, height, width, and
length. If a mathematical ratio among these dimensions is
employed, the result will possess economy since every part
of the design will be worked out in basic mathematical
terms. These buildings demonstrate extraordinary fecundity
based upon a few simple propositions. The design is based

-218-
upon a few simple ratios and everything in the building is
designed in terms of primary propositions. Gothic
architecture gives that same impression for much the same
reason, but is not as mathematically regular as Seljuk
buildings.
In addition to fecundity and economy, works may have a
property which in a logical system or a mathematical proof
one would call e legance. While this is not a common
aesthetic term in that critics are not found using it in the
literature, it is common in mathematics and physics. A
mathematical proof is said to be elegant if the
interconnections between the steps are particularly tight.
If there is precision and tightness of reasoning in the
steps of a proof, the proof is described as elegant, surely
an aesthetic judgment.
Insofar as one might talk about responses to what has
been identified as the structural level of human products,
it seems that one responds to a really elegant,
extraordinary mathematical proof or scientific argument,
particularly in physics, in just the same way one does to a
Beethoven sonata. Evidently those who understand
mathematical and physical theories to a high degree
experience much the same kind of pleasure and excitement as
that experienced when the arts are dealt with. However,
science or mathematics involve none of the material
qualities discussed earlier. That is, while they differ
concerning material relationships, on the structural level

-219-
both art and mathematics display economy, fecundity, and
elegance. In contrast, subtlety, richness, and complexity
are not terms which could be applied to mathematical
arguments which by contrast lack material or medium and are
pure intellect.
Of all the properties elegance is the most difficult to
define as it applies to works of art; however, it is fairly
easy to recognize. Elegance results when a sudden
unexpected turn occurs in a work in such a way that
relationships which were seemingly discrete are suddenly
connected in a brilliant fashion. One suddenly realizes the
extraordinary appropriateness of what has happened, and the
realization of appropriateness constitutes part of the
elegance of a work. That is, the work has a degree of
fecundity and economy that one did not at first discern; the
connections are much tighter and much closer than one at
first realized. Another characteristic factor is that some
things demonstrate extraordinary simplicity over and above
mere economy. Not only are the items few, but they are very
direct and very discrete, in the sense of being separated,
and then they are brought together in a kind of intellectual
tour de force.
One sees the significance of economy, elegance, and
fecundity when a musical composition like Beethoven's Opus
111, Sonata 32 in C Minor, is compared with a work like
Strauss' Don Juan or Balakirev's I siamey. The latter works
have a surface complexity, while Beethoven's Sonata by

-220-
contrast is simple. The first movement consists of a myriad
of swirling notes, but by the time the variation series is
finished one sees the true operation of fecundity, economy,
and especially elegance in its logical order.
At this point a level of organization is being dealt
with which seems to exclude certain kinds of activities.
One can imagine, for example, that a fine Persian carpet is
subtle and complex, and while one might have some doubts
perhaps that the design was rich it would be plausible. On
the other hand, it is very difficult to imagine that a
Persian carpet is economical. In fact, one really does not
know what one could mean by saying that it is economical, or
that a Meissen figurine is elegant (Figure 20) in the way
that a piece of Sung pottery (Figures 21-22) is elegant.
While the daintiness of Meissen Figures show them to be
exquisite examples of craftsmanship, they do not possess the
higher order simplicity that characterizes elegance in the
mathematical sense in which the term is used here.
This organizational level can be seen as that which
constitutes the distinction between fine arts and mere
crafts, the degree of tightness of organization which fine
arts entail. Crafts appear not to possess the same type of
logical structure as fine arts. For example, one can see
that a Michelangelo sculpture might have elegance,
fecundity, and economy, but in keeping with our definition,
one could hardly imagine that the figurines made by the
masters of porcelain have these characteristics. The

-221-
Figure 20. Meissen figure. Seated Lady with Monkey.
German, Nymphenburg. c. 1900. The Philadelphia
Museum of Art.

-222-
Figure 21.
Oviform vase:
Sung Dynasty. British Museum.

Figure 22.
Porcelain bowl: Sung Dynasty. Victoria and
Albert Museum, London.

-224-
distinction between fine porcelain figurines and
Michelangelo's sculptures is one of organization. The
latter possess a logically coherent organization
exemplifying the virtues of fecundity, elegance, and economy
while the former do not.
Similarly, we might imagine watercolors to be rich and
subtle but we would have difficulty imagining that they also
have fecundity, elegance, or economy. Yet these qualities
are precisely what impresses us about the works of great
painters like Raphael or Rembrandt. Those artists whom we
regard as secondary are artists whose work is seen as merely
subtle, merely complex, or merely rich, but lacking logical
form or coherence. In other words, when we judge something
to be coherent, what is referred to is that particular
closeness of logical connection which is a product of
economy, fecundity, and elegance.
Totality of the Work
Finally we come to a work of art as a totality. On
this level the work becomes "symbolic." Saying that the
work becomes "symbolic" means that the material begins to
have a grammar and a logic of its own, which is identifiable
and stateable because the units begin to function in terms
of the overall composition, rather as words do, but without
references.
Value terms belonging to this level refer to the end
product of the work. They involve the total relationship of

-225-
the work and not individual relationships. In this sense
they are descriptive of the whole structure.
In identifying value terms which can describe a total
structure, one which surely must be included in harmony.
Harmony means that there is a symmetry between the various
thematic elements of the work; that is, tensions or
contrasts have been resolved. Works of art create interest
because of contrast and tension, but the resolution of
tension gives the impression of the harmony of the work,
i.e., that the work is integrated.
Secondly, the structure of a work of art must exhibit
unity. The unity of a work means that it is finished and
complete as an entity. Unity is fundamentally the judgment
of the intelligibility of the total structure in the sense
that the work is not fragmented and there is a kind of
propinquity of connection between the parts. That is, there
is an integrity to the total structure which involves the
integratedness of the parts. This is the kind of connection
machines have; that is, the parts are integrated in such a
way that each part functions with regard to another as one
gear meshes with the next. In this way units are joined in
a sequence and are related as opposed to a mere collection
of unrelated parts, like disassembled clockworks in a bag.
There is another facet to organization on this level,
the aspect of who 1eness. A work of art is said to be whole
because, among other things, it has, as a product,
consistency, and this consistency is that which enables us

-226-
to not only link one part of the work to another, but
recognize an interrelatedness of aJ^jL parts, so that one part
of the work seems to require the other parts.
Wholeness involves the impression that the linking
together of the parts is sufficient in and of itself and
does not require anything exterior to the work of art for
its completion. Wholeness implies the absence of external
organization and a certain autonomy, a self law, a factor
which points to the difference between unity and wholeness.
Unity in a work of art means that there is not anything
missing, that there is a completeness of the work; however,
to judge that a work has nothing missing is not to judge it
whole. For example, machines are units, but they are not
wholes, because the kinds of connections between the parts
is not one which implies necessity.
The wholeness of a work of art gives the impression
that something organic in character is involved rather than
something mechanical. To say that art works are organic is
to suggest they seem to have a sense of life or vitality
about them. In contrast, when it is said that a work is
mechanical or a performance is criticized by being described
as mechanical, what is meant is simply that it lacks that
organic quality. To say that a work lacks organic quality
means that the execution of the work is such that it impairs
the kinds of close connection of all parts to each other
which we call "wholeness." In other words, perceiving that
a work is mechanical is perceiving that while it was

-227-
unified, it lacked wholeness. Simply put, the notion of a
work of art as organic is the perception that beyond the
connection between units, each part of the work of art
entails every other part in a way in which we would
elsewhere characterize as inevitable. The characteristic of
wholeness gives the impression of predictability in the
work. Thus, the impression that works of art are organic is
due to the fact that we conceive of them as whole and not
merely as units, and the difference between a whole and a
unit is a kind of inevitable, predictable internal mutuality
of relationship which wholeness requires but which unity
does not.
While the value terms can be demonstrated, the
"goodness" of a work of art is not to be found "in" the
work, as some absolute property such as "redness" might be.
While a work may have subtlety which can be seen; or economy
which can be shown, as well as possessing other of the
qualities described above, it is the conjunction of those
properties which equals some degree of goodness. Thus the
subtlety is not the goodness of the work nor the economy or
the complexity or any other of the properties, rather it is
their conjunction and the degree to which they are present
that matters. It is also important to emhasize that these
are relative properties which can be possessed by degrees,
those degrees are measurable and higher degrees are by
definition better. For example, a work might possess all
the qualities at one level, such as vividness, clarity, and

-228-
preciseness, and still not be a work of great value,
although such works do have immediate appeal.
These levels of appreciation and their appropriate
value terms may be utilized to differentiate between works
of art and other things such as crafts or natural objects.
One can imagine that natural objects and certain primitive
art forms are to be found at the material level. Crafts
characteristically exhibit a combination of the virtues of
both material and thematic levels, but do not exhibit the
principles of organization. Fine works of art typically
demonstrate the three levels of material, thematic, and
organizational principles. Works which are judged to be
great in the profound sense of the term, structurally must
possess all four levels.
What this means is that those qualities which are
present in great works of art are present to a lesser degree
in a great many other objects. For the special purpose of
evaluating works of art, what one does is to draw a line so
that there is a reasonable domain. The line has been drawn
here to include two things: (a) structural characteristics
and (b) the object must be one of design or arrangement
rather than natural objects.7 Thus in determining the
aesthetic value of works of art, the aimwould be to
establish to what degree they contain the particular
characteristics discussed. At a certain point, where great
works of art are concerned these characteristics will be
present to a very high degree; whereas in the case of fine
works of art they will be less extensive.

-229-
Of course, determining exactly where objects belong is
not always easy, but the method by which such a distinction
may be made can be illustrated. It is clear that the making
of macrame is not art, and similarly most pottery making
does not partake of art. The one exception which is
commonly admitted is that of Chinese Sung pottery which many
people feel attains the level of fine art. These vases are
not containers for plants or flower arrangements and it is
thought that the design in these objects is one which
transcends the usual level of craft.
In terms of the aesthetic system outlined above, it is
possible to point out the differences between Chinese
pottery and crafts more clearly. Crafts quite obviously
exploit the material elements, often to brilliant effect.
The clearest and most obvious examples of craft exploitation
of the material elements is jewelry, and it could be argued
that fine works of jewelry do have complexity or subtlety or
richness. In other words, there is in the design of some
jewelry the qualities for which those kinds of terms might
be employed. On the other hand, the principles of
organization in jewelry do not attain that intellectual
level in structure which would make it reasonable to say
that some piece of jewelry had economy, fecundity, or
elegance in our sense of the terms. What has been said of
7
In Japanese aesthetics, this second criterion is
omitted.

-230-
jewelry can also be said of most pottery with the exception
of Sung pottery since this pottery does, in fact, exhibit
principles of organization that transcend those of crafts.
This assessment of Chinese pottery can be demonstrated with
examples. Photographs of Sung pottery (Figure 23) show
exquisite use of the materials. Even though Sung vases
involve vividness and clarity of color, it is the
combination of the subtlety of form and the reflection of
light that is particularly striking. The interplay of rich
vibrant color against simple form makes the work exceedingly
subtle, and in certain respects rich, though not necessarily
complex in the usual sense.8 This leads to the notion that
these works are truly elegant and economical but not fecund.
On the level of totality of structure they do appear to have
harmony, but unity and wholeness seem to be alien to them.
In short, the perfect simplicity of color and form is
overwhelming, and most apparent in Chinese Sung pottery is a
combination of elegance, richness, and subtlety.
The implication of this theory is that the
differentiation between levels of works of art is based upon
the kind of qualities which they possess. These
characteristics are hierarchical in that some are primary
and others secondary. Some are more important and others
O
"Complexity" is generally used in referring to
ornamental or decorative design. In the case of Sung
pottery one has the impression of subtlety and richness and
this is due to the complex connections, but these
complexities involve such minute things that they are
difficult to specify—the slight irregularities of the
shape, the cracking and the depth of the glaze, etc.

-231-
Figure 23. Porcelain vase with fluted body: Sung Dynasty.
British Museum.

-232-
relatively less important. For example, one can imagine a
work of art that has economy without the work's having
totality in the sense of wholeness or harmony; however, one
could not have a work of art with harmony, wholeness, or
unity without the other characteristics being present as
well. It is on this basis that we judge natural objects or
crafts to be less valuable aesthetically than some other
work which possesses more virtues on the level of totality
of structure, e.g., a Michelangelo sculpture.
It is not suggested here that this is an exhaustive
list of value terms, but it is an illustrative one. One can
take virtually any other value term which might be suggested
and show that in some way it connects as an expression of an
interconnection between various value levels, or is
redundant of a term already in the system. An example of
redundance is the notion that a work of art has a
"rightness" about it. "Rightness" is the perception of the
close logical connection which in terms of our system is
called "elegance." Another word that is frequently used
regarding a work of art is the term "control," and to say
that a work lacks "control" is adversely to criticize it.
"Control" might mean one of several things; for example, it
could mean that the artist understood the necessity of
vividness, clarity, and precision of the material or it
could mean that he or she mastered the logical organization
necessary to realize the economy and elegance of the work of
art.

-233-
We can show, too, that other terms suggest possible
interconnections between the levels, and such a word is
"spontaneous" which is used to recommend performances as
well as works themselves. It is obvious that in saying a
performance is spontaneous we do not mean that it was
improvised, but rather that the artist has arranged the
elements of the work in such a way that repeated experience
of the work remains fresh (going back elsewhere, we called
this "inevitability," "infinite variety," or
"inexhaustabi1ity"). By the term "spontaneous" we see a
connection between the richness of the work, the fecundity
of its organization, and the wholeness of its composition.
It is clear that there are closer and more logical
connections between the terms than the terms which we have
selected. Because of the vertical relationships as well as
the horizontal ones, we are able to see connections which
need not be stated explicitly and thereby reduce the number
of entities that must be employed in doing aesthetics. Our
system has "economy" and conversely is "fecund" because one
can see these connections without the necessity of stating
the terms.
Thus, it is evident that the terms on each of these
levels are not only related laterally, but are connected
with the terms of other levels in a distinctive way, and so
we read the value chart both horizontally as well as
vertically (Table 2). Thus there is horizontal integration
to the structure of this system as well as vertical
integration. For example, "subtlety" occupies precisely

-234-
that place among thematic elements as does "elegance" in
organization and which "harmony" occupies pertaining to the
whole. Subtlety, elegance, and harmony deal with the
juxtaposition or the connection elements as they are
perceived. The relationship among these terms has to do
with the detail of connection between elements. That is,
the work contains a whole series of related elements which
are the details; they are juxtaposed in such a way as to
create an impression of subtlety because one perceives that
they are harmoniously linked.
Table 2. Value chart.
Thematic Elements: Subtlety--Complexity--Richness
Organizational Principles: Elegance--Economy Fecundity
Totality of Structure: Harmony Unity Wholeness
In the vertical series "complexity," "economy," and
"unity," tightness of connection is the common feature.
Here one is dealing with reduction in the sense of applying
rational principles to complexity so that it becomes
economical, and those same rational techniques of analysis
which make a work simultaneously economical and complex also
make it unified. In the vertical pattern "richness,"
"fecundity," and "wholeness" the commonality rests on the
depth of connection. There are certain fundamental
principles which enable a work to be whole; those same

-235-
principles, or their equivalent, enable the work to be
fecund and that is what causes it to seem to be rich.
Certain things are evident in looking at the aesthetic
value system described in this chapter. The theory does not
characterize works of art at all; that is, the theory
neither implies nor requires that works of art make any
statements that may be denominated either true or false,
valuable or not valuable, profound or shallow. It does not
require that the work of art be in any particular medium;
one could not imagine that the theory could apply to poetry
but not to sculpture, for example. It enables us to see why
certain activities are probably not fine arts, or at least
the objects resulting from such activities are not
aesthetically significant. It enables us to see why certain
activities are probably not fine arts, or at least the
objects resulting from such activities are not aesthetically
significant. It gives us a method for distinguishing
between mere crafts and the so-called fine arts; that is,
there is a fundamental difference between the lack of
organizational characteristics in crafts and the
organizational characteristics which fine arts have. Also,
it points out that the thing which distinguishes great art
from merely fine art is the quality of total structure which
ordinary works of fine arts do not possess. The implication
of this, of course, is that many of the objects presented as
fine arts are not materially different from crafts. A case
in point is the Oldenburg sculpture in Chicago (Figure 24)
in the shape of a baseball bat. One would be hard pressed

-236-
Figure 24. Oldenburg,

-237-
to suggest that this object has economy, fecundity, or, most
especially, elegance of structure. Instead, it is a very
primitive pattern akin to simple-minded decorative art.
Additionally, applicability of the value terms to all
three areas of aesthetics may be seen. If one begins with
the thesis of the tripartite division of aesthetics into
creation, work of art and response, and to ensure
consistency and adequacy one takes as a metarule the rule of
symmetry that every statement that we make in aesthetics in
any one of the three areas will have some corollary in the
other two, then the value terms we have just outlined as
being applicable to works of art will also be characteristic
of creation and response as well. That is, if artists were
judging the process of encoding which originally led to the
work of art, they would judge it to be significant insofar
as it had precisely those characteristics. Persons decoding
the work of art would judge their response to be more
valuable than other experiences because through it they come
to understand what experiences with those characteristics
are like. Thus, there is a parallel series of values among
the three areas of aesthetic investigation, exhibiting an
additional symmetry which is built into the system.
Certainly it is not likely that a person speaking in
terms of either creation or response will use "fecundity,"
"elegance," or "economy," but that is a function of
customary modes of expression. It could be that one of the
reasons people find certain experiences more valuable than
others is that these experiences have the characteristic of

-238-
"elegance." To put this in different language, the
connections between things are much more sharply seen when
the characteristic of elegance is present than they are at
other times, and this sharpness of expression is considered
valuable in and of itself.
The next task is an obvious and straightforward one. A
workable set of value terms has been devised and we have an
idea of the way in which works of art are created as well as
what is entailed in response to a work of art. The task now
is to evaluate works of art. We should, at this point, be
able to determine without serious difficulty whether a work
is or is not great, and to what degree greatness is
involved. Here a purely practical problem is introduced as
opposed to a conceptual one: "How does one go about
analyzing and evaluating works of art"? It is to the
specific application of the theory outlined in Part I that
we turn to now in Part II.

Totality
of the Structural Thematic Elements and
work Forms Development Primary Elements
MUSIC
POETKY
PAINTING
VALUE TERMS
(color)
pitch
voice pitch
hue
». amplitude streee/uaetreee ,value
i-M timbre phoneme intensity, saturation
— -mé duration duration (length/shortness) (space)
vividness, preciseness,
clarity
contour, line
configuration, shape
(image)
(gesture)
(a) stress
(a) variations
of
value (light A dark)
(b) length
(b) variations
of
contour and shape
^.melody patterns of intonations hue variation and contrasts
and pitch
-*• orchestration patterns of phonemes.... saturation, intensity, harmonies
subtlety, complexity,
richness
(image sequence)
(expressive configuration of gesture)
themes created by themes created by
rhythmic contrasts structure of poetry
plus melodic contrasts against the structure of
the language
themes created by variation
of the two types of rhythm
primarily but occasionally
by color harmonies
interrelationship of
interrelationship of
Interrelationship of
elegance, economy.
themes (themes
themes (themes
themes (themes
fecundity
relating to themes)
relating to themes)
relating to themes)
totality of the
totality of the
totality of the
harmony, unity,
composition
poem
painting
wholeness
-239-


CHAPTER V
ANALYZING AND EVALUATING SPECIFIC WORKS OF ART
In Part I it was said that the creation of a work of
art involves encoding, while an aesthetic response to the
work involves decoding. Decoding, however, presents some
difficulties. First, how can one be sure that the decoding
is successful? The word "successful" here does not mean
"correct," and the question becomes one of how "adequate"
and "comprehensive" is the decoding when compared to others?
For example, does one theory leave unaccounted for portions
of the work which another explains? In testing one's
method, it simplifies matters to have a technical vocabulary
which eliminates the ambiguity of terms and enables one to
explain the connections in a work, and the development of
such a vocabulary was a major concern of Part I.
A second impediment stems from the fact that no one
lives in a vacuum and each of us apprehends works in terms
of our own experience and, sometimes worse, in terms of our
educational background. It should be kept in mind that what
one thinks about art is usually less a product of experience
than what one has been taught to think. This introduces
what we shall call various false expectations about works of
art and these fall into distinctive patterns. In technical
terms we can call them the "skewing" factors which, if we
-241-

-242-
depend on things other than the work of art itself as a
basis for our judgments, are distinctively characterizable
and predictable. In I.A. Richards' Practical Criticism the
author gives a list of such flaws demonstrating the profound
importance of what one has been taught in terms of response.
Thus, looking at a painting which we know to be a Rembrandt
is different from the experience of viewing a painting which
we believe not to be a Rembrandt, because most of our
responses to works of art are not based on decoding at all.
We must constantly guard against this error as we turn now,
in Part II, to analyzing and evaluating specific works of
music, poetry, and painting. In each case works have been
chosen which the author thinks are outstanding in their area
since it would not be illustrative of the hierarchical value
structure outlined here to do otherwise.
Music; Sonata 32 in C Minor, Opus 111 by Beethoven
David Ewen in The Complete Book of Classical Music
describes Beethoven's final sonatas, which include his Opus
111, in the following way:
In his last five sonatas (Numbers twenty-eight
through thirty-two) Beethoven strikes a new
course for piano music. Here (as in this last
string quartets) we encounter spiritual con¬
cepts and mysticism, probings into regions never
before ventured into by music. Here, too,
structure must give way and crumble before the
hurricane of Beethoven's tempestuous moods.
â– 'â– David Ewen, The Complete Book of Classical Music,
Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey; Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1965,
p. 328.

-243-
In a more specific reference to the Sonata 32 in C Minor,
which is the focus of interest here, Ewen writes:
. . . in the last sonata movement he was
destined to write for the piano, Beethoven
finds true serenity. This second (and con¬
cluding) movement is an Arietta with varia¬
tions. These variations, says Romain Rolland,
"lap around it (the melody) tenderly, like
waves caressing the sands on a beautiful calm
day." The first variation gently stirs the
rhythm of the theme. The second doubles the
movement, and the third redoubles, and yet
the peaceful calm is not disturbed. Into the
coda steals one of those beautiful pensive
movements in the minor key. This emerges
into the return of the theme, scintillating
with heavenly radiance. Thus Beethoven closes
his sonatas in a heavenly peace.2
The analysis and evaluation of the Arietta which is the
subject of this section will involve an examination of the
theme and its variations and will attempt to determine if,
as Ewen suggests, Beethoven's structure crumbles before his
moods or whether upon analysis a structure emerges which is
so carefully constructed as to make message laden language
such as "spiritual concepts and mysticism" or "scintillating
with heavenly radiance" of very little value in dealing with
the work.
In the musical form of theme and variations, the theme
is usually written in what is referred to as "binary form,"
a type of construction traceable to the Baroque period. As
the name suggests, this form consists of two sections, each
of which is usually repeated. The theme of Beethoven's
Arietta is put together in just this way; there is an "a"
• f
2Ibid
p. 330.

-244-
section and a "b" section, each containing eight measures
and these sections are repeated to total the thirty-two
measures which make up the theme.
The form of the overall construction of the Arietta
follows in this thirty-two measure pattern, each variation
sharing this pattern with the theme. Usually in variations
on a theme, both the rhythm and the melody undergo changes
differentiating them from the theme and from the other
variations. Therefore, as the variations are analyzed they
will be broken down into what is being varied from the point
of view of rhythm as well as melody. From this we can
determine not only how each variation compares with the
original theme but also its connection to other variations.
Since the five variations are a remolding and reshaping of
the theme, the analysis of the Arietta will begin with an
examination of the thirty-two measures of the theme in some
detail.
Theme
Rhythm. The theme begins with 9/16 meter (9 16th notes
to the measure). It is common to think of 9/16 time as 3
beats to the measure, with a division of each beat into 3
equal parts. In music this is called "compound meter
signature" as opposed to "simple meter signature" where
there are two parts to each beat.
Simple meter signature. Undotted notes indicate the
beat is divided into two parts.

-245-
J _l J 1
cr cr cr
Figure 26. Simple meter signature.
Compound meter signature. Dotted notes show the
division of the beat into three parts.
J.
J. J.
ÍXT
cur let
Figure 27. Compound meter signature.
Beyond the division of compound meter signature it is
also possible to subdivide the beat, and Beethoven
embellishes the Arietta in just this way. That is, in the
theme, he uses 16th notes in dividing the beat and 32 notes
in the subdivision. Characteristic of the variations is the
breakdown of the beat into divisions and then into
subdivisions.
beat (theme)
division of the beat
(Variation I)
subdivision of the
beat (Variations
IV and V)
Figure 28. Subdivisions of the beat.
1 _ _h i
J—J ] J "d J~ J J
JBJB JB JBJBJB JiriJB-fB

-246-
Figure 29. Arietta theme.
Melody
1-8 "a” section. In typical binary form the "a"
section should begin in tonic (the first chord) and
modulate, or change key, to dominant (the fifth chord) just
before the termination of the first part. The "b" section
would begin in a dominant key and modulate back to the tonic
key (T D: l( D T: || ). Beethoven departs from this familiar
pattern. He begins this "a" section in the key of C and
instead of going to the dominant (which in this case would

-247-
be G) he goes to the relative minor, A. Thus, the unusual
feature here is that in repeating the "a" section and taking
the second ending, he modulates to the key of A minor since
for typical binary form in the second ending he should be in
the key of G.
Of particular interest is the introduction of a motive,
here occurring as a CG interval (see circled notes in Figure
30 below). This motive will be referred to hereafter as the
"skip" motive because of the 4th interval between C down to
G and the repetition of G. This nomenclature needs some
explanation. In music the lines and the spaces are called
"degrees." From one space to the next line, or from any one
line to the next space, is called a step. Any time more
than a degree is passed over, the progression is referred to
as a skip. In the case of this motive there is an interval
of four degrees, thus creating a "skip."
Arietta.
Adagio multo somp
Figure 30. Skip motive.
9-16 "b" section. A second significant motive is
introduced, this time in the "b" section of the theme (see
brackets in Figure 31 below). This will be called the

-248-
"step" motive since its identifying characteristic is the
step down and a repetition of the same note.
Figure 31. "Step" motive.
In the beginning of the "b" section Beethoven goes to,
or at least alludes to, the key of A minor, a key closely
related to C. In the middle of the second phrase, he brings
the listener back to the original tonic of C (measure 5 of
the example in Figure 32), locking in and establishing very
soundly the key of C. At the end of the repeat he ends
again with C. This completes the theme and the first
variation begins.
Figure 32. Completion of theme and beginning of
Variation I.
It should be
in the theme, the
noted that both of the motives introduced
"skip" and the "step" are related in that

-249-
they are both characterized by a repetition. The difference
between them being that in the first case there is skipping
and then a repeat, while in the second there is just a step
down and a repeat; nevertheless, both motives are in a sense
joined through the idea of repetition.
Variation I: 18-32
Rhythm. This first variation is still in 9/16 time,
but while the meter and the beat are the same, Beethoven
begins, in part of the accompaniment, to break down the
beat. One still hears the three beats, as were heard in
the theme, but in the variations the division of the beat
appears three parts to one beat. The tendency of breaking
down the beat was foreshadowed in the theme; for example, on
beat three in measures four, six, and seven of the "a"
section of the theme where two notes indicate that division
of the beat into three parts. This tendency is constant
throughout the remainder of the movement; that is, with each
succeeding variation the measures will become busier and
busier due to the breaking down of the time into the
underlying division and subdivision. Another characteristic
of this variation is tied notes in the accompaniment.
Figure 33. Tied notes in Variation I.

-250-
Me 1 ody. In dealing with the "a" section of the theme,
reference was made to the "skipping" characteristic of the
motive introduced in that section. In this particular
variation Beethoven uses the idea of skips more extensively
as can be seen in the bracketed sections of the first few
measures. The "skip" motive can be detected in the "pick
up"^ but it is not in the CG pattern as it was in the theme.
While rhythm is different from that of the theme, and
notes occur at a different place in the beat because of the
change of rhythm, many of the notes of the theme still occur
in the measure (see circled notes). In fact, the pitches in
this first variation match almost measure for measure with
those of the theme, although in this case they have been
displaced. Typical of variation form, as the variations
develop, the measures become so embellished that it becomes
increasingly difficult to find these original notes either
visually or auditorily.
Most noteworthy is the fact that despite the change in
rhythm and rearrangement of the notes of the melody, two
constant elements remain. They are found in the fifth and
seventh measures. That is, there are two patterns found
here that are identical to those of the theme. In the fifth
measure there appears a pattern of notes, CEG, which matches
the fifth measure of the "a" section of the theme, and in
A pick up is an incomplete measure and is not used in
counting measures, since one counts from the first measure
which has the complete time.

-251-
the seventh measure, BCD, a pattern which also occupies the
same spot as in the theme (Figure 34).
Variation I
fifth measure
seventh measure
Theme
fifth measure
m
9 â– 
seventh measure
-» Si »:* * *
si:* i
Figure 34. Fifth and seventh measures in Variation I
and the theme.
In the second section of the first variation, although
not in the same place as in the theme, there is a recurrence
of the "step" motive which was introduced in the second part
of the theme. Although the same notes do not appear, this
pattern does have the same melodic feature of being down a
step and a repetition of the same note (Figure 35).

-252-
Figure 35. Second section of Variation I.
Because the motive does not occur on the same pitches
here, it is said to have been "transposed," and an
additional device has been added in the form of a
"sequence." This means that after stating the motive in its
transposed state Beethoven uses the last note to overlap
another motive and then repeats this procedure to form a
sequence. Then the composer inverts the motive so that
instead of stepping down, the direction is a step up and a
repetition. Following the inversion he develops the idea of
repetition even further by repeating other notes continuing
through the next measure.
Variation II: 33-48
Rhythm. In comparing this variation rhythmically to
the preceding one, it is apparent that the time signature
has changed to 6/16. Whereas in Variation I the main idea
in the accompaniment was a breakdown of three beats to its
underlying three component parts, here, each of the original
components is divided in half alluding to simple meter, or

-253-
the beat into two. This idea occurs first alone in the left
hand, then in the right hand and sometimes together.
Figure 36. Rhythm comparison: Variations I and II.
Melody. In the first, or "a" section, the melody
begins with the same "skip" motive of the CG interval (see
above); however, here it occurs in the bass. Again, the
fifth measure with its CEG pattern and the seventh measure
with its BCD pattern can be matched with those of the theme
(F igure 37 ) .
fifth measure seventh measure
Figure 37. Fifth and seventh measures in Variation II.

-254-
In the second part of this Variation II we find the
"step" motive that occurred initially in the "b" section of
the theme. Again, as in Variation I, there is an inversion
of the motive with a sequence following it. First the
motive is announced followed by a sequence in which the
composer repeats the motive several times in lower steps; he
then repeats the last two notes ascending the staff. Here,
there is a connection to the theme in the step and
repetition, and a link to Variation I in the idea of
transposing notes in sequence and then ascending the staff
in the other direction (Figure 38).
% _ â– 
*â– 
i
:: .«**!* il ¡
¡Oil *11*»**
==z I #
-0
0* * * -
.
—r r ~
p
P
-sa —a =3==2-
=== __
.>• • •' *****
—' Ü3-5 ♦ vjjy *
• • • •:# #
»
* -
*** * *SA %
• 1
Figure 38. Second part of Variation II.
Variation III: 49-64
Rhythm. Although the time signature changes to 12/32
the division of the beat remains the same. There is a
feeling of exhilaration, the piece has become stronger and
more intensified due to smaller rhythm values. There is,
however, a link to Variation II in that both have notes that
are tied (Figure 39).

-255-
Figure 39. Variation III.
Melody. This variation is formed around a new idea,
that of arpeggiation. By arpeggiation is meant a broken
chord. In this instance the composer takes a C chord (CEG)
and instead of playing it simultaneously, he breaks up the
notes, playing each tone one at a time melodically. This
arpeggiated melody begins in the right hand, passes to the
left and then returns to the right hand, forming a dialogue
between the hands. The arpeggiation continues for almost
the entire variation and this innovation sets Variation III
apart from the others in a melodic way. This device also
serves to link this variation with the theme since the idea
of a skip is being employed. Another reflection of the
theme is the CG interval with which this variation begins,
and there are similarities with the first measure of the
theme in terms of pitch. Also, tying the "a" section of the
variation to the first section of the theme are their fifth
measures, patterns of CEG notes, and seventh measures with
BCD notes (Figure 40).

-256-
fifth measure
ia
seventh measure
Figure 40.
Fifth and seventh measures
in Variation III.
In the beginning of the second part of
the "step" motive, but so concealed that it
discover (Figure 41).
Variation III is
is difficult to
Figure 41
"Step" motive in Variation III

-257-
Variation IV: 65-95
The form of this variation is somewhat different in
that the eight bar repeat pattern we saw before does not
appear; instead, the composer writes out the complete
thirty-two measures.
Rhythm. This variation returns to the original time
signature of the theme, 9/16. It will be remembered that
Variation I continues the time of the theme, but the time is
altered in both Variations II and III. Beethoven returns to
the time with which he began. There are not only the three
beats in three parts, but the parts, or divisions, in turn
are subdivided into triplets. So, rhythmically this
variation is much more complex (Figure 42).
Melody. Variation IV is embellished to the point that
the original theme is almost imperceptible; however, close
scrutiny reveals some measures which match those of the
theme. The variation begins with the C to G skip motive,
and the second measure of the "a" part melódica lly employs
some G notes. This is also the case with the "a" section of
the theme. Further, the third measure here has G to E and
this matches the third measure of the first strain of the
theme. In the fifth measure of this "a" section the CEG
pattern recurs and in the seventh measure of this section
the BCD pattern is also apparent. However, in this
variation, Beethoven does not simply repeat the "a" section
as has been his practice before; instead, he writes out the

-258-
Figure 42
Rhythmic complexity in Variation IV

-259-
measures and includes still another way of presenting these
CEG and BCD patterns in the fifth and seventh (Figure 43).
fifth measure
Wc ffi FBFS FrS.SS j=3
seventh measure
«= = m tf=.-Er= °= a =.
Figure 43. Fifth and seventh measures in Variation IV.
In the second measure of the "b" section of the "step"
motive can be found. In this instance the step appears in
the CBB pattern as on previous occasions. But one should
remember that this is not invariable, since the composer
transposes the "step" in Variation I (Figure 44). There is
another link to the theme in the second measure of the "b"
portion and that is the pattern B to E, which reflects the
second measure of the "b" section of the theme (Figure 45).

-260-
í ; '=J : S
JV
ffl ffl P = !=¿
j* :« :« \m |# :*:»;•» • # • *
Figure 44. Step motive in Variation IV.
Figure 45. B to E pattern.
While it is possible to detect traces of the theme
there is a great deal of embellishment and in Variation IV
this tendency becomes more and more pronounced. In the
original statement every note was integral, but as the
movement develops into the variations one finds one, two, or
sometimes three notes between the notes of the theme.
Perhaps only one note of the theme occurs in a measure, the
rest all being embellishment.
Variation IV has a Coda followed by an Interlude into a
change of key. Beginning in the Coda's measures 103, 104,
and 105, an arpeggiation begins which links this section to

-261-
Variation III in which the arpeggiation appears in every
measure (Figure 46).
Figure 46. Arpeggiation.
In the Interlude between Variation IV and V both the
"skip" and the "step" motives appear (Figure 47).
Additionally, previous pitch patterns occur but in a
less structured way than before. This should not be
surprising since this section is an interlude, almost like a
transition or a development; therefore, it will not follow
previous patterns. For example, remembering that we have
moved out of the key of C and into a different key, E flat,
in the fourth measure a pattern is found that is equivalent
to the CEG pattern in the key of C. The pattern E flat, GB

-262-
flat is the same relationship but expressed in different
notes since a different key is used. The composer then
changes back to the original key, so by the time the BCD
pattern in the seventh measure is reached, he is back in the
original key.
Figure 47. Interlude between Variation IV and V.
Variation V; 130/131
Rhythm. The time signature continues to be 9/16, the
time with which the original theme opens. Also, Beethoven

-263-
is continuing the same kind of style in the left hand here
in that he uses the same kind of triplet subdivision that
was used in Variation IV (Figure 48).
Here Beethoven does not provide an extra eight measures
in the "a" section but goes directly to the "b" part. The
form of Variation V is eight without repeats instead of
eight with repeats.
Melody. This final variation begins with the "skip"
motive, the CG interval, which first appeared in the "a"
section of the theme and which has become so familiar
throughout the variations. The theme is very much intact
here but this has not been the case since the original
statement of the theme. Al 1 the notes of the melody occur
in their correct places without other notes being
interposed. However, even though Variation V is like the
theme melodically, there is an important difference. While
the melody is being played with the right hand, there is
very heavy embellishment with the left. The middle voice
and the bass are much busier because of the division and the
subdivision of the beat. The result is that this variation
is extremely ornamental, to the degree that it surpasses all
the other variations in this respect. That this is the most
elaborate variation is not in itself surprising or
unexpected. Usually the final variation of a work is the
most highly developed since it is the concluding portion.
Again, in the fifth measure we find the CEG pattern and
in the seventh, the BCD pattern reappears (see circled notes

-264-
*i However Inadmissible II I* lo five this Variation a triumphant, brill Uni chanelar - either by lorlrrü
me the novrmrnl or by an Impassioned renderlnR _ II la absolutely essential lo «xecute the tbemalu m. I
mly with n sonorous, mellow loarh The Inner pari next below should also be played very r*prr«s„e|¥ar..l
t * jt 0 I « Oaty the bass ran provide for rhythmic animation by I he mode of execution oolired In Not.
bl on p «7» Hul Should the Inner pari participate In this latter, the broad phrasing
would be rndanirered h)~s dismemberment foreign to its nature.
ns»
Figure 48
Variation V

-265-
in Figure 48). Also, at the end
beginning of the "b" section the
o f the
"step"
"a" section and the
motive is visible.
Figure 49. "Step" motive in Variation V.
The Epilogue begins at measure 147 and continues to
161, followed by the final statement of the theme which runs
from 161-169. In this last presentation of the theme the
original melody recurs, but here it is placed underneath or
over the trills which continue all the way to the end.
Within this section are contained both the CEG and BCD
patterns.
• * 1
a) For ihr
• hr rilnii
b«4l _ trhii
rd h«mU »
Thr |j||,r
tr*j>« To
,k,‘ ,n" -*r »■> air.fi,... ..... o,, na, ioa
. .f ..loaic ib. <0,1 p.„... f„, o,, a.r.o.. „f ,t, „ („rll . ' „
b Ml..,, tb. ..bin»,) ,b. ....Of, .1 ,b, ,„p,.,. .,,b‘
" “ “ “ ,ta teM *"» bo, polyrhyth
Ml b. bbl, I. .O.I..I lb........ .Mb ...pi. ..lb 3 ,
'* -!.•<. ,b. lk. ,.„ b..a p,„. r..«rb. Sol. a, „„ p „,y ,,,,, „ ,
Figure 50
CEG pattern in Epilogue

-266-
Figure 51. BCD pattern in Epilogue.
In measure 172 there are runs as there were in what
would have been the repeats of Variation IV so at this point
there is an allusion to that variation.
Figure 52. Measure 172.
In the Epilogue Beethoven has begun to compress from
thirty-two measures to sixteen, and when he arrives at the
ending of the piece he compresses even more. In the last
three measures he repeats both of the original motives, the
"skip" and the "step" (see brackets in Figure 53). With
this summation the work comes full circle, back to the "a"
and "b" sections of the original theme compressed to the
final measures of the piece.

-267-
Figure 53. Last three measures of Epilogue.
In applying value terms to the Arietta, we see that
Beethoven establishes very quickly a small vocabulary of
fundamentally related patterns which are then combined in
different ways to form the theme. The manner in which these
elements are structured into the theme and then expanded to
form the rest of the piece is now the focus of interest.
One example of the complexity of the theme is the CEG
pattern, a melody which is an arpeggiation of the C harmony.
Subtlety is demonstrated in the way the "skip" and "step"
motives are related through the use of repetition, although
they are two different melodic elements. Also subtle is the
breakdown of the rhythm which is barely alluded to in the
theme. What one finds in this first portion of the Arietta
are numerous elements which will be used over and over
again. This potential for development makes the theme rich.
The organizing principles by which the theme is related
to its variations also can be evaluated. The theme and its
variations are economically related by the few primary

-268-
assumptions that bring them together, such as the "skip" and
"step" motives, and the CEG and BCD patterns found first in
the theme and then in each of the variations. The nature of
this last connection has, in addition, a certain elegance in
that these patterns are consistently found in the fifth and
seventh measures throughout the variations. It is true that
in the Interlude between the Variations IV and V, the CEG
pattern is changed, because of the key change, but the
essential relationship remains unchanged. This last example
becomes an illustration of fecundity, giving the impression
of the myriad possibilities that can be produced from a few
primary terms. There are other examples of fecundity as
well, such as the inversions and sequences of the motive,
transposed motives, and the dividing of the rhythm into
divisions in Variation I and subdivisions in Variations IV
and V.
The piece can also be assessed as an entity. Harmony,
i.e., balance or symmetry, is displayed in the binary form,
the two parts of which are usually repeated. Unity is
achieved by the fact of linking each variation with its
immediate predecessor, although there is a variety of
linkages. For example, Variation II is related to Variation
I by the inversions of the "step" motive and the sequence,
Variation III is related to Variation II by notes that are
tied in the same manner. Variation IV is related to
Variation III by the arpeggiation of the Coda. Variation V
is related to Variation IV by runs. Finally, wholeness

-269-
results when all the parts are interrelated, and one is able
to predict the way in which the work will develop. Factors
contributing to the wholeness of the Arietta are (a)
constancy of the harmony throughout; (2) the reappearance of
the CEG and BCD patterns in the fifth and seventh measures
in the theme and its five variations; (3) the "skip" and
"step" motives remain evident in the theme, the five
variations and the epilogue and the ending; (4) the rhythm
moves from three original beats to division, then to
subdivision, with the embellishment becoming so elaborate
that the composer needs something to hold melody and rhythm
together. Therefore, in the fifth and seventh measures the
melody is played on the beat as was done in the original
theme. The melody is not kept on its original beat in other
measures, but it is maintained in these particular measures;
(5) all the variations are a reworking of the theme and in
the final measures he compresses the motives of the theme.
Poetry: Musee Des Beaux Arts by W.H. Auden
Before a poem can be analyzed it must be read,
preferably aloud, not with any attempt to decipher meaning,
but simply for the purpose of hearing the sounds themselves.
When reading, attention should be paid to the fact that the
function of a line in poetry is to serve as a key to what
the tempo should be. For example, upon examination of
Auden's poem, Musee Des Beaux Arts, certain things are
immediately apparent; for example, one line is exceedingly

-270-
short, "They never forgot," while others are exceedingly
long, as the line, "While someone else is eating or opening
a window or just walking / dully along." It is clear that
this long sentence has a beat where there are relatively few
accented syllables and an abundance of unaccented syllables.
On the other hand, the line "They never forgot" will be
heavily accented. Despite the difference, both lines will
be read at approximately the same tempo. In this respect,
lines in poems function as do bars in music.
For ease of reference we have numbered the lines in the
following text of Musee Des Beaux Arts:
1 About suffering they were never wrong,
2 The Old Masters; how well they understood
3 Its human position; how it takes place
4 While someone else is eating or opening a
window or just walking dully along;
5 How, when the aged are reverently, passionately
waiting
6 For the miraculous birth, there always must be
7 Children who did not specially want it to
happen, skating
8 On a pond at the edge of the wood:
9 They never forgot
10 That even the dreadful martyrdom must run
its course
11 Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
12 Where the dogs go on with their doggy life
and the torturer's horse
13 Scratches its innocent behind on a tree
14 In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how
everything turns away
15 Quite leisurely from the disaster; the
ploughman may
16 Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
17 But for him it was not an important failure;
the sun shone
18 As it had to on the white legs disappearing
into the green
19 Water; and the expensive delicate ship that
must have seen
20 Something amazing, a boy falling out of
the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly
on.
21

-271-
It was pointed out in the section on poetry, that
thematic development in poetry is comprised fundamentally of
a coordination of three elements: (a) rhythm patterns, (b)
sound patterns, and (c) image sequences. An understanding
of Musee Des Beaux Arts will involve an appreciation of the
ways these elements function in the poem.
Rhythmic themes in the Auden poem are especially
interesting. For example, the completion of some strophes
extends for one and a half lines so that expressions like
"The Old Masters," "Its human position," "the miraculous
birth," "They never forgot," and "Water" are set off in a
curious way. Because of the way Auden breaks the line these
images occur at an unusual position in the "melody" of the
line and thus become noteworthy. If one were speaking
musically, it could be said that the images cross "bars,"
and that a syncopation occurs as a result. Another
interesting use of meter is to be found at the end of line 7
with the surprising choice of the word "skating." It is
surprising because one would expect the line to end
with ". . . want it to happen." However, because "skating"
is at the end of the line, like an afterthought, it
possesses almost a kind of glimmer of light which
illuminates "their not wanting it to happen," and this is
accomplished metrically.
Throughout the poem, Auden uses meter in a musical way.
Sometimes a break in the middle of a line indicates a pause
similar to a rest in music. This occurs in line 2 after

-272-
"Old Masters" and also in line 3 after "human position." On
the other hand, in line 5 after "reverently, passionately
waiting" there is no rest indicated and similarly "skating"
in line 7 does not indicate a rest but rather implies, in
musical terms, an "accelerando." Lines 7 and 8 are to be
read very fast, "Children who did not specially want it to
happen, skating / On a pond at the edge of the wood." This
fast tempo is to prepare the reader for the very slow "They
never forgot" in line 9, and the continued slowness of line
10, "That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course."
In addition to these rhythmic devices there are also
phonetic patterns of significance. In lines 1-13 "o" sounds
are particularly common: "wrong," "old," "how," "someone,"
"opening," "window," "who," "not," "wood," "forgot,"
"martyrdom," "course," "corner,""some,""spot," "dogs,"
"go," "On," "doggy," "torturer's," "horse," and "innocent."
With "innocent" is introduced the "i" sound which becomes
dominant in the last section of the poem. It should be
noted that although there is an overlap of "o" and "i"
sounds, the sharp "Icarus" marks a dividing line separating
the poem into two sections as far as sound is concerned. In
charting the "i" sounds we see: "In," "Icarus," "instance,"
"thing," "it," "important." Then there is a move to the
diphthongs, "ai," and "ei" with "leisurely" and "failure,"
then back to the "i" sound in "it," "disappearing," "into,"
"delicate," and "ship." Finally in the last two lines of
the poem, 20 and 21, there is a remarkable reoccurrence of

-273-
the "o" sound, "Something amazing, a boy falling out of the
sky, / Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on." The
use of the phonemes here is like an orchestration in which
there is a certain pattern of orchestration for a long
period in a musical composition, then suddenly a sharp
change in the pattern of orchestration, then a recurrence of
the original pattern.
Although the "o" and "i" sounds are the dominant sounds
in the two parts of the poem there are other patterns as
well. For example, there is an abundance of "1," "f," "p,"
and "m" sounds in the first part. These sounds do occur in
the second part but by and large there is a larger number of
"s" sounds in the second part, "disaster," "splash,"
"forsaken," "sun," "shone," "ship," "something," and "sky."
Internal assonances are also used effectively to
underline or give emphasis to certain expressions. For
example, the combination of "sun shone / . . . on" in lines
17 and 18 is surely an important combination of sounds. Due
to the internal assonance, "As it had to" of line 18 stands
out. The same technique occurs in line 21, where the
internal assonance of "sailed calmly on" gives emphasis.
Similarly, in line 4, the "ing" assonance in "eating,"
"opening," and "walking" underlines their semantic
equivalence.
The question one must ultimately come to is "What is
this poem about?" In other words, "What is the image
sequence of the poem"? The image sequence of the poem will

-274-
be different than the message of the poem if one were to
prepare a prose paraphrase of the poem. The following
summary could be written to set forth what the Auden poem is
saying; that is, what might be construed as its "idea."
Auden theorizes that the attitude toward suf¬
fering which is incorporated into the works of
the Old Masters is correct, insofar as they
showed pain and suffering in an ordinary and
indifferent human condition. Auden agrees that
this is in fact the position of human suffering
in the world, and one can see this exemplified
in a particular fashion in Brugel's painting
where the suffering of Icarus as he plunges
into the water is ignored by the indifferent
ploughman, sun and ship's captain.
If one were to contend that the poem were an argument or
philosophical position the precise would serve as a summary
of it, but surely seen as a philosophical argument the poem
has no merit. It is not even especially interesting, and
like all poetry reduced to philosophy, it is naive, simple,
and crude. The idea that poems demonstrate profound
philosophies is plausible only if one does not know profound
philosophies, and whenever we try to reduce a poem to a
philosophy the poem is trivialized. While a poem might
identify a problem which is conceivably philosophical, the
poem itself is certainly not philosophically profound and
its value cannot lie there. For example, if two works on
the subject of suicide are compared, the "To be or not to
be" soliloquy in Hamlet and The Myth of Sisyphus by Camus,
both being presumably about suicide, one would assume that
one or the other of these writings is better with regard to
the way in which that particular problem is handled. Camus

-275-
takes the view that suicide is the basic philosophical
issue, a view which he proceeds to examine. His arguments
would have to be compared with how Hamlet's question, "When
he himself might his quietus make / with a bare bodkin? who
would fardels bear, . . enriches the philosophical
understanding of that issue. The answer is that it does
not. It is scarcely intelligible. This leads us to the
position that poetry is not based upon the analysis of
argument, the analysis of an idea, or for that matter, the
elaboration of an idea. It is not based upon argument and
counter argument the way philosophies are. In that respect,
it is quite different. Although poetry may express an
attitudinal framework, that attitude should not be construed
as a position.
When one deals with a poem one must deal with
explications of the images, but it is clear now that
explicating the images of a poem is not the same as saying
what its concept entails. Explicating the images deals with
the evocativeness of the images, and some images are more
obscure than others. For example, in the Auden poem, some
of the images are quite clear and the reader has no
difficulty picturing what is involved: "Children . . .
skating / On a pond at the edge of the wood," or ". . .
someone else . . . eating or opening a window or just
walking / dully along" or "Where the dogs go on with their
doggy life and the torturer's horse scratches its innocent
behind on a tree." These are common images in that they are

-276-
part of ordinary human experience and need no special
explication. However, while these images reflect usual
events they are in fact learned. They are learned in that
they are derived from particular paintings.^ This means
that the full explication of the poem would involve
recalling these paintings in which these instances occur,
but it is not necessary to know what the instances are in
order to grasp the image.
Later in the poem Auden writes, "Brueghel's Icarus for
example" and there he does cite a particular painting.
Although it is not necessary to know the painting itself one
must be familiar with the Icarus legend to know the
significance of the image. The poem is perfectly
intelligible without reference to the painting if one knows
the story of Icarus. Thus, the painting of Icarus stands in
relation to the poem in the same way "someone else is eating
or opening a window or just walking / dully along" or
"Children . . . skating / On a pond" are related to the
poem. Knowing them, one can grasp quite clearly the image
sequences of the poem without seeing that they are
referential.
After the reference to Icarus the other images
described are in that particular Brueghel painting. For
example, if one were to look at Brueghel's Icarus he would
^For example, "Children . . . skating / On a pond at
the edge of the wood" is from Brueghel's The Numbering of
the People at Bethlehem, while "the torturer's horse /
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree" is reminiscent of
his Massacre of the Innocents.

-277-
see the ploughman, the sun, the white legs disappearing into
the ocean, and the ship sailing calmly on. But seeing the
painting will not improve the poem because the poem is in
fact complete. Brueghel's Icarus is really mentioned not
just for the painting but also so that one can grasp the
Icarus legend which explicates the poet's attitude toward
suffering.
While it is true that one need not explicate the full
implications of the images in an intellectual way to
appreciate the poem, it is necessary to know the Icarus
legend. If one were unfamiliar with the mythology, lines
like "But for him it was not an important failure" would
make no sense. The Icarus legend, it is fair to say, is
part of the shared experience of Western culture. For this
reason we would not say the poem is obscure as one might say
of the last part of T.S. Eliot's Waste land or Ezra Pound's
Hugh Swelyn Mauberly, poems which even in their own day were
usually not understood.
Poets make use of a wide range of experiences, some
more intellectual in character than others, but this does
not mean that a poem is necessarily incomplete. It does
mean, however, that the more learned the images are the more
likely the reader must share the experiences of the people
of a particular culture. For example, Japanese poet Basho's
haiki, "Scent of chrysanthemums-- / And in Nara all the
many / Ancient Buddhas" requires a good deal of explication

-278-
for Westerners.^ The fact that much of poetry is to some
degree dependent on the shared experiences of a certain
culture makes it difficult to assess ancient poetry.
In applying the nine value terms which have been
previously delineated to Auden's poem one should keep in
mind that for the first level terms, i.e., subtlety,
complexity, and richness, a specific element will not belong
exclusively to any of these. Rather, it is the way in which
the elements work together that produces these values. In
order to demonstrate this first level of values, one wants
to show that the function of meter and the choice of sound
combinations enhances and enriches the image sequence.
Subtlety exists where the relationships to which the
work calls our attention are not the obvious ones. An
example might be the fact that "miraculous birth" and
"Children who did not specially want it to happen" are
images in the first part of the poem which can be compared
with two images in the second part, "Something amazing, a
boy falling out of the sky" and "Had somewhere to get to
^Although the translation does not capture the phonetic
effectiveness of the original poem, it does reflect a
certain attitude. As in most haikus, the poem involves the
juxtaposition of two images which, in direct terms, have no
connection. The ancient Buddhas of Nara refer to the
capital of Japan in the Heian period, which in Basho's day
would have been 900 years earlier. The image of these
ancient Buddhas with their paint gradually fading and
flaking from the wooden sculptures coupled with the other
image in the poem, the musky odor of chrysanthemums, bring
to mind a common connection in Japanese terms, that
connection is the term sabi. Sabi designates the peculiar
kind of beauty in the West referred to as "patina," that is,
an appreciation for the old and faded.

-279-
and sailed calmly on." The connections are these:
"Miraculous birth" and "Something amazing, a boy falling out
of the sky" are comparable in that both are images of an
extraordinary happening, while "Children who did not
specially want it to happen" and "Had somewhere to get to
and sailed calmly on" are images of indifference.
The distinction that is being made between the
characteristics of subtlety and complexity is that subtlety
is the quality of the interrelationships of the nuances
involved; whereas, in complexity the focus is upon intricacy
of relationships as, for example, in the technique mentioned
earlier where the concluding part of an image sequence is at
the first position in the next line such as "The Old
Masters," "Its human position," "They never forgot," and
"Water." Moreover, in the case of "They never forgot" it is
the climatic. There is a parallel case of this kind of
complexity in T.S. Eliot's Burnt Norton, "Words after music
reach / Into the silence." Poets regularly use this device
but in the Eliot and Auden poems it is used with particular
clarity, especially in Auden's use of "Water." On the other
hand, there are examples where this device is used
frivolously as in Hopkin's poem The Windhover, "I caught
this morning morning's minion, King / dom of. . . ."
The richness of Auden's poem is demonstrated by the
overlapping sounds and rhythms. The sound patterns overlap
the rhythm patterns which overlap the image patterns.
In considering the second group of terms, economy,
fecundity, and elegance, the first two are closely related

-280-
in that the poem will possess fecundity if economy is
present. The economy of the Auden poem consists in the fact
that this poem is basically triadic. There are three images
in the first part and three images in the second, and they
are parallel. This triadic arrangement forms the basic
economy. Specifically, there is a ploughman who heard a
splash, the sun shining, and the ship. Thus, in the second
part of the poem there are the three images of the ship, the
man, and the sun. These images have their corresponding
parts in the first section. The sun is like the dogs and
their untidy lives or the horse scratching its innocent
behind, both natural events that go on anyway. The
ploughman, for whom "it was not an important failure," is in
many respects as commonplace as someone eating, opening a
window, or just walking dully along. The ship and the
children are comparable in that just as the purposes of the
children conflict with the purposes of the aged, so too, the
purposes of the ship and the failure of that miraculous
thing do not relate to each other. So, even though amazing,
like the miraculous birth, Icarus' fall means nothing, it is
of no consequence. Thus a symmetry which is part of the
economy is revealed. That is, everything is reducible to
the symmetry which is not immediately evident, but which is
nevertheless part of the fundamental structure. Fecundity
consists in the development of the poem from that
fundamental symmetry.

-281-
We have suggested that of all the properties elegance
is perhaps most difficult to define but fairly easy to
recognize. This poem would not be characterized as one that
is particularly noteworthy for its elegance, but one might
say that some elegance is present in how strikingly
appropriate is the use of Brueghel's Icarus. Elegance is
exhibited in a work when there is a sudden unexpected turn
in the work which connects in a brilliant fashion
relationships which were seemingly discrete, and the most
striking example of elegance regardless of media, with which
I am familiar, will be demonstrated in the painting Six
Persimmons by Mu Ch'i where the stems are used so
effectively to balance the work.
The overall value relationships are harmony, unity, and
wholeness. If we say that harmony results when tensions are
resolved, we can demonstrate this in Musee Des Beaux Arts by
showing that Auden balances in an interesting way the images
that are created. For example, he creates a series of
images, "suffering," "wrong," "human position," " reverently
passionately, waiting," "miraculous birth," constitute one
sequence of images. Then there is another sequence,
"eating," "opening a window," "walking dully along," "did
not specially want it to happen," "skating," "corner,"
"untidy spot," "dogs," "doggy life," "torturer's horse,"
"innocent behind," "tree." These image sequences present
the interplay of serious, grave images against light trivial
ones. A test for unity involves the completeness of the

-282-
work and here unity is illustrated in the way in which the
images are continuously linked together. Unity in Musee Des
Beaux Arts is created in the way the same kind of
relationship that links two images from part one, "miraculous
birth," and "Children who did not specially want it to
happen," draws together two images from the second part,
"Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky," and "Had
somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on." In each section,
the coupling is of an extraordinary event image with an
image of indifference. This gives rise to the wholeness of
the poem insofar as the linkages are predictable. Whereas
unity involves the idea of consistency of approach or
consistency in the application of a principle, wholeness
involves the idea that the work of art has some sort of
intrinsic destiny or inevitability about it. That is,
wholeness results from the sense of predictability one has
that those threads will connect the parts of the poem as an
organic whole.
The point is that we can construct "the plain sense" of
the poem to use the words of I.A. Richards without ever
looking for ideas, messages, or ideologies at all. One sees
what the poem is without reference to "philosophical"
positions such as "the indifference of nature" or how the
Old Masters understood that suffering is not important to
others. Stated independently, such philosophical positions
are not interesting. If true they add nothing, and if
false, detract not a bit from the value of the poem.

-283-
As demonstrated above, it is the structure of the Auden
poem which introduces the poetry and in this respect the
poem is an exercise in craftsmanship which makes it an
interesting contrast to Dylan Thomas's Fern Hill. Musee Des
Arts with its ordinary language sounds almost like prose,
whereas Fern Hill could never be taken for anything but a
poem.
Thomas's work is filled with interesting, albeit
transparent, images; for example, "apple bought," "dingle
starry," "apple towns," "trees and leaves," "windfall
light," and "lamb white days." These are fanciful images,
not part of the language, which if spoken would have sounded
quaint even at the time the poem was written.
While there are multiple images such as these
throughout the poem, the multiple occurrences are not
themselves subtlely related. They are simple variations
with only a few word changes which is seemingly done for the
sake of variety. "Golden in the mercy of his means," just
as "dingle starry" changes to "simple stars" and "happy as
the grass was green" reoccurs as "And as I was green and
carefree" then as "And fire green as grass." Intricacy is
introduced to the poem but richness is lacking because there
is no further association. For example, "happy as the grass
was green" is not the meaning of "green and carefree."
This is in sharp contrast to the interconnections and
overlappings found in Musee Des Beaux Arts. "Children who
did not specially want it to happen" is very striking

-284-
because the subject is "miraculous birth," which in turn
explicates "human position" and the fact that "About
suffering they were never wrong,/The Old Masters."
Another noteworthy feature of Fern Hill is the degree
to which the poet depends upon the beauty of the sound and
the beauty of the meter for the effect of the poem, rather
as Auden does in In Memory of W.B. Yeats. The last line,
"Though I sang in my chains like the sea," is a particularly
striking example of dactyls used in such a way that the
meter echos the rhythms of the sea reinforcing the image.
There is a musical quality which runs through the
recurring images from "honored among wagons I was prince of
the apple towns" to "honored among foxes and pheasants by
the gay house," for example, or linking "Out of the
whinnying green stable" to "Before the children green and
golden," which keeps the meter flowing. It is the
sensuousness of the sounds and their recurrences which
enriches the poem and gives it a jewel-like vividness and
clarity; but while some degree of complexity is introduced,
the work is not concentrated, economical, or interrelated in
the way of Musee Des Beaux Arts.
Painting; Six Persimmons by Mu Ch1i
Six Persimmons is a famous Chinese painting done in the
13th century by the monk, Mu Ch'i. It is done in blue-black
India ink on paper and there is a very light colored wash in
one corner of the painting. Paintings of this type will be

-285-
destroyed if they are exposed to light over any length of
time, so as a result, Six Persimmons is shown once a year
only on a special occasion, and a viewer must be at the
temple in Kyoto where it is kept in order to see it.
Six Persimmons has been thought to be, by consensus of
Chinese and Japanese scholars, one of the very greatest of
Chinese paintings. However, this statement usually elicits
a certain humor from a Westerner because of the extreme
simplicity of the work. The Chinese say it is fine because
of the absolute concentration the painting exhibits, and the
Japanese say it is the absolute intensity of feeling in the
context of controlled expression that makes it so
remarkable. Though Westerners generally have trouble
agreeing with either view, the oriental interpretations make
sense if a person is partial to what is called the charm of
the Zen Buddhist philosophy because this painting is a
religious painting, though one would not normally think that
in looking at it.
In addition to not being burdened with the content a
Buddhist sees in the painting there is another advantage of
working with this painting for purposes of analysis and
evaluation. There are so few objects in the work that we
cannot overlook anything since each object is so functional.
This is in contrast with Western paintings in which there is
usually such a plethora of objects that it is difficult to
determine which ones are more important and which are
relatively unimportant. Fundamentally, the Mu Ch'i consists

-286-
of six circular forms on a piece of paper, and indeed, if
this were a contemporary Western work, "Six Objects" might
well be its title. However, while Westerners, when first
introduced to the painting, are perplexed and tend not to
regard it as a serious work, further examination reveals
that the artist has put shapes together in such a way as to
create a painting that is interesting and complex despite
its apparent simplicity.
In establishing the "tonic" of the painting, we notice
immediately that the vertical axis of the painting is the
geometric axis; that is, things are arrayed proportionally
along the verticality of the painting. The horizontal axis
is obviously somewhat lowered and will go somewhere through
the various persimmon shapes. In this respect, the axial
organization in the Mu Ch'i is distinctly Western rather
than Chinese; that is, the horizontal axis is important
while the diagonal is neutral in that nothing is arrayed
along it. This is rare in Chinese paintings, which like
Baroque painting in the West, tend to make the diagonal axes
functional.
The persimmon shapes in the Mu Ch'i are grouped along
the horizontal axis in certain ways with regard to the three
kinds of contrasts previously mentioned. That is, the
persimmons will differ from each other with respect to
certain common standards: (a) they differ by their location
to the intersection of the axes; (b) they differ in terms of
the average size of objects; and (c) they differ from each

-287-
other in terms of darkness, i.e., whether they are dark or
light with respect to the background. As a result of these
contrasts, tensions result that are not unlike the tensions
which are created in poetry and music where contrasts of
elements are made up with regard to some constant standard.
These contrasts and their resulting tensions are the
focus of our aesthetic analysis. Previously we defined
"movement," or rhythm, in painting as uniformity of
relationships with regard to contrast, and we pointed out
that tension is created by a sequence of comparable
elements. Keeping this in mind, we shall now be able to
plot the movement in a painting. For example, if there is a
sequence of objects arranged by size in a certain order, we
can say there is movement from the smallest to the largest.
If they are arranged by color, we can say there is movement
in this case from the lightest to the darkest, and when they
are arrayed in the scene itself, in terms of the axes of the
work, we can say that there is movement from the one nearest
the center to that object farthest from the center.6 While
these sequences designate movement, we may define
"directionality" in a painting as the predominant movement
in the painting with respect to any identifiable group. We
The rules of tension involving location, size, and
shading were first discussed in Chapter III. These rules
are arrived at a priori. If one took the reverse hypothesis
(the less tension the farther an object is from a point of
reference, the larger an object is the less tension results,
the darker an object in contrast to the background the less
tense), as long as one does it consistently there will be no
practical difference in the analysis of the painting in that
the mirror image of the painting will result.

-288-
shall now proceed to chart the directionality to determine
how this work is to be "read."
In order to show the way the Six Persimmons creates
tensions that lead to movement and directionality, for the
sake of convenience, we shall number the persimmons,
beginning with the persimmon shape on the extreme right as
#1, next #2, and so on until the persimmon at the extreme
left will be #6. If we examine each group of three
persimmons in terms of the three possible contrasts, that
is, from the point of view of the location of the
persimmons, the size of the persimmon and the darkness of
the persimmon, the way in which they are rhythmically
organized becomes apparent. Looking at the persimmons, one
can determine from their arrangement that any three
persimmons constitute a theme. The task now becomes to
examine the manner in which the themes are put together.
Series One: Persimmons #1, #2, and #3
Location. In terms of location, the more distant an
object is from the point of reference, the higher degree of
tension that is created. Therefore, persimmon #1 is higher
in tension while persimmon #2 is next closest to the point
of intersection and is less tense. Persimmon #3 happens to
be virtually at the center and is least tense. Since the
object that is least tense is the beginning of the movement,
in this case the movement is from the center of the painting
outward to the margin.

-289-
Size. In terms of size, the greater the size the
greater the tension, and in this group the greatest amount
of tension is found in #3 then #2 and finally #1. Again,
since the object that is least tense is the beginning of the
movement, the movement here is from the smallest persimmon
at the margin to the largest persimmon in the center.
Shading (contrast to background). In terms of
darkness, it is #3 which is most tense, #2 is next, and #1
is least tense. Therefore, if we look at the color or
darkness of the persimmons, the movement can be traced from
the very light persimmon #1 to the very intensely dark
persimmon #3.
We have said that the directionality of the work can be
defined as the dominant pattern of tension which develops in
the work, therefore, if we observe the most frequently
occurring movements in this first series of persimmons we
can determine the directionality:
Location (most tense) 123 (least tense)
Size 321
Darkness 321
Flow of Movement 321
In examining the tension chart above, it is evident that
persimmon #3 most frequently has the highest tension level.
Persimmon #1 occurs most often in the "least tense" column.
Persimmon #2 consistently occupies a middle position with
respect to tension. Therefore, the flow of movement in this
first series proceeds from right to left. (For

-290-
clarification as to how this is applied to the painting
itself, see Figure 54).
Series Two: Persimmons #2, #3, and #4
Location. It is apparent that #3 is closest to the
center and therefore the least tense. There may be some
question as to which shape is, in terms of a common point,
farthest away, but the choice here is that #4 shape is next
tense and #2 is most tense. On our graph, in terms of
movement, this reading will produce a loop.
Size. In terms of size there is no ambiguity so that
one goes from the smallest shape #4 to #2 and the largest
#3.
Darkness. Persimmon #4 is the lightest and least
tense, #2 is darker, and #3 is obviously the darkest and
most tense.
In plotting the flow of these movements to determine
the directionality of this series we find:
Location (most tense) 243 (least tense)
Size 324
Darkness 324
Flow of Movement 324
(For details of the movement in Series Two, see Figure 55.)

-291-
Figure 54. Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons. Southern Sung
Dynasty. Kaitoku-ji, Ku Kyoto.

-292-
Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons. Southern Sung
Dynasty. Daitoku-ji, Kyoto.
Figure 55.

-293-
Series Three: Persimmons #3, #4, and #5
Location. In terms of location, it is almost certainly
#3 that is least tense, next is #4, and the most tense is
#5.
Size. In terms of size, it is quite clearly #4 that is
least tense, #5 is next, and #3 is most tense.
Darkness. In terms of darkness, #5 is least tense, #4
is next, and #3 is most tense.
Location (most tense) 543 (least tense)
Size 354
Darkness 3 4 5
Flow of Movement 345
Although the directionality in this series is not so clearly
demarcated as before, it can still be charted, as in Figure
56.
Series Four: Persimmons #4, #5, and #6
Location. In terms of location #4 is least tense, #5
is more so, and #6 is the most tense.
Size. The movement here is the same as above; that is,
#4 is least tense, next is #5, and the highest degree of
tension is #6.
Darkness. Persimmon #6 is the lightest and therefore
the least tense. Number 5 is next and #4 is darkest and
most tense.

-294-
Figure 56. Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons. Southern Sung
Dynasty. Daitoku-ji, Kyoto.

-295-
Location
(most tense) 654 (least tense)
Size
6 5 4
Darkness
4 5 6
Flow of Movement
6 5 4
Here the directionality is quite clear (as illustrated in
Figure 57 ) .
From this analysis of the Mu Ch'i, it is apparent that
rhythm is created in several ways: There is rhythm of
placement, rhythm of size, and rhythm of shading. Also, in
plotting the directionality of these various rhythms, it is
revealed that the total movement in the painting appears to
be from right to left. In this sense, the Mu Ch'i is
typically Chinese in that one "reads" it from side to side.
Western paintings tend not to be directional in the same
sense, in that they are usually viewed as though seen
through windows. However, before the development of
perspective in the 16th century, Western paintings too were
directional. All one need do is to examine paintings of the
early Gothic and Renaissance periods and it can easily be
determined that they, more frequently than not, begin on the
left margin and end at the right margin. It is to be
expected that left to right would be the directionality of
Western paintings since in Western culture people read in
this direction, while the Chinese, who read in the opposite
direction, show a preference for starting the directionality
of their paintings from the right, moving to the left.
By exposing the interlocking relationships of the
persimmon shapes, the directionality of the Mu Ch'i becomes

-296-
Figure 57. Mu Ch'i: Six Persimmons. Southern Sung
Dynasty. Daitoku-ji, Kyoto.

-297-
apparent. However, this analysis at the same time seems to
have exposed a structural problem in that this movement
appears to lead beyond the painting. If directionality were
allowed to go unchecked, it would exclude the Six Persimmons
as a great work of art since by definition the painting
would lack harmony as well as unity and wholeness. What we
have not yet been able to show is that the net effect of the
work is one of balance and proportion. The analysis so far
indicates that the painting is not resolved, and if balance
is to be achieved we have to show that there is some
counter-balancing element which resolves this unchecked
movement.
We have not yet discussed the persimmon stems, but they
are interesting for several reasons. The stems themselves
are a kind of pattern hitherto untreated. Each stem
consists of the same basic elements, a series of dots
arranged differently in each of the stems, while retaining a
fundamental similarity in each case. More significant than
this is the way the stems function. That is, if we can see
the stems to be also another rhythm, something surprising
emerges. The stems are not uniform, but are clearly
directional. Actually the stems function as flags pointing,
and if one notices the direction in which they point,
particularly with regard to the main triads (persimmons #1,
#2, and #3 and persimmons #4, #5, and #6) it becomes
apparent that the stem pattern points in the direction
opposite to the net direction of the other factors that were
mentioned.

-298-
As in the case of the other themes, this directionality
is not at all obvious. Beginning with the stems on
persimmons #1 and #2, they can be described as "right-
handed" since the horizontal stroke is to the right of the
vertical and this weights them in such a way as to emphasize
their directionality toward the right. The case is not so
simple with the stems on persimmons #3, #4, #5, and #6 since
they can be classified as "left-handed" stems and would, at
first, appear to be pointing from right to left. Their true
directionality, however, can be determined by examining
their construction, and it is here where the shape of the
stem becomes interesting. In each case the horizontal
stroke is made first beginning at the left and curving up to
the right. Then there is an overlap of ink as the second
stroke comes down to form the vertical line. At the point
of overlap a dark spot is formed due to the double coating
of ink. These darker spots of overlapping layers of ink
form points like arrows pointing back to the right and this
is the way the eye interprets them. Thus, the nature of the
strokes used to form the stems in persimmons #3, #4, #5, and
#6 leads in a certain direction from left to right. If one
studies the painting closely enough, it is apparent that the
brush strokes forming the stems will not stay perfectly
together all the time and it is possible to see the
individual hairs of the brush and the directional traces
they leave. So, while all the persimmon stems point to the
right, they do so for different reasons, #1 and #2 because
of the weight of the stems, i.e., they are "right-handed,"

-299-
and #3, #4, #5, and #6 because of the calligraphic character
of the strokes, the strokes being interpreted as moving in
the direction in which they were written with a brush.
Since the stems are pointers and they point in each
case from the left to the right side, the result is that the
stem shapes counteract the effect of the movement of the
other elements of which the painting is composed. The
resolution provided by the directionality of the stems can
be illustrated if we chart the tensions of the two basic
triads:
Triad One (composed of persimmons #1, #2, and #3)
(location) ■ ■ ■¥*
(size) 4 ' ' “
(darkness) ^
As we have graphed it, there is obviously an imbalance of
directionality from left to right, but if we consider the
stems as a rhythm, we see that they work in exactly the
opposite way. That is, the stems are directional in
precisely the opposite way from the other elements in terms
of their rhythm:
(stems) ~
(location) ^ — ►
(size) ^
(darkness)
Similarly, in the case of the second triad, there is an
imbalance:
Triad Two (composed of persimmons #4, #5, and #6)
(location) ^
(size) 4
(darkness) — ^

-300-
But again, the rhythms are resolved with the directionality
of the stems correcting the imbalance:
(steins) - ^
(location) ^
(size)
(darkness) — ^
Thus Mu Ch'i has successfully resolved the rhythms through
the interplay of triads in the composition, plus the
directionality of the stems themselves, thus producing a
sense of balance. As a result, the net effect is one of
controlled tension in a balanced whole.
We can now apply value terms to the Six Persimmons.
From the analysis of the painting we see that there is a
kind of movement in the painting that goes from element to
element and this constitutes the true complexity and
subtlety of the painting. Each of the groups of persimmons
is an example of complexity in that what appears to be a
very simple group of six objects turns out to be objects
interrelated in quite an intricate fashion. Subtlety in the
painting has to do with the refinement of those connections.
Certainly those interrelationships are not easily apparent.
The emergence of the triads could be an example of subtlety,
or the realization that the stems, each different, are made
up of the same pattern of strokes. Thus what appears at
first to be unrelated aspects of the work are in fact
variations of the same thing. The construction is rich in
that the sheer number of interconnections which are variable
within the same groups of elements is large; that is, the
overlapping character of the relationships is numerous.

-301-
On the surface, the painting looks incredibly simple,
but the structure bears repeated examination. The Chinese
and Japanese suggest that the more one looks at it, the more
one has the impression that the painting changes. This
impression of change can be traced to the detection of new
patterns; that is, the perception that the number of
relationships is greater than one first thought. The
economy and fecundity of the painting consist in the fact
that while the increments, or elements, of which the
structural parts are composed are quite simple, being few in
number they are, nevertheless, capable of a large number of
variations. These variations are related to one another
without there being a single paradigm, that is, without any
one of them being dominant, thus constituting part of the
elegance of the painting. Also, contributing to the work's
elegance is the masterful resolution of the imbalance by the
directionality of the stems.
Concerning the overall structure of the work, the
harmony consists in the fact that all of the rhythms which
are set in motion are resolved, even though the resolution
is not necessarily of the same type in every instance, i.e.,
the rhythm or directionality of the persimmons is resolved
by the stem directionality. The resolution of each element
so that each has some significant function with regard to
another element in the painting, and forms some part of the
combination of the primary structures of the painting,
constitutes the work's unity. The wholeness of the painting
consists in each of these elements interrelating to the

-302-
others in such a way that a viewer has the impression that
the nature of the unity is not a mechanical one of gears to
gears. That is, the nature of elemental connections is not
a sum relationship; instead, these relationships have an
organic quality, one of inevitability and predictability.
Of course, when one first views the work he is not able to
articulate in direct terms the nature of the
interconnections among the elements in the work, but he does
sense them and this is what gives one the ultimate
impression of unity, harmony, and wholeness.
In contrast to the tightly organized rhythms of the Mu
Ch'i, objects in many Impressionists' paintings, which might
have been used to create rhythms, are all but devoured by
the technical process used to capture the effect of light.
For example, in Monet's Spring Trees by a Lake, most of the
canvas is covered in strokes of blue, blue-green, pure
green, yellow-green, and yellow occasionally interrupted by
verticle purple strokes. An atmosphere results in which
material shapes dissolve preventing rhythms based on
variations of contour and outline. Perhaps the most extreme
example of this is found in Monet's series of paintings on
Rouen Cathedral. The cathedral's geometrical intricacies of
buttresses, windows, spires, and tracery demateria1ize into
blues, oranges, pinks, and lavendars.
This is not to say that such Impressionists' landscapes
lack appeal, but their appeal remains a sensual one based on
the vividness and clarity of color harmonies. The spots and

-303-
patches of color juxtaposed and intermingled on the canvas
create colors more vibrant and sparkling than those mixed on
the palette and applied in the conventional manner. But
however jewel-like in appearance, the values, that is the
lightness and darkness of the colors, are so nearly
identical that in black and white reproductions all contrast
disappears. This is a result of the Impressionists'
interest in painting in terms of color as light rather than
in terms of shape revealed by light and dark. The resulting
works, though rich in hue, lack the variations of value that
are so masterfully developed in the Mu Ch'i.

CHAPTER VI
CONCLUDING REMARKS
As aesthetics is currently being written, little is
offered in the way of aid for practical criticism.
Philosophers offer few suggestions as to what kind of things
critics should look for regarding the valuable features of
works of art. Should a comparable situation exist in the
areas of physics or chemistry, with books on the subject
having little or nothing to say about what one does when
confronted with the phenomena under discussion, this lack
would surely be seen as a flaw. If people turn to criticism
to determine what art entails, there, too, they will meet
with frustration since critics are bound by their special
interests and expertise to restrict their endeavors to a
particular medium. In contrast, I consider what is
distinctively aesthetic to be the conjunction of qualities
among the arts, and not those characteristics which are
peculiar to any one of them. Thus, the aim of this
investigation has been to devise standards applicable to any
work of art, despite its medium or cultural context. A
result of evaluative criteria that can be made public and
demonstrable is that the mystery usually surrounding
aesthetic appreciation is dispersed since analysis becomes a
straightforward matter.
-304-

-305-
Thinking about aesthetics has been confused because of
insistence on focusing on areas which are essentially
unknowable: the acts of creation and response. Theories
preoccupied with notions of creativity as an essential part
of the aesthetic experience because originality is seen as
the essential characteristic of the art work, or those which
persist in dealing with aesthetics as though it were
reducible to matters of individual response, both have the
same deficiency, they depend on certain kinds of
psychological explanations which are not forthcoming. The
strategy in the system outlined here has been to restrict
the locus of aesthetic inquiry to that which is public, the
structure of the work of art, which has the happy advantage
of verifiability.
To devise general standards applicable to works of art
which can be translated, freely and without difficulty, from
art type to art type requires the development of a common
descriptive vocabulary clarifying those features which are
shared by both audio and visual arts. All media have
physical properties and by investigating the physics of
light and sound, certain functionally equivalent
characteristics emerge which necessarily lead to structural
resemblances between audio and visual forms of art. For
example, examination reveals that works of art possess
multiple layers of structure which are interrelated in
various ways determined by the artist. More specifically,
works of art, regardless of medium, consist of physical and

-306-
intellectual levels and the activity of the artist consists
in taking the materials of the medium and using them to
construct detectable intelligible arrangements. The
apprehender's response corresponds to these levels and value
characteristics can be assigned to the levels according to a
hierarchy based on the sophistication of construction.
Thus, it is on an empirical basis that we have the means for
devising a common method for describing works of art, and
this leads to common trans-media standards of evaluation.
While this approach results in a reliable way of
describing and evaluating works of art, the theory may be
unpalatable to many people because it does not provide what
they want, or expect, from aesthetics, i.e., it does not
account for a person's particular responses to works of art.
In fact, it suggests they are aesthetically irrelevant,
unfortunately, however, people are usually less interested
in explicating and evaluating works of art in some
structural sense than they are in understanding the nature
of their responses and the relation of their responses to
what they would call the creative process. In contrast, the
assertion here has been that the aesthetic appreciation of
art is different from art as a part of one's personal or
emotional development. It is different from one's religious
or philosophical convictions, and it is different from
viewing art as an investment. All such considerations are
merely personal in the way they enhance or detract from the
experience of art and do not reflect on the area with which

-307-
aesthetics is concerned, the value of art as part of the
generalized human experience rather than the experience of
any individual.
What some may regard as the narrowness of this
approach, and therefore an inadequacy, may result in the
rejection of the system, but in so doing one must also
forego certain advantages. The feature which most
recommends this theory is its consistency. It has the
benefit of being able to demonstrate in both audio and
visual examples that art can be appreciated through
structural characteristics alone without any appeal being
made to whatever message the work may contain.
No claim is being made that the theory, as it stands,
is complete. Further work needs to be done to show how the
system could be expanded to include arts not directly
discussed, e.g., composite arts like opera and drama. Since
it has been demonstrated that the physics of the media is
significant to the structural properties of the work in that
the physical properties form the basis of the language of
the art in that medium, what must be done in these cases is
to map out the physical elements of the art forms and show
how the levels of structure are composed from them.
Another implication of the theory which needs attention
is determining whether there might be a hierarchy among
media in the sense that some art types might be more likely
than others to produce significant works of art. That is,
the question might be raised as to whether there is a

-308-
theoretical difference between media so that a given work
from one media would likely be of a higher quality than a
given work in another. Presumably, the process of encoding
entails the selection of procedures from amongst a repertory
of procedures; hence, the greater the potentiality for the
work of art. Thus, where an artist's choices are severely
confined by a tradition within terms of which the artist
operates, some media will not be developed because the range
of choices is too narrow. Now, suppose there was a medium
which, by its very physical properties was incapable of wide
ranges of choices, could it be aesthetic? The answer seems
to be that if it were aesthetic, it would be low level.
Thus, the intrinsic richness of an art form, the possibility
of selective relationships in an art form becomes a
significant issue. However, the intrinsic richness of an
art form does not necessarily set a limit on what the artist
can do because other factors also come into consideration;
i.e., value characteristics such as economy, for example.
Additionally, finer discriminations are needed to
clearly distinguish among works of art that share many of
the same values. As it is now one can, by using the common
evaluative vocabulary, describe ways in which a composition
by Beethoven is aesthetically superior to a story by P.G.
Wodehouse, or why a certain Shakespearean play is more
valuable than a tune by Gershwin, but further precision
would facilitate choosing among works which exhibit the more
important value characteristics. For example, Auden's Musee

-309-
Des Beaux Arts, Mu Ch'i's Six Persimmons, and Beethoven's
Opus 111 all possess the values of each level, seemingly to
a remarkable degree. How could one rank such outstanding
works according to aesthetic merit? One way of refining the
evaluative instrument would be to quantify the system by
assigning a numerical score to each of the three levels of
appreciation. And, while the scaling can only be relative
in the sense that instead of an absolute standard it is in
reference to some assigned mean, it is important that such
arbitrariness which exists in assigning that mean not be
confused with the arbitrariness which is the result of
subjective judgments. Also, in order to clearly indicate
the ascending order of importance placed on the values at
each level, the relationships between the levels would be
seen as a product relationship rather than an additive one;
thus, this scheme would allow for a minimizing of the lower,
more common, values and a maximizing of the higher, less
common, ones.
The attractiveness of approaching aesthetics in this
manner is its simplicity, one might even say its greater
degree of elegance. It is only through a method such as
this that makes it conceivable that people could appreciate
any work of art except those produced in their own time.
The degree to which we stress a message component in
aesthetics is the degree to which we make all works of art
contemporary ones, privy to a selected few. The result of
the theory presented here is that aesthetic appreciation is

-310-
open and available to anyone willing to undertake the task
and exert the required effort.

BIBLIOGRAPHY
Alloway, Lawrence. Topics in American Art Since 1945. New
York: W.W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1975.
Arnheim, Rudolf. Art and Visual Percention, a Psychology of
the Creative Eye. Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1954.
Barthes, Roland. "Style and Its Image," in Literary Style:
A Symposium. Edited by Seymour Chatman. London and
New York: Oxford University Press, 1971.
Barthes, Roland. S/Z. New York: Hill and Wang, 1974.
Beethoven, L. von. Sonatas for the Piano. Revised and
fingered by Hans von Bulow and Sigmund Lebert. New
York: G. Schirmer, Inc., 1894.
Bell, Clive. Art. New York: Capricorn Books, 1958.
Boulton, Marjorie. The Anatomy of Poetry. London:
Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., 1953.
Calas, Nicholas, and Elena Calas. Icons and Images of the
Sixties. New York: E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1971.
Chatman, Seymour, Editor. Literary Style: A Symposium.
London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1971.
DeBary, Wm. Theodore, General Editor. Sources of Indian
Tradition. Vol. I. New York: Columbia University
Press, 1958.
DeBary, Wm. Theodore, Compiled by.
Tradition. Vol. I. New York:
Press, 1958.
Sources of Japanese
Columbia University
Dewey, John. Arts as Experience. New York: G.P. Putnam's
Sons, 1958.
Dickie, George. Aesthetics: An Introduction. New York:
The Bobbs-Merri11 Company, 1971.
Ditchburn, R.W. Light. 3rd Ed. London: Academic Press,
Inc., 1976.
-311-

-312-
Duffield, Holly Gene. Problems in Criticism of the Arts.
San Francisco, California: Chandler Publishing Co.,
1968.
Eagleton, Terry. Literary Theory. Minneapolis: University
of Minnesota Press, 1983.
Eastman, M. The Enjoyment of Poetry. New York: Scribner,
1928.
Eco, Umberto. A Theory of Semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1979.
Ehrmann, Jacques, Editor. Structura1 ism. Garden City, New
York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1970.
Eliot, T.S. Selected Essays, 1917-1932. New York:
Harcourt Brace, 1932.
Elton, W. Aesthetics and Language. New York:
Philosophical Library, Inc., 1954.
Ewen, David. The Complete Book of Classical Music.
Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1965.
Freud, Sigmund. Collected Works: Standard Edition. Trans,
under the general editorship of J. Strachey in
collaboration with Anna Freud. Vols. I, II, VII, XI.
London: Hogarth Press and the International Institute
for Psycho-Analysis, 1954-59.
Fry, Northrop, Editor. Sound and Poetry. New York:
Columbia University Press, 1957.
Goldwater, K., and Treves, M. Artists on Art. New York:
Pantheon Books, Inc., 1945.
Gombrich, E.H. Art, Perception and Reality. Baltimore:
The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1972.
Gombrich, E.H. Art and Illusion. Princeton, New Jersey:
Princeton University Press, 1972.
Goodman, Nelson. Languages of Art. Indianapolis, Indiana:
Bobbs, 1968.
Graham, Victor. The Imagery of Proust. Oxford: Basil
Blackwell, 1966.
Greenberg, Clement. Art and Culture. Boston:
Press, 1961.
Beacon

-313-
Hadaraard, Jacques. The Psychology of Invention in the
Mathematical Field. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton
University Press, 1945.
Hall, Vernon. A Short History of Literary Criticism. New
York: New York University Press, 1963.
Harder, Paul 0. Basic Materials in Music Theory. Boston:
Allwyn and Bacon, Inc., 1975.
Harding, R.E.M. An Anatomy of Inspiration and an Essay on
the Creative Mood. 3rd Ed. New York: W. Hoffer,
1948.
Hatfield, Henry. Thomas Mann. New York: A New Directions
Paperback, 1962.
Isenberg, Arnold. Aesthetics and the Theory of Criticism.
Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1973.
Kuh, Katherine. The Artist's Voice. New York: Harper and
Row, 1960.
Langer, Susanne. Philosophy in a New Key. New York: A
Mentor Book, the New American Library, 1942.
Langer, Susanne. Feeling and Form. New York: Scribner,
1953.
Langer, Susanne. Problems of Art. New York: Scribner,
1953.
Langer, Susanne, Editor. Reflections on Art. Baltimore:
The Johns Hopkins Press, 1958.
Lanier, Sidney. Music and Poetry. New York: Greenwood
Press, First Greenwood Reprinting, 1969. (Originally
published by Charles Scribners Sons, 1898.)
Liepmann, Klaus. The Language of Music. New York: The
Ronald Press Company, 1953.
Lippard, Lucy. From the Center: Feminist Essays on Women's
Art. New York: E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1976.
Machi is, Joseph. The Enjoyment of Music. 3rd Ed. New
York: W.W. Norton & Co., Inc., 1970.
Mann, Thomas. Doctor Faustus. Trans. H.T. Lowe-Porter.
New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1948.
Death in Venice. Trans. H.T. Lowe-Porter.
Vintage Books, 1960.
Mann, Thomas.
New York:

-314-
Mann, Thomas. The Story of a Novel. Trans. Richard and
Clara Winston. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1961.
Margolis, Joseph. Philosophy Looks at the Arts. New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1962.
Matthaei, R., Editor. Goethe's Color Theory. American
edition trans. and ed. by Herb Aach van Nostrand. New
York: Reinhold, 1971.
Mattiessen, F.O. The Achievement of T.S. Eliot. 3rd Ed.
London: Oxford University Press, 1958.
Nowottny, Winifred. The Language Poets Use. London: The
Athlone Press, 1962.
Osborne, Harold. Aesthetics and Criticism. Westport,
Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1955.
Osborne, Harold, Editor. Aesthetics in the Modern World.
New York: Weybright and Talley, 1968.
Osborne, Harold. Aesthetics and Art History. New York:
E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1970.
Osborne, Harold. The Art of Appreciation. London: Oxford
University Press, 1970.
Philipson, Morris. Aesthetics Today. New York: Meridian
Books, The World Publishing Company, 1961.
Pritchard, John Paul. Criticism in America. Norman:
University of Oklahoma Press, 1956.
Proust, Marcel. A la Recherche du temps perdu. 11 Vols.
Paris: Gallimard, 1912-1927.
Rader, Melvin. A Modern Book of Esthetics. 3rd Ed. New
York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, Inc., 1960.
Redlich, H.F. Alban Berg. London: John Calder, 1957.
Richards, I.A. Practical Criticism. New York: Harcourt
Brace, 1955.
Rilke, Ranier Maria. Duino Elegies. Translated with an
Introduction and Notes by J.B. Leishman and Stephen
Spender. London: Hogarth Press, 1939.
Rilke, Ranier Maria. Sonnets to Orpheus. Translated with
an Introduction and Notes by J.B. Leishman. London:
Hogarth Press, 1955.

-315-
Santayana, George. The Sense of Beauty. New York: Random
House, The Modern Library, 1955.
Scholes, Robert. Semiotics and Interpretation. New Haven
and London: Yale University Press, 1982.
Scruton, Roger. Art and Imagination: A Study in the
Philosophy of Mind. London: Methuen & Company, Ltd.,
1974.
Stetson, R.H. Bases of Phonology. Oberlin, Ohio: Oberlin
College, 1945.
Stolniz, Jerome. Aesthetics and Art Criticism. Boston:
Houghton Mifflin Company, 1960.
Suleiman, Susan, and Inge Crosman. The Reader in the Text.
Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press,
1980.
Sutton, Walter. Modern American Criticism. Englewood
Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1963.
Tovey, Donald Francis. Essays in Musical Analysis. Vol.
IV. London: Oxford University Press, 1937.
Tovey, Donald Francis. A Companion to Beethoven's
Pianoforte Sonatas. Reprint of the 1931 ed. New York
Associated Board of the R.A.M. and the R.C.M., London
AMS Press, Inc., 1976.
Weismann, Donald L. The Visual Arts as Human Experience.
Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc.,
1974.
Weitz, Morris. Problems in Aesthetics. 2nd Ed. New York:
Macmillan, 1959.
Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Philosophical Investigations. Trans
G.E.M. Anscombe. New York: Macmillan, 1953.
Wollheim, Richard. Art and Its Objects. London: Harper &
Row, Publishers, 1968.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
Thomasine Kushner has a bachelor's and master's degree
in philosophy from the University of Miami. She has taught
at Florida International University and currently is a
faculty member in the Department of Psychiatry at the
University of Miami School of Medicine, where she lectures
in bioethics, coordinates the course entitled "Introduction
to Medicine" for medical students, and participates in
residency training in the Department of Medicine and Ethics
Rounds for Pediatric Surgery. She contributes to
professional journals in the areas of ethics and aesthetics.
-316-

I certify that I have read this study and that in my
opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly
presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as
a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
/f /
! A
RoberV D'"Am ico, Chairman
Associate Professor of
Philosophy
I certify that
opinion it conforms
presentation and is
I have read this study and that in my
to acceptable standards of scholarly
fully adequate, in scope and quality, as
a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
Ellen Haring
Professor of Philosophy
I certify that
opinion it conforms
presentation and is
I have read this study and that in my
to acceptable standards of scholarly
fully adequate, in scope and quality, as
a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

I certify that I have read this study and that in my
opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly
presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as
a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
Associate Professor of English
This dissertation was submitted to the Graduate Faculty of
the Department of Philosophy in the College of Liberal Arts
and Sciences and to the Graduate School, and was accepted as
partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy.
August, 1984
Dean for Graduate Studies and
Research

AP
/7t°
• K97
A»(,H 6
rm ARTS
UB2ARY
UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
3 1262 08556 7336

jg 28 28 anatomyofartprobOOkush
fiPS-SS 2*fz




xml version 1.0 encoding UTF-8
REPORT xmlns http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitssdaitssReport.xsd
INGEST IEID E6EDVYLMY_3S35C9 INGEST_TIME 2017-07-12T21:04:43Z PACKAGE AA00002176_00001
AGREEMENT_INFO ACCOUNT UF PROJECT UFDC
FILES



PAGE 2

7+( $1$720< 2) $57 352%/(06 ,1 7+( '(6&5,37,21 $1' (9$/8$7,21 2) :25.6 2) $57 7+20$6,1( .,0%528*+ .86+1(5 $ ',66(57$7,21 35(6(17(' 72 7+( *5$'8$7( 6&+22/ 2) 7+( 81,9(56,7< 2) )/25,'$ ,1 3$57,$/ )8/),//0(17 2) 7+( 5(48,5(0(176 )25 7+( '(*5(( 2) '2&725 2) 3+,/2623+< 81,9(56,7< 2) )/25,'$

PAGE 3

$&.12:/('*0(176 ZLVK WR H[SUHVV JUDWLWXGH WR DOO WKRVH ZKR JHQHURXVO\ JDYH RI WKHLU WLPH DQG H[SHUWLVH WR KHOS LQ WKH UHDOL]DWLRQ RI WKLV SURMHFW )URP WKH 3KLORVRSK\ 'HSDUWPHQW DW WKH 8QLYHUVLW\ RI )ORULGD 'U -D\ =HPDQ ZKR ILUVW RSHQHG WKH GRRUV IRU PH 'U (OOHQ +DULQJ RIIHUHG VXJJHVWLRQV ZKLFK PXFK LPSURYHG WKH PDQXVFULSW DQG 'U *UHJ 8OPHU ZKR VKRZHG QHZ DYHQXHV RI H[SORUDWLRQ HVSHFLDOO\ ZDQW WR WKDQN 'U 5REHUW 'n$PLFR HYHU\ WKHVLV ZULWHU QHHGV D ZLVH DGYLVRU DQG WKHUDSHXWLF IULHQG DQG ZDV IRUWXQDWH WR ILQG ERWK LQ KLP 'U -RVHSK 5RKP 3URIHVVRU RI 0XVLF DQG FRPSRVHU )ORULGD ,QWHUQDWLRQDO 8QLYHUVLW\ 0LDPL )ORULGD JDYH PXVLFDO LQVWUXFWLRQ DQG KHOSHG LQ DQDO\]LQJ %HHWKRYHQn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

PAGE 4

0LDPL JXLGHG PH WKURXJK UHFHQW GHYHORSPHQWV LQ OLWHUDU\ FULWLFLVP

PAGE 5

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n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

PAGE 6

WKRVH WKLQJV ZH UHIHU WR DV DUW ZLWKRXW FRQFOXGLQJ WKDW ERXQGDULHV FDQQRW RU VKRXOG QRW EH GUDZQ :LWWJHQVWHLQ LW ZLOO EH UHPHPEHUHG FOHDUO\ WRRN WKH YLHZ WKDW IRU VSHFLDO SXUSRVHV ZH FDQ GUDZ ERXQGDULHV IRU FRQFHSWV DQG LW LV P\ SRLQW WKDW DHVWKHWLFV LQVRIDU DV LW LV LQYROYHG LQ FULWLFLVP MMV MXVW VXFK D VSHFLDO SXUSRVH $ SULPDU\ IXQFWLRQ RI WKLV LQTXLU\ ZLOO EH GHILQLQJ DUW EXW GHILQLQJ LW IRU D VSHFLDO SXUSRVHf§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

PAGE 7

FRQVLGHUDWLRQ QRW RQO\ ZKDW PRGHUQ DHVWKHWLFLDQV VD\ EXW DOVR NHHSLQJ LQ PLQG FRQVWDQWO\ WKH EDVLF WUHQGV RI FULWLFLVP LQ WKH YDULRXV DUWV 7KH JRDO ZLOO EH WR FRQVWUXFW D WKHRU\ LQ VXFK D ZD\ WKDW WKHUH ZLOO EH D FRPPRQ ODQJXDJH LQ WHUPV RI ZKLFK VSHFLILF DUW W\SHV FDQ EH GLVFXVVHG VR DV WR PDNH WKHLU FRPPRQ IHDWXUHV DSSDUHQW OHDGLQJ WKHUHIRUH WR FRPPRQ VWDQGDUGV RI HYDOXDWLRQ YL

PAGE 8

7$%/( 2) &217(176 $&.12:/('*0(176 35()$&( /,67 2) 7$%/(6 /,67 2) ),*85(6 $%675$&7 3$57 f L 9 L[ ; f f f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f f 9,

PAGE 9

3$57 ,, &+$37(5 9 $1$/<=,1* $1' (9$/8$7,1* 63(&,),& :25.6 2) $57 0XVLF 6RQDWD LQ & 0LQRU 2SXV E\ %HHWKRYHQ 3RHWU\ 0XVHH 'HV %HDX[ $UWV E\ :% $XGHQ 3DLQWLQJ 6L[ 3HUVLPPRQV E\ 0X &Kn L &+$37(5 9, &21&/8',1* 5(0$5.6 %,%/,2*5$3+< %,2*5$3+,&$/ 6.(7&+ f f f 9

PAGE 10

/,67 2) 7$%/(6 7DEOH 3DJH 6XPPDU\ WDEOH RI ZDYH IRUP FKDUDFWHULVWLFV RI OLJKW DQG VRXQG 9DOXH FKDUW L [

PAGE 11

/,67 2) ),*85(6 )LJXUH 3DJH 6RXQG ZDYH 3LWFK 6RXQG ZDYH $PSOLWXGH 0XVLF )LJXUH RI UHVHPEODQFHV 2IHUR HG (XULGLFH 0XVLF SRHWU\ )LJXUH RI UHVHPEODQFHV /LJKW ZDYH +XH /LJKW ZDYH 9DOXH *HRPHWULF D[HV RI SDLQWLQJ+RUL]RQWDO DQG YHUWLFDO *HRPHWULF D[HV RI SDLQWLQJf§+RUL]RQWDO YHUWLFDO DQG GLDJRQDO )XQFWLRQDO D[HV RI SDLQWLQJ 0HURGH $OWDUSLHFH 'HWDLO 0HURGH $OWDUSLHFH -RVHSK SDQHO 9DQ (\FN *LRYDQQL $UQROILQL DQG +LV %ULGH (O *UHFR &DUGLQDO 'RQ )HUQDQGR 1LQR GH *XHYDUD 7RPE DW 4DUUDJDQ ,UDQ 7UDQVSDUHQW VFUHHQV )DWHKSXU 6LNUL 7DM 0DKDO DW $JUD )ULGD\ 0RVTXH DW +HUDW $IJKDQLVWDQ 0XVLF SRHWU\ SDLQWLQJ )LJXUH RI UHVHPEODQFHV 0HLVVHQ ILJXUH [

PAGE 12

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

PAGE 13

)LJXUH 3DJH $USHJJLDWLRQ ,QWHUOXGH EHWZHHQ 9DULDWLRQ ,9 DQG 9 9DULDWLRQ 9 6WHS PRWLYH LQ 9DULDWLRQ 9 &(* SDWWHUQ LQ (SLORJXH %&' SDWWHUQ LQ (SLORJXH 0HDVXUH /DVW WKUHH PHDVXUHV RI (SLORJXH 0X &Kn f L 6L[ 3HUVLPPRQV 0X &Kn f L 6L[ 3HUVLPPRQV 0X &Kn f L 6L[ 3HUVLPPRQV 0X &Kn f L 6L[ 3HUVLPPRQV f f ;

PAGE 14

$EVWUDFW RI 'LVVHUWDWLRQ 3UHVHQWHG WR WKH *UDGXDWH 6FKRRO RI WKH 8QLYHUVLW\ RI )ORULGD LQ 3DUWLDO )XOILOOPHQW RI WKH 5HTXLUHPHQWV IRU WKH 'HJUHH RI 'RFWRU RI 3KLORVRSK\ 7+( $1$720< 2) $57 352%/(06 ,1 7+( '(6&5,37,21 $1' (9$/8$7,21 2) :25.6 2) $57 E\ 7KRPDVLQH .LPEURXJK .XVKQHU $XJXVW &KDLUPDQ 5REHUW 'n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‘ L f ;,

PAGE 15

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

PAGE 16

, ‘/+9G

PAGE 17

&+$37(5 &21&(378$/ ',)),&8/7,(6 'HFLGLQJ ZKDW FRQVWLWXWHV D ZRUN RI DUW GRHV QRW XVXDOO\ GHPDQG DWWHQWLRQ XQWLO JDOOHULHV ZLWK JUHDW VROHPQLW\ GLVSOD\ REMHFWV VXFK DV D IXUOLQHG WHD FXS VDXFHU DQG VSRRQ E\ 2SSHQKHLP %ULOOR FDUWRQV DQG &DPSEHOO 6RXS FDQV E\ :DUKRO RU FRQFHUW DXGLHQFHV DUH RIIHUHG -RKQ &DJHnV 6LOHQFH 0LQXWHV 6HFRQGV ZKHUH D SLDQLVW VLWV EHIRUH D FORVHG SLDQR LQ WRWDO VLOHQFH IRU WKDW DPRXQW RI WLPHr 2QH WKHQ EHJLQV WR ZRQGHU E\ ZKDW VWDQGDUGV D ZRUN RI DUW FDQ EH MXGJHG RU LQGHHG LI D JLYHQ DUWLIDFW LV DUW DW DOO" $Q\ DQVZHU WR WKLV TXHVWLRQ VHHPV WR FDOO IRU D GHILQLWLRQ SRLQWLQJ RXW SHUKDSV ZKDW LW LV WKDW DOO ZRUNV RI DUW VKDUH ,QLWLDOO\ KRZHYHU WKLV DSSURDFK DSSHDUV FRQIXVLQJ ZKHQ RQH FRQVLGHUV WKH GLYHUVLW\ RI ZRUNV RI DUW )RU H[DPSOH LI IRU WKH SXUSRVHV RI H[DPLQDWLRQ VDPSOHV IURP YDULRXV DUHDV RI DUW VXFK DV D %HHWKRYHQ VRQDWD D SDLQWLQJ E\ 0LFKHODQJHOR DQG D SRHP E\ 5LONH DUH FKRVHQ ZKDW IHDWXUHVf FDQ EH VDLG WR EH FRPPRQ WR WKHP DOO" A7KH OLPLW ZRXOG VHHP WR KDYH EHHQ UHDFKHG ZLWK 5REHUW %DUU\nV VWDWHPHQW ZULWWHQ LQ 2FWREHU RI 0\ H[KLELWLRQ DW WKH $UW DQG 3URMHFW *DOOHU\ LQ $PVWHUGDP LQ 'HFHPEHU n ZLOO ODVW WZR ZHHNV DVNHG WKHP WR ORFN WKH GRRU DQG QDLO P\ DQQRXQFHPHQW WR LW UHDGLQJ n)RU WKH H[KLELWLRQ WKH JDOOHU\ ZLOO EH FORVHGn

PAGE 18

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f ZH VKDOO KDYH VROYHG ZKDW WDNH WR EH WKH FHQWUDO SUREOHP RI DHVWKHWLFV :H VKDOO KDYH GLVFRYHUHG WKH HVVHQWLDO TXDOLW\ RI D ZRUN RI DUW )RU HLWKHU DOO ZRUNV RI YLVXDO DUW KDYH VRPH FRPPRQ TXDOLW\ RU ZKHQ ZH VSHDN RI ZRUNV RI DUW ZH JLEEHU LV WKLV TXDOLW\" 2QO\ RQH DQVZHU SRVVLEOHf§VLJQLILFDQW IRUP :KDW 6X]DQQH /DQJHU WRR EHJLQV KHU ZRUN )HHOLQJ DQG )RUP FRQYLQFHG WKDW D GHILQLWLRQ RI DUW LQ WHUPV RI QHFHVVDU\ DQG VXIILFLHQW FRQGLWLRQV FDQ EH JLYHQ 6HH &KDSWHU RI : (OWRQnV $HVWKHWLFV DQG /DQJXDJH 1HZ
PAGE 19

, DOVR EHOLHYH WKDW DUW LV HVVHQWLDOO\ RQH WKDW WKH V\PEROLF IXQFWLRQ LV WKH VDPH LQ HYHU\ NLQG RI DUWLVWLF H[SUHVVLRQ DOO NLQGV DUH HTXDOO\ JUHDW DQG WKHLU ORJLF LV DOO RI D SLHFH WKH ORJLF RI QRQGLVFXUVLYH IRUP ZKLFK JRYHUQV OLWHUDU\ DV ZHOO DV DOO RWKHU FUHDWHG IRUPf WKHUH LV D GHILQLWH OHYHO DW ZKLFK QR PRUH GLVWLQFWLRQV FDQ EH PDGH HYHU\WKLQJ RQH FDQ VD\ RI DQ\ VLQJOH DUW FDQ EH VDLG RI DQ\ RWKHU DV ZHOO 7KHUH OLHV WKH XQLW\ $OO WKH GLYLn VLRQV HQG DW WKDW GHSWK ZKLFK LV WKH SKLORn VRSKLFDO IRXQGDWLRQ RI DUW WKHRU\A +RZHYHU VNHSWLFLVP UHJDUGLQJ WKH SRVVLELOLW\ RI D JHQHUDO GHILQLWLRQ RI DUW DSSHDUHG DV HDUO\ DV ZKHQ WKH 6FRWWLVK SKLORVRSKHU 7KRPDV 5HLG GHFODUHG KLPVHOI XQDEOH WR FRQFHLYH RI DQ\ FRPPRQ GHQRPLQDWRU OLQNLQJ DOO WKH YDULRXV WKLQJV WKDW DUH UHIHUUHG WR DV EHDXWLIXO 7KH WKUXVW RI 5HLGn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
PAGE 20

DUW WKHRU\ +H VXJJHVWV WKDW WKH XUJH WR GLVFRYHU HVVHQWLDO FKDUDFWHULVWLFV LV SURPSWHG E\ DQ HUURQHRXV QRWLRQ DERXW ODQJXDJH LH WR LGHQWLI\ FRUUHFWO\ WKLQJV DV EHORQJLQJ WR D JURXS RQH PXVW LGHQWLI\ VRPH FRPPRQ GHQRPLQDWRU :LWWJHQVWHLQ DVNV WKH UHDGHU WR &RQVLGHU WKH H[DPSOH WKH SURFHHGLQJV WKDW ZH FDOO JDPHV PHDQ ERDUG JDPHV FDUG JDPHV EDOO JDPHV 2O\PSLF JDPHV DQG VR RQ :KDW LV FRPPRQ WR WKHP DOO"A +LV FRQFOXVLRQ LV WKDW WKHUH LV QR FKDUDFWHULVWLF ZKLFK LV FRPPRQ WR HDFK DQG HYHU\ WKLQJ ZH FDOO JDPH WKHUHIRUH WKHUH LV QR FKDUDFWHULVWLF QHFHVVDU\ IRU VRPHWKLQJ WR TXDOLI\ DV D JDPH ,QVWHDG KH VD\V ZH VHH D FRPSOLFDWHG QHWZRUN RI VLPLODULWLHV RYHUODSSLQJ DQG FULVVn FURVVLQJ 7KHVH FULVVFURVVLQJV KH WHUPV IDPLO\ UHVHPEODQFHVE\ ZKLFK KH PHDQV WKRVH VLPLODU WUHQGV DQG FRQGLWLRQV WKDW FRUUHVSRQG EHWZHHQ WKLQJV 7KH SRLQW RI :LWWJHQVWHLQnV DUJXPHQW LV WKDW DV ZRUGV IXQFWLRQ LQ ODQJXDJH LWVHOI DV WKH\ IXQFWLRQ LQ HYHU\GD\ XVDJH WKH\ & r/XGZLJ :LWWJHQVWHLQ 3KLORVRSKLFDO ,QYHVWLJDWLRQV 7UDQV *(0 $QVFRPEH 1HZ
PAGE 21

DUH QRW SUHFLVH DV WR WKHLU ERXQGDULHV %HFDXVH WKLV LV WKH FDVH :LWWJHQVWHLQ VD\V ZH VKRXOG UHVSHFW WKH RSHQWH[WXUH RI ODQJXDJH DQG UHDOL]H WKDW D ZRUG KDV D YDULHW\ RI PHDQLQJV DQG WKDW QHZ PHDQLQJV ZLOO DULVH LQ DFFRUG ZLWK ,Q DSSO\LQJ :LWWJHQVWHLQnV WKHVLV WR D WKHRU\ RI DUW :HLW] DUJXHV WKDW DUW OLNH JDPHV LV D WHUP ZLWKRXW ERXQGDULHV LH DQ RSHQ FRQFHSWf ZKLFK DFFRXQWV IRU LWV HYDVLYHQHVV +H VD\V $UW LWVHOI LV DQ RSHQ FRQFHSW 1HZ FRQGLn WLRQV FDVHVf KDYH FRQVWDQWO\ DULVHQ DQG ZLOO XQGRXEWHGO\ FRQVWDQWO\ DULVH QHZ DUW IRUPV QHZ PRYHPHQWV ZLOO HPHUJH ZKLFK ZLOO GHPDQG GHFLVLRQV RQ WKH SDUW RI WKRVH LQWHUHVWHG XVXDOO\ SURIHVVLRQDO FULWLFV DV WR ZKHWKHU WKH FRQFHSW VKRXOG EH H[WHQGHG RU QRW $HVWKH WLFLDQV PD\ OD\ GRZQ VLPLODULW\ FRQGLWLRQV EXW QHYHU QHFHVVDU\ DQG VXIILFLHQW RQHV IRU WKH FRUUHFW DSSOLFDWLRQ RI WKH FRQFHSW :LWK DUW LWV FRQGLWLRQV RI DSSOLFDWLRQ FDQ QHYHU EH H[n KDXVWLYHO\ HQXPHUDWHG VLQFH QHZ FDVHV FDQ DOZD\V EH HQYLVDJHG RU FUHDWHG E\ DUWLVWV RU HYHQ QDWXUH ZKLFK ZRXOG FDOO IRU D GHFLVLRQ RQ VRPHn RQHnV SDUW WR H[WHQG RU WR FORVH WKH ROG RU WR LQYHQW D QHZ FRQFHSW (J ,WnV QRW D VFXOSWXUH LWnV D PRELOHf :KDW DP DUJXLQJ WKHQ LV WKDW WKH YHU\ H[SDQVLYH DGYHQWXURXV FKDUDFWHU RI DUW LWV HYHUSUHVHQW FKDQJHV DQG QRYHO FUHDWLRQV PDNH LW ORJLFDOO\ LPSRVVLEOH WR HQVXUH DQ\ VHW RI GHILQLQJ SURSHUWLHV :H FDQ RI FRXUVH FKRRVH WR FORVH WKH FRQFHSW %XW WR GR WKLV ZLWK DUW LV OXGLFURXV VLQFH LW IRUHFORVHV RQ WKH YHU\ FRQGLWLRQV RI FUHDWLYLW\ LQ WKH DUWV %HFDXVH RI WKLV :HLW] VXJJHVWV WKH VWXG\ RI DHVWKHWLFV LV LQKHUHQWO\ YDJXH +H VD\V WKDW ZKLOH YDULRXV WKHRULHV RI 1HZ 4 0RUULV :HLW]
PAGE 22

DUW SUHWHQG WR EH FRPSOHWH VWDWHPHQWV DERXW WKH GHILQLQJ IHDWXUHV RI DOO ZRUNV RI DUW HDFK OHDYHV RXW VRPHWKLQJ ZKLFK RWKHU WKHRULHV WUHDW DV FHQWUDO HJ %HOO DQG )U\ OHDYH RXW UHSUHVHQWDWLRQ ZKLOH &URFH OHDYHV RXW SK\VLFDOQHVV HWFf :HLW] DSSURSULDWHO\ UDLVHV TXHVWLRQV DERXW WKH DGYLVDELOLW\ DQG IHDVLELOLW\ RI DWWHPSWLQJ WR IHUUHW RXW QHFHVVDU\ DQG ORJLFDO SURSHUWLHV RI DUW DQG FRUUHFWO\ VXJJHVWV WKDW ,I ZH DFWXDOO\ ORRN DQG VHH ZKDW LW LV WKDW ZH FDOO nDUWn ZH ZLOO ILQG QR FRPPRQ SURSHUWLHVRQO\ VWUDQGV RI VLPLODULWLHV +RZHYHU WKH DFFXUDF\ RI WKLV REVHUYDWLRQ GRHV QRW SURYLGH JURXQGV IRU VKDULQJ LQ :HLW]nV FRQFOXVLRQ WKDW ERXQGDU\ GUDZLQJ ZLWK UHJDUG WR WKH FRQFHSW nDUWn LV OXGLFURXV ,Q WKLV UHVSHFW :HLW] VHHPV WR KDYH PLVXQGHUVWRRG :LWWJHQVWHLQnV SRVLWLRQ :LWWJHQVWHLQ LQ VXJJHVWLQJ WKDW GHILQLWLRQV DUH QR PRUH WKDQ WKH GHVLJQDWLQJ RI VKDUHG IDPLO\ UHVHPEODQFHV FDXWLRQV WKDW WR DWWHPSW WR GHDO ZLWK GHILQLWLRQV LQ D VWULFWHU PDQQHU ZRXOG RQO\ EH SOD\LQJ ZLWK ZRUGV %XW IRU VSHFLDO SXUSRVHV D FRQFHSW FDQ EH JLYHQ OLPLWV DQG ZKHQ WKLV LV GRQH LW LV OLNH EULQJLQJ D SLFWXUH LQWR D FOHDUHU DQG FOHDUHU IRFXV ,I LW ZHUH GHVLUDEOH ULJLG OLPLWV FRXOG EH VHW WR WKH ZRUG JDPHf§WKDW LV RQH FRXOG XVH WKH ZRUG IRU D OLPLWHG FRQFHSW GUDZ D ERXQGDU\ RU D IURQWLHUf 6R IDU QRQH KDV EHHQ GUDZQ VLQFH RQH FDQ DOVR XVH LW VR WKDW WKH ,ELG

PAGE 23

H[WHQVLRQ RI WKH FRQFHSW LV QRW FORVHG E\ D IURQWLHU DQG KH DGGV 7KLV LV KRZ ZH GR LQ IDFWf XVH WKH ZRUG n JDPHn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f ZLWK WKH PHDQLQJ RI WKH ZRUG LWVHOI 7KXV ZKLOH ERXQGDULHV PD\ EH GUDZQ DQ HUURU LV FRPPLWWHG LI WKH VXSSRVLWLRQ LV PDGH WKDW WKH ERXQGDU\ RXWOLQHG IRU D VSHFLILF SXUSRVH LV WKH ERXQGDU\ IRU DOO XVHV RI WKDW ZRUG LQ DOO ODQJXDJH JDPHV 7KH IDFW WKDW SHRSOH PLJKW EH FRQIXVHG ZKHQ JRLQJ IURP RUGLQDU\ ODQJXDJH WR D PRUH SUHFLVH ODQJXDJH OLNH WKDW RI DHVWKHWLFVf LV RQO\ WR EH H[SHFWHGMXVW DV D QRYLFH LQ WKH GLVFLSOLQH RI SK\VLFV +:L WWJHQVWHLQ S H

PAGE 24

PDNHV VRPH PLVWDNHV LQ WKH XVH RI WKH ZRUG PDVV RU WKH ZRUG PRWLRQ RU DQ\ RWKHU WHUPV ZKLFK PD\ KDSSHQ WR RFFXU QRW RQO\ LQ WKH SDUWLFXODU GLVFLSOLQH EXW DOVR LQ RUGLQDU\ ODQJXDJHf $QRWKHU GLIILFXOW\ ZLWK :HLW]nV SRVLWLRQ LV WKDW WKHUH LV QR UHDVRQ WR DVVXPH DV :HLW] GRHV WKDW DHVWKHWLFV LV LQKHUHQWO\ YDJXH EHFDXVH RI WKH XQGHILQDELOLW\ RI DUW DV D FRQFHSW 7KH VDPH FKDUJH FRXOG EH OHYHOHG DJDLQVW DQ\ GLVFLSOLQH IRU H[DPSOH FKHPLVWU\ ELRORJ\ RU SK\VLFV ,W LV RQO\ SDUW RI WKH PDWXUDWLRQ SURFHVV RI DQ LQWHOOHFWXDO GLVFLSOLQH WKDW LWV DPELJXLWLHV JUDGXDOO\ GLVDSSHDU DV PRUH VXFFHVVIXO PHDQV RI GHDOLQJ ZLWK WKH VXEMHFW PDWWHU DUH GHYHORSHG ,Q VKRUW :HLW]nV GHILQLWLRQ RI FRQFHSW LV LWVHOI VR EURDG WKDW LW DSSOLHV WR HYHU\ FRQFHSW ZKLFK KDV HYHU EHHQ DUWLFXODWHG DQG KLV REMHFWLRQ LV QR PRUH DSSOLFDEOH WR DHVWKHWLFV WKDQ LW ZRXOG EH WR DQ\ LQWHOOHFWXDO HQGHDYRU LQFOXGLQJ KLV RZQ ZRUN 7KXV WKH YDJXHQHVV ZKLFK KH WKLQNV LV DUW ZKLFK PDNHV DHVWKHWLFV LPSRVVLEOH ZRXOG PDNH SK\VLFV FKHPLVWU\ DQG ELRORJ\ HTXDOO\ LPSRVVLEOH DORQJ ZLWK RWKHU DUHDV WKDW DUH XVXDOO\ WKRXJKW WR EH PRUH FRJHQW WKDQ DHVWKHWLFV 7KH SRLQW WR EH PDGH KHUH LV QRW WKDW ZH ZRXOG ZDQW WR WDNH H[FHSWLRQ WR DQ\ WKHRU\ WKDW WKH EHVW ZD\ WR DSSURDFK WKH FRQFHSW RI DUW LV WR VHH LW DV D IDPLO\ UHVHPEODQFH QRWLRQ 7R WKH FRQWUDU\ D QHJOHFWHG FKDOOHQJH LQ DHVWKHWLFV KDV EHHQ WR WDNH WKH VXJJHVWLRQ DQG JR RQ WR FRQVLGHU ZKDW WKRVH UHVHPEODQFHV DUH DQG KRZ WKH QRWLRQ

PAGE 25

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f WKDW RQH FDQ VXJJHVW WKDW WKH ERXQGDULHV ZKLFK RQH GUDZV DUH WKH ERXQGDULHV WKDW DQ\RQH ZKR H[DPLQHV WKH VXEMHFW ZLOO DOZD\V DQG LQHYLWDEO\ GUDZ DQG Ef WKDW DHVWKHWLFV ZLOO DOZD\V EH D YDJXH DUHD RI LQTXLU\ ZKHUH QR ERXQGDULHV FDQ HYHU EH GUDZQ 3XWWLQJ LW DQRWKHU ZD\ LW ZRXOG EH TXLWH ZURQJ WR LQVLVW WKDW DQ\RQH

PAGE 26

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

PAGE 27

QRWLRQ RI ZKDW DUH FDOOHG ILQH DUWV VXFK WKDW FROOHJH FDWDORJXHV PDNH D GLVWLQFWLRQ EHWZHHQ FRXUVHV LQ DUWV DQG FUDIWV VXFK WKLQJV DV SRWWHU\ PDNLQJ DQG ZHDYLQJf DQG WKRVH WKDW GHDO ZLWK ILQH DUWV SDLQWLQJ VFXOSWXUH HWFf 7KH PHWKRG E\ ZKLFK RQH GLIIHUHQWLDWHV DUWV WKDW DUH UHDOO\ VNLOOV RU FUDIWV IURP ILQH DUWV ZKLFK LV WKH FRQFHUQ RI DHVWKHWLFV ZLOO EH GHWHUPLQHG E\ WKH IXQGDPHQWDO GHFLVLRQ PDGH DERXW ZKDW WKH FRUH RI DHVWKHWLF YDOXH LV 7KH ERXQGDULHV RQH GUDZV FRQFHUQLQJ WKH ZD\ DUW LV XVHG IRU SXUSRVHV RI FULWLFLVP LH HYDOXDWLRQf ZKLFK LV WKH IRFXV RI WKLV GLVVHUWDWLRQ GHSHQGV LQ SDUW RQ RQHnV FKRLFH EHWZHHQ WZR HYDOXDWLYH DSSURDFKHV WDNHQ E\ FULWLFV WR WKH TXHVWLRQ 'RHV DHVWKHWLF YDOXH LQKHUH LQ WKH VWUXFWXUH RI D ZRUN RI DUW RU IURP D PHVVDJH nFRQWDLQHGn LQ WKDW VWUXFWXUH" 7KH GLVDJUHHPHQW EHWZHHQ WKHVH WZR IRFL RI FULWLFLVP LV RXWOLQHG E\ :DOWHU 6XWWRQ LQ 0RGHUQ $PHULFDQ &ULWLFLVP %HKLQG WKH FRQIXVLRQ RI FULWLFDO ODQJXDJH LV D ODFN RI DJUHHPHQW DERXW WKH REMHFW RI FULWLFLVP 3V\FKRORJLFDO FULWLFV KDYH WHQGHG WR FRQVLGHU WKH ZRUN D FRQVWUXFW RI GUHDP V\PEROV WR EH LQWHUSUHWHG LQ WHUPV RI 2HGLSDO UHODWLRQVKLSV RU UHELUWK DUFKHW\SHV 7KH 1HZ +XPDQLVWVn FRQFHUQ IRU GXDLVP WKH LQQHU FKHFN DQG WKH HWKLFDO LPDJLQDWLRQ UHVWULFWV OLWHUDWXUH WR D QDUURZ VFKHPH RI PRUDO SKLORVRSKLFDO DQG UHOLJLRXV YDOXHV 0DU[LVW FULWLFV LQWHUHVWHG LQ WKH UHODn WLRQVKLS RI WKH OLWHUDU\ ZRUN WR LWV VRFLDO HQYLURQn PHQW KDYH YLHZHG OLWHUDWXUH DV D SURMHFWLRQ RI WKH FODVV VWUXJJOH 7KH 1HZ &ULWLFV WR ZKRP WKH ZRUN LV D VHOIFRQWDLQHG ODQJXDJH V\VWHP KDYH IRFXVHG XSRQ LURQ\ SDUDGR[ DQG WHQVLRQ DV VWUXFWXUDO SULQFLSOHV 7KH QHR $ULVWRWHOLDQV DWWHPSWLQJ WR UHYLYH WKH GRFWULQH

PAGE 28

RI DUW DV LPLWDWLRQ KDYH UHOLHG KHDYLO\ XSRQ WKH WHUPLQRORJ\ DQG JHQUH FODVVLILFDWLRQV RI $ULVWRWOHnV 3RHWLFV 7KH PHVVDJH DSSURDFK WR DUW HPSKDVL]HV ZKDW LW LV WKDW WKH ZRUN RI DUW LV VDLG WR FRPPXQLFDWH 7KDW LV RQH PLJKW SURSRVH WKDW HYHU\ ZRUN RI DUW FRQWDLQV VRPH LQIRUPDWLRQ WKHRU\ RU LGHD LQ WKH VHQVH RI D SDUDSKUDVDEOH PHVVDJHf DQG LW LV WKHUH WKDW WKH ZRUNnV YDOXH LV WR EH IRXQG $FFRUGLQJ WR WKH PHVVDJH DSSURDFK D ZRUN RI DUW FRQVLVWV QRW RQO\ RI LWV VWUXFWXUH ZKLFK LV DNLQ WR WKH JUDPPDU RU ORJLFDO V\QWD[ RI D VHQWHQFH EXW DOVR LQFOXGHV WKH LGHD ZKLFK LV DNLQ WR WKH VWDWHPHQW RI WKH VHQWHQFH SHUKDSV D SKLORVRSKLFDO RU UHOLJLRXV GRFWULQHr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} (QJOHZRRG &OLIIV 1HZ -HUVH\ 3UHQWLFH+DOO S $V VXJJHVWHG E\ WKLV H[DPSOH WKH FRQWHQW QHHG QRW EH LQIRUPDWLRQDO LQ QDWXUH

PAGE 29

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n FRQWHQW WUDGLWLRQ FKDUDFWHULVWLF RI IRUPDO DHVWKHWLFVr 1RW RQO\ FULWLFV EXW IUHTXHQWO\ DUWLVWV WRR VSHDN DV WKRXJK WKHLU ZRUN FRQYH\V VRPH LPSRUWDQW VWDWHPHQW WR WKH YLHZHU DQG WKLV NLQG RI FRPPXQLFDWLRQ LV QRW UHVWULFWHG WR WKRVH ‘A/XF\ /LSSDUW )URP WKH &HQWHU )HPLQLVW (VVD\V RQ :RPHQnV $UW 1HZ
PAGE 30

ZKR KDYH DOLJQHG WKHPVHOYHV ZLWK LGHRORJLHV RU ZKR DUH XVXDOO\ DVVRFLDWHG ZLWK PRUH UHDOLVWLF VW\OHV 7KRVH DUWLVWV ZRUNLQJ LQ DQ DEVWUDFW VW\OH VRPHWLPHV GHILQH D PHVVDJH YLHZ RI WKHLU ZRUN ,Q OLWHUDU\ FULWLFLVP D PHVVDJH DSSURDFK H[SOLFDWHV PRWLYHV RI FKDUDFWHUV DQG HTXDWHV WKH H[FHOOHQFH RI WKH DXWKRUn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nV EHLQJ SRUQRJUDSKLF

PAGE 31

LV UHOHYDQW WR ZKHWKHU LW LV DUWr DQc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ar,W ZLOO EHFRPH FOHDU LQ &KDSWHU ,,, WKDW P\ RZQ YLHZ LV WKDW D ZRUNnV EHLQJ SRUQRJUDSKLF LV VLPSO\ LUUHOHYDQW WR ZKHWKHU LW LV DUW

PAGE 32

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r EXW WKH\ DOVR LQFOXGH WKRVH WKHRULHV ZKLFK PDLQWDLQ WKDW VWUXFWXUHV LQ DUW DUH H[SUHVVLYH RI WKLQJV VXFK DV IHHOLQJV DV GRHV /DQJHU ,W PLJKW EH VDLG WKDW P\ LQFOXVLRQ RI /DQJHU DV D VWUXFWXUDOLVW LV XQVRXQG VLQFH ZKDW FRXQWV IRU KHU LV ZKDW LV DUUDQJHG DQG QRW WKH ZD\ LW LV DUUDQJHG GHIHQVH RI P\ FKRLFH OHW PH UHIHU WKH UHDGHU WR /DQJHUn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n6LJQLILFDQW )RUP n &OLYH %HOO $UW 1HZ
PAGE 33

7KHVH DUH VWURQJ UHFRPPHQGDWLRQV IRU WKH SV\FKRDQDO\WLF WKHRU\ RI DHVWKHWLFV %XW GHVSLWH WKHP DOO GR QRW WKLQN WKLV WKHRU\ WKRXJK SUREDEO\ YDOLGf WKURZV DQ\ UHDO OLJKW RQ WKRVH LVVXHV ZKLFK FRQIURQW DUWLVWV DQG FRQVWLWXWH WKH SKLORVRSKLFDO SUREOHP RI DUW )RU WKH )UHXGLDQ LQWHUSUHWDWLRQ QR PDWWHU KRZ IDU LW EH FDUULHG QHYHU RIIHUV HYHQ WKH UXGHVW FULWHULRQ RI DUWLVWLF H[FHOOHQFH ,W PD\ H[SODLQ ZK\ D SRHP ZDV ZULWWHQ ZK\ LW LV SRSXODU ZKDW KXPDQ IHDWXUHV LW KLGHV XQGHU LWV IDQFLIXO LPDJHU\ ZKDW VHFUHW LGHDV D SLFWXUH FRPELQHV DQG ZK\ /HRQDUGRn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rp 7KXV WR LQWHUSUHW /DQJHUnV SRVLWLRQ DV RQH ZKLFK HPSKDVL]HV WKH ZKDW UDWKHU WKDQ WKH KRZ RI DUWLVWLF H[SUHVVLRQ ZRXOG VHHP WR DOLJQ KHU ZLWK D YLHZ VKH H[SOLFLWO\ DUJXHV DJDLQVW 7KHRULHV DUH VWUXFWXUDOO\ RULHQWHG ZKHQ WKH YDOXH RI D ZRUN RI DUW LV QRW FRQQHFWHG ZLWK WKH YDOXH RI ZKDW LV H[SUHVVHG RU ZKDW PRWLYDWHV WKH H[SUHVVLRQ EXW ZLWK WKH H[FHOOHQFH RI WKH H[SUHVVLRQ 6X]DQQH /DQJHU 3KLORVRSK\ LQ D 1HZ .H\ 1HZ
PAGE 34

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f DQG IRUPLQJ WKH EDVLV IRU VXFK D GLVWLQFWLRQ LV RQH RI WKH LVVXHV GHDOW ZLWK LQ &KDSWHU ,9f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

PAGE 35

WKDW D QDWXUDOO\ RFFXUULQJ REMHFW FDQQRW KDYH D PHVVDJH 7KH VXQVHW IRU H[DPSOH LV E\ HYHU\RQHn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

PAGE 36

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

PAGE 37

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

PAGE 38

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

PAGE 39

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f WKHRULHV ZKLFK DUH FRQVLVWHQW DGHTXDWH DQG FRPSUHKHQVLYH WKHQ WKHUH DUH WZR ILQDO WHVWV ZKLFK DUH HVVHQWLDOO\ DHVWKHWLF LQ FKDUDFWHU HFRQRP\ DQG HOHJDQFH %XW VLQFH FRQVLVWHQW DGHTXDWH DQG FRPSUHKHQVLYH WKHRULHV GR QRW DERXQG WKHVH WZR ILQDO WHVWV UDUHO\ QHHG EH DSSOLHG 7KH SULQFLSOH RI HFRQRP\ RU 2FNKDPnV UD]RU QDPHG DIWHU WKH SKLORVRSKHU :LOOLDP RI 2FNKDP ZKR DUWLFXODWHG WKH SURSRVLWLRQ VWDWHV WKDW RI WZR HTXDOO\ DGHTXDWH DQG FRPSUHKHQVLYH H[SODQDWLRQV ERWK RI ZKLFK DUH FRQVLVWHQW

PAGE 40

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rA DQG D GHFLVLRQ EH PDGH .DVHG RQ ZKDW LV NQRZQ DERXW DUW DQG ZKLFK DSSURDFK LV WKH PRUH GHPRQVWUDEO\ XVHIXO LQ ZRUNLQJ RXW WKH IDPLO\ UHVHPEODQFHV EHWZHHQ WKH YDULRXV PHGLD (VVHQWLDOO\ DHVWKHWLFV LQYROYHV WKUHH DUHDV RI SUREOHPV DQG VRPH RI WKH EDVLF VXSSRVLWLRQV DQG TXHVWLRQV WKDW DULVH LQ WKRVH DUHDV VKRXOG EH EULHIO\ RXWOLQHG 4 $OVR WKH UHODWLYH LPSRUWDQFH RI HDFK RI WKHVH DUHDV LV GHWHUPLQHG E\ WKH SDUWLFXODU DSSURDFK PHVVDJH RU VWUXFWXUDO WKDW RQH WDNHV WR DHVWKHWLFV LQ JHQHUDO

PAGE 41

f 7KH DUWLVW DQG WKH SUREOHP RI FUHDWLRQ :KDW LV WKH GLIIHUHQFH EHWZHHQ FUHDWLQJ RU SURGXFLQJf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nV KLVWRU\ WKDW IDOOV ILUPO\ ZLWKLQ WKH WUDGLWLRQ RI DQ DUW IRUP )RU H[DPSOH WKH PRUH WUDGLWLRQDOO\ DQG PRUH QHDUO\ SHUIHFWO\ D &KLQHVH DUWLVW UHIOHFWV DQWLTXLW\ WKH EHWWHU WKH SDLQWLQJ LV LQ WKHRU\ 7KXV WKH UHDOO\ IXQGDPHQWDO TXHVWLRQ LQYROYHG KHUH LV WKH KRZ ZLWK UHJDUG WR DUWLVWLF FUHDWLRQ f 7KH SUREOHP RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW LWVHOI +HUH ZH ZDQW WR NQRZ WKH YDOXH :KDW LV WKH QDWXUH RI WKH YDOXH RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW" DQG :KHUHLQ GRHV WKH YDOXH UHDOO\ OLH LQ

PAGE 42

WKH PHVVDJH RU LQ WKH VWUXFWXUH" 2U ZH PLJKW VWDUW ZLWK D SULRU TXHVWLRQ ,W LV HYLGHQW WKDW D ZRUN RI DUW PXVW RI QHFHVVLW\ KDYH VWUXFWXUH RU LW ZRXOG QRW EH SHUFHLYHG $ ZRUN RI DUW FDQQRW EH GHDOW ZLWK DHVWKHWLFDOO\ LI LW LV RQO\ LQ WKH DUWLVWn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nV WKHRORJ\ ZKLFK WKH VWDWXH UHSUHVHQWV LV QRW QRUPDOO\ XQGHUVWRRG E\ :HVWHUQHUV ZKR QRQHWKHOHVV WKLQN WKH\ DSSUHFLDWH WKH DHVWKHWLF YDOXH 1RZ LW LV TXLWH FOHDU WKDW WR VRPH GHJUHH DW OHDVW ZH FDQ DSSUHFLDWH WKH DHVWKHWLF YDOXH RI %XGGKDnV VWDWXH ZLWKRXW VXEVFULELQJ WR WKH WKHRORJ\ RI %XGGKLVP ZKLFK WKH VWDWXH LV VDLG WR UHSUHVHQW E\ %XGGKLVWV 7KH VDPH WKLQJ LV WUXH ZKHQ ZH ORRN DW (J\SWLDQ SDLQWLQJV $OO SDLQWLQJV GHULYLQJ IURP (J\SW DUH UHOLJLRXV EXW ZH ORRN DW WKHP ZLWKRXW UHJDUG IRU WKH SDUWLFXODU WKHRORJ\ ZKLFK JDYH ULVH WR WKHP DQG ZKLFK DUH LQ WKH RSLQLRQ RI WKH ,Q WKLV ILUVW FKDSWHU KDYH QRW SUHVHQWHG P\ RZQ YLHZ RI ZKDW VWUXFWXUH HQWDLOV EXW WKH GHVLJQ RI WKH WKHVLV LV VXFK WKDW WKLV LV WKH VXEMHFW RI &KDSWHU ,,,

PAGE 43

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f 7KH DSSUHKHQGHU DQG WKH SUREOHP RI UHVSRQVH $QG WKHQ ILQDOO\ WKHUH LV WKH SUREOHP RI ZKDW SHRSOH GR ZKHQ D ZRUN RI DUW LV HQFRXQWHUHG ,W LV GRXEWIXO WKDW WKH UHDGHU

PAGE 44

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

PAGE 45

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nV LQWHQWLRQV FDQ GHWHUPLQH ZKLFK RQH LV FRUUHFW DQG ZKLFK RQH LV LQ HUURU 0HWDUXOHV IRU 3URFHHGLQJ $W WKLV SRLQW WKH WKHRUHWLFDO EDVLV IRU WKLV LQTXLU\ VKRXOG EH VWDWHG VLQFH HYHU\WKLQJ GRQH KHUHDIWHU ZLOO EH IUDPHG LQ WKRVH WHUPV )URP WKH EHJLQQLQJ ZH VKDOO DGRSW FHUWDLQ RSHUDWLRQDO PHWDUXOHV RXWVLGH RXU V\VWHP WR JXLGH RXU LQYHVWLJDWLRQV DQG WKHVH VKDOO EH UHIHUUHG WR DV f WKH UXOH RI V\PPHWU\ DQG f WKH UXOH RI FRPPRQDOLW\ 7KH V\PPHWU\ UXOH VLPSO\ VWDWHG ZLOO EH WKDW LQ WKHRU\ HYHU\ VWDWHPHQW WKDW ZH PDNH LQ DHVWKHWLFV LQ DQ\ RQH RI WKH WKUHH DUHDV FUHDWLRQ ZRUN RI DUW RU UHVSRQVHf ZLOO KDYH VRPH FRUROODU\ LQ WKH RWKHU WZR 7KXV WKH WUXH

PAGE 46

XQGHUVWDQGLQJ RI D VWDWHPHQW LQYROYHV ZRUNLQJ RXW ZKDW WKRVH RWKHU FRUROODULHV PXVW EH :H ZLOO XVH WKLV UXOH WR GHYHORS WKH FRQQHFWLRQV EHWZHHQ WKH WKUHH DUHDV RI DHVWKHWLFV VLQFH E\ XVLQJ RXU V\PPHWU\ UXOH ZH FDQ HQVXUH FRQVLVWHQF\ DQG WHVW IRU WKH DGHTXDF\ RI D VWDWHPHQWn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

PAGE 47

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

PAGE 48

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f KDYH DWWHPSWHG WR EH JHQHUDO DQG IDU UHDFKLQJ LQ WKHLU VFRSH EXW XSRQ LQVSHFWLRQ WKH\ FOHDUO\ IDOO VKRUW DQG ZLQG XS ZLWK D IUDJPHQWDU\ V\VWHP DQG UHPDLQ FULWLFDO UDWKHU WKDQ DHVWKHWLF &OLYH %HOO LV DQ H[D SLH RI RQH ZKRVH QRWLRQ RI VLJQLILFDQW IRUP UHTXLUHV D YLVXDO DUW DQG 6X]DQQH /DQJHUnV WKHRU\ LV UHDOO\ SODXVLEOH RQO\ LI RQH LV XVLQJ D PXVLFDO IUDPH RI UHIHUHQFH IRU LW GRHV QRW ZRUN VDWLVIDFWRULO\ ZLWK UHJDUG WR SDLQWLQJA +RZHYHU /DQJHUnV SLRQHHULQJ SURYLVLRQDO HIIRUWV LQ WKLV UHJDUG DUH KHOSIXO LQ LQGLFDWLQJ WKH ZD\ LQ ZKLFK RQH FDQ SURFHHG 7KH JRDO IXQGDPHQWDOO\ LQ DHVWKHWLFV KDV EHHQ WR H[SODLQ RQHnV RZQ SHUVRQDO H[SHULHQFHV RI DUW DQG RQFH WKDW KDV EHHQ GRQH WKH DHVWKHWLFLDQ KDV EHHQ PRUH RU OHVV VDWLVILHG 7KLV WKLQN r $V *HRUJH 'LFNLH DVNV RI ZKDW KXPDQ IHHOLQJ LV D 0RQGULDQ SDLQWLQJ LFRQLF" $HVWKHWLFV $Q ,QWURGXFWLRQ 1HZ
PAGE 49

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f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

PAGE 50

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nV )LIWK 6\PSKRQ\ LV EHWWHU WKDQ 6KDNHVSHDUHnV 0DF%HWK DQG LI ERWK RI WKHP DUH LQIHULRU WR 5HPEUDQGWn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

PAGE 51

WKH PXVLF RU GUDPD ZKHUH WKH SHUIRUPDQFH LV QRW WDNHQ WR EH GLVFRQQHFWHG WR WKH WH[W 2Q WKH RXWVHW WKH TXHVWLRQ FDQ EH UDLVHG (YHQ LI RQH ZHUH WR EH VXFFHVVIXO LQ GHYLVLQJ D JHQHUDO ODQJXDJH IRU GHVFULELQJ DQG HYDOXDWLQJ ZRUNV RI DUW LV DOO WKLV ZRUWKZKLOH DV DQ LQWHOOHFWXDO HQWHUSULVH" :KDW SUDFWLFDO SXUSRVHV ZRXOG LQ IDFW EH VHUYHG" )URP WKH SRLQW RI YLHZ RI WKH FULWLF LI WKH FULWLFnV SXUYLHZ LV MXVW WKDW RI D VLQJOH VROLWDU\ DUHD RI DUW WKHQ WKH DQVZHU DV WR WKH ZRUWK RI VXFK DQ HQWHUSULVH LV XQHTXLYRFDOO\ 1R 7KH WDVN LV WRR GLIILFXOW WR ZDUUDQW WKH HIIRUW %XW LI WKH FULWLF H[SHFWV WKDW DQ\WKLQJ KH RU VKH KDV WR VD\ KDV VLJQLILFDQFH RXWVLGH WKDW QDUURZ IUDPHZRUN WKHQ WKH DQVZHU LV XQHTXLYRFDOO\
PAGE 52

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n DEOH %XW WKH SHFXOLDU ZHDNQHVV RI FULWLFDO YRFDEXODULHV LV WKH DEVHQFH RI D FRPPRQ IRXQGDn WLRQ DQG D ODFN RI DJUHHPHQW DERXW WKH SUHFLVH PHDQLQJ RI EDVLF WHUPV &ULWLFV WKHPVHOYHV DUH RIWHQ QRW FHUWDLQ RI WKH PHDQLQJ RI WHUPV XSRQ ZKLFK WKHLU DUJXPHQWV GHSHQGf§D IDFW WKDW KDV EHHQ WRR IUHTXHQWO\ GHPRQVWUDWHG LQ WKH GLVFXVVLRQ SHULRG IROORZLQJ WKH SUHVHQWDWLRQ RI FULWLFDO SDSHUV ,W LV SRVVLEOH IRU WZR FULWLFV WR FRQGXFW D WHFKQLFDO GLVFXVVLRQ LQ ZKLFK QHLWKHU KDV DQ XQGHUVWDQGLQJ RI WKH RWKHUnV PHDQLQJ H[FHSW LQ KLV RZQ WHUPV &KLQHVH DQG $UDELF SRHWU\ WHQGV WR EH KLJKO\ FODVVLFDO )RU H[DPSOH &KLQHVH SRHWU\ DV LW LV FRPPRQO\ ZULWWHQ UHODWHV WR WKH ZD\ WKH ODQJXDJH ZDV DFWXDOO\ XVHG FHQWXULHV DJR QRW WKH ZD\ LW LV XVHG WRGD\ VR LW LV DQ HQWLUHO\ OHDUQHG SKHQRPHQRQ DQG SHRSOH ZKR DUH QRW OHDUQHG LQ WKLV UHVSHFW FDQQRW DSSUHFLDWH LW 7KLV YLHZ WKDW WKH WHUPV RI FULWLFLVP DV WKH\ DUH SUHVHQWO\ HPSOR\HG DUH PXGGOHG LV QRW LQFRPSDWLEOH ZLWK WKH IDFW WKDW ZKHQ SHRSOH PDNH FULWLFDO MXGJPHQWV WKH\ NQRZ ZKDW WKH\ PHDQ E\ WKRVH MXGJPHQWV HJ OLNH LW %XW WKLV LV TXLWH GLIIHUHQW IURP VD\LQJ OLNH LW EHFDXVH RI DWWULEXWHV OLNH EDODQFH UK\WKP HWF DQG KDYH HYHU\RQH NQRZ ZKDW EDODQFH RU UK\WKP PHDQV 7KH IDFW WKDW D SHUVRQ NQRZV SULYDWHO\ ZKDW VKH RU KH PHDQV GRHV QRW PHDQ WKDW LW LV FOHDU WR RWKHUV

PAGE 53

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

PAGE 54

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

PAGE 55

DQG WKH QDWXUH RI FUHDWLRQ 2I FRXUVH WKH VDPH ZLOO EH HTXDOO\ WUXH IRU D WKHRU\ ZKLFK HPSKDVL]HV PHVVDJH

PAGE 56

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nV SUHVFULSWLRQV KDYH WXUQHG RXW WR EH LQDGHTXDWH QHYHUWKHOHVV LW ZDV RQ WKH EDVLV RI WKHVH WKHRUHWLFDO DVVXPSWLRQV WKDW IXUWKHU NQRZOHGJH LH D GHWDLOHG ERG\ RI IDFWXDO LQIRUPDWLRQ DERXW WKH ZD\ WKH ZRUOG RSHUDWHVf KDV EHHQ JHQHUDWHG 3UHVXPDEO\ WKLV LV ZKDW ZRXOG KDSSHQ LQ DHVWKHWLFV LI LW ZHUH JLYHQ PRUH FDUHIXO DWWHQWLRQ

PAGE 57

FRQFHSWXDOL]DWLRQV ZKLFK WKH\ HDFK VWXG\ 3V\FKRORJ\ KDV ODJJHG EHKLQG SK\VLFV EHFDXVH LW KDV EHHQ SODJXHG ZLWK FRQFHSWXDO FRQIXVLRQV VXFK DV D SUHRFFXSDWLRQ ZLWK DQ HQWLW\ FDOOHG WKH PLQG ZKLFK KDV QR SK\VLRORJLFDO FRUUHODWH $HVWKHWLFV KDV VXIIHUHG IURP VLPLODU FRQFHSWXDO FRQIXVLRQV LQ WKDW WRR IUHTXHQWO\ DWWHQWLRQ KDV EHHQ IRFXVHG RQ DFWV RI FUHDWLRQ DQG UHVSRQVH DV KDYLQJ WR GR ZLWK SULYDWH WKRXJKWV RU IHHOLQJV DQG HPRWLRQV EHORQJLQJ WR WKH DUWLVW DQG WKH DSSUHKHQGHUA ,Q KLV H[DPSOH RI WKH EHHWOH LQ WKH ER[ :LWWJHQVWHLQ SRLQWV RXW WKH GLIILFXOWLHV ZH HPEURLO RXUVHOYHV LQ ZKHQ ZH EHFRPH LQYROYHG ZLWK VRPHWKLQJ WKDW DPRXQWV WR D SULYDWH ODQJXDJH DQG WKLV UHODWHV WR WKH SUREOHPV RI SULYDWH HPRWLRQV DV ZHOO ,Q :LWWJHQVWHLQnV SDUDEOH ZH DUH WR LPDJLQH WKDW HYHU\RQH KDV D ER[ ZKRVH FRQWHQWV LV UHIHUUHG WR DV EHHWOH 1R RQH KDV DFFHVV WR DQ\RQH HOVHnV ER[ DQG NQRZV RI EHHWOHQHVV RQO\ E\ ORRNLQJ DW WKH FRQWHQWV RI KLV RU KHU RZQ ER[ ,Q VXFK D VLWXDWLRQ LW PLJKW ZHOO EH WKH FDVH WKDW HDFK ER[ KHOG GLIIHUHQW FRQWHQWV RU KHOG QRWKLQJ DW DOO 2U WKH FRQWHQWV PLJKW EH FRQVWDQWO\ FKDQJLQJA VR DOWKRXJK HDFK SHUVRQ PLJKW VD\ WKDW ZKDW WKH ER[ FRQWDLQHG KDG WKH FKDUDFWHULVWLFV RI D EHHWOH WKH\ PLJKW LQ IDFW KDYH YHU\ GLIIHUHQW WKLQJV ,Q WKLV H[DPSOH HDFK SHUVRQ PDNHV XVH RI D XQLYHUVDO FRPPRQ $SSUHKHQGHU ZLOO EH XVHG WKURXJKRXW WKLV WKHVLV UDWKHU WKDQ VSHFWDWRU VLQFH LW DYRLGV WKH OLPLWDWLRQV LPSOLHG E\ WKDW WHUP /XGZLJ :LWWJHQVWHLQ 3KLORVRSKLFD ,QYHVWLJDWLRQV S O22H

PAGE 58

WHUP EXW VLQFH WKH UHIHUUHQW FDQ EH NQRZQ RQO\ WR WKHPVHOYHV DV WKHLU SULYDWH WKRXJKWV DQG IHHOLQJV DUH WKHQ RQH FDQ QHYHU EH FHUWDLQ WKDW ZKDW RQH SHUVRQ FDOOV D EHHWOH LV LQ DQ\ ZD\ DNLQ WR DQRWKHUnV H[SHULHQFHV 7KXV WKHUH LV QR ZD\ RI FKHFNLQJ FRQIOLFWLQJ SURSRVLWLRQV VLQFH WKHUH DUH QR FRPPRQ SRLQWV RI UHIHUHQFH DQG VR HYHQ WKH PLQLPXP FRQGLWLRQV IRU DQ\ NLQG RI GLVFRXUVH WR WDNH SODFH KDYH GLVVROYHG ,I ZH ZDQW WR FRQWHQG WKDW XQGHUVWDQGLQJ LQ WKH DUHD RI DHVWKHWLFV LV SRVVLEOH ZH VKDOO KDYH WR H WULFDWH RXUVHOYHV IURP WHUULWRU\ WKDW LV HVVHQWLDOO\ XQNQRZDEOH IRU WKLV UHDVRQ WKHRULVWV VKRXOG GLVUHJDUG LQ WKHLU DFFRXQWV RI DUW SULYDWH WKRXJKWV DQG IHHOLQJV ZKLFK DUH LQH[SUHVVDEOH 7KDW LW LV TXLWH SRVVLEOH WR GR VR FDQ EH VKRZQ E\ SRLQWLQJ RXW WKDW ZKLOH QR RQH FDQ FRQILUP WKDW ZKDW RQH SHUVRQ VHHV ZKHQ XVLQJ WKH ZRUG \HO ORZ LV ZKDW RWKHU SHRSOH VHH ZKHQ WKH\ XVH WKH ZRUG \HOORZ ZH FDQ WHVW WKDW HYHU\RQH XQGHUVWDQGV ZKDW WKH ZRUG \HOORZ PHDQV /HW XV VXSSRVH WKDW WKH VDPH JURXS RI SHRSOH ZKR LQ :LWWJHQVWHLQnV VWRU\ NQHZ ZKDW D EHHWOH ZDV RQO\ E\ ORRNLQJ LQWR WKH FRQWHQWV RI WKHLU RZQ ER[HV QRZ GHFLGH WRJHWKHU WKDW HDFK ZLOO UHWLUH DQG EULQJ EDFN D \HOORZ ERRN :KHQ WKH\ UHDVVHPEOH LI HYHU\RQH WKHQ DJUHHV WKDW WKH ERRNV EURXJKW DUH LQGHHG \HOORZ WKHQ DOWKRXJK LW PXVW EH FRQFHGHG WKDW VHQVDWLRQV DUH SULYDWH DQG FDQ QHYHU EH NQRZQ E\ DQRWKHU SHUVRQ DQG WKDW \HOORZ LV LUUHGXFLEOH DQG FDQQRW EH DUWLFXODWHG RU GHILQHG QRQHWKHOHVV ZH FDQ E\ PHDQV RI D EHKDYLRUDO WHVW GHWHUPLQH

PAGE 59

WKDW HYHU\RQH GLG XQGHUVWDQG ZKDW WKH ZRUG \HOORZ PHDQW 7KLV H[DPSOH SRLQWV WKH ZD\ WR ZKDW ZH KDYH WR GR LQ DUW :H FDQ WDON RI FRXUVH DV LI \HOORZ RU DUW KDG WR GR ZLWK WKLQJV WKDW DUH TXLWH P\VWLFDO DQG QRW VXVFHSWLEOH WR DQDO\VLV EXW LQ WKLV FDVH QRWKLQJ ZRXOG EH DFFRPSOLVKHG $Q DSSHDO WR WKH SULYDWH FRQWHQWV RI D SHUVRQn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

PAGE 60

:KHQHYHU WKHRULHV GHDO ZLWK WKH SUREOHP RI UHVSRQVH WKH\ VKDUH D FHUWDLQ IXQGDPHQWDO DVVHUWLRQ WKDW LV WKH\ DWWHPSW WR GLVWLQJXLVK WKH PHUH FRQFRPPLWDQFH RI WKH DSSUHKHQGHUnV UHDFWLRQ WR WKH ZRUN RI DUW IURP WKH FRQJUXLW\ RI WKH DSSUHKHQGHUnV UHDFWLRQ WR WKH ZRUN RI DUW 7KH\ HQGHDYRU WR VHSDUDWH D UHDFWLRQ ZKLFK DFFRPSDQLHV H[SRVXUH WR D ZRUN RI DUW LQ DQ LQFLGHQWDO ZD\ IURP D UHDFWLRQ ZKLFK FRQVLVWHQWO\ DFFRPSDQLHV H[SRVXUH WR WKH ZRUN 7KLV LV LQ RUGHU WR GLIIHUHQWLDWH D UDQGRP UHDFWLRQ D SHUVRQ PLJKW KDYH IURP D UHDFWLRQ WKDW PLJKW SURSHUO\ EH FDOOHG DHVWKHWLF WKDW LV RQH WKDW GLUHFWO\ FRQQHFWV WKH SHUVRQ WR WKH ZRUN RI DUW ,I WKLV VWLSXODWLRQ LV QRW PDGH WKH DSSUHKHQGHUnV UHDFWLRQ FDQ KDYH LWV RULJLQ HOVHZKHUH ,W LV QRW VDWLVIDFWRU\ WR VD\ WKDW EHFDXVH VRPHRQH UHDFWV LQ WKH SUHVHQFH RI D ZRUN RI DUW WKH UHDFWLRQ LV D UHVSRQVH BWR WKH ZRUN RI DUW :H ZDQW WR VD\ WKDW WKH UHVSRQVH VRPHRQH KDV WR D ZRUN RI DUW LQVRIDU DV LW LV DHVWKHWLF LV WKH ORJLFDO SURGXFW RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW DQG LW LV QRW PHUHO\ D FRQFRPLWDQW RI LW 7KH LGHD RI WKH DHVWKHWLF UHVSRQVH LV WKDW WKHUH FDQQRW EH VLPSO\ D FRQMXQFWLRQ EHWZHHQ WKH ZRUN RI DUW DQG WKH UHVSRQVH : f 5f QHFHVVDULO\ IRU VRPHWKLQJ WR EH FRQVLGHUHG DQ DHVWKHWLF UHVSRQVH LW PXVW KDYH EHHQ WKH FRQVHTXHQFH RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW : 5f ,W WKHUHIRUH IROORZV DV D FRUROODU\ WKDW DQ\ WLPH WKDW LW FDQ EH VKRZQ WKDW WKHUH LV DQ LQFRQJUXLW\ EHWZHHQ ZKDW LV FDOOHG WKH UHVSRQVH DQG WKH ZRUN RI DUW LW LV QRW WKHQ DQ DHVWKHWLF UHVSRQVH EXW PHUHO\ D UHDFWLYH FRQFRPLWDQW WR WKH ZRUN RI

PAGE 61

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
PAGE 62

ZKDW VXFK VWDWHPHQWV UHDOO\ PHDQ LV WKDW WKH IRUW\ RU VR SHRSOH LQ 1HZ
PAGE 63

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

PAGE 64

ZLWK WKDW FRQYHQWLRQDO ZLVGRP WKURXJK D UHFRJQLWLRQ RI WKH ZRUN LWVHOI 7KH UHVSRQVH LQ WKHVH FDVHV DOZD\V LQYROYHV WKH TXHVWLRQ RI FRQYHQWLRQDO DWWLWXGHV DQG XQIRUWXQDWHO\ IRU FHUWDLQ SHRSOH WKH GLIIHUHQFHV EHWZHHQ EHLQJ SHUFHSWLYH LQ DQ DUW W\SHA DQG EHLQJ 3KLOLVWLQH LQ WKH VDPH DUW W\SH LV ZKHWKHU RU QRW WKH SHUVRQn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

PAGE 65

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nV ELRJUDSK\ DQG QRW D SDUW RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW LWVHOI 7KHVH UHVSRQVHV WHQG WR EH RQ WKH ZKROH ZKDW PLJKW EH FDOOHG D PDVVLYH UHDFWLRQ 7KLV LV D YHU\ VWURQJ HPRWLRQDO UHVSRQVH ZKLFK LV LQ JHQHUDO QRQFULWLFDO DQG ZKLFK WHQGV WR GLVDSSHDU LI FULWLFDO H[DPLQDWLRQ LV DSSOLHG 7KLV LV GXH WR WKH IDFW WKDW FULWLFDO DQDO\VLV WHQGV WR GHWDFK WKH ZRUN RI DUW IURP WKH FRQWH[W LQ ZKLFK D SHUVRQ FRPHV WR NQRZ WKH ZRUN RI DUW KHQFH DQDO\VLV LQ WKLV FDVH TXLWH OLNHO\ ZLOO UHVXOW LQ WKH SHUVRQnV QR ORQJHU DSSUHFLDWLQJ WKH ZRUN RI DUW RQ WKLV OHYHO 7KLV H[SODLQV ZK\ VR PDQ\ SHRSOH DUH H[FHHGLQJO\ UHOXFWDQW WR HQJDJH LQ DQDO\VLV RI ZRUNV RI DUW 7KLV ORVV RI DSSUHFLDWLRQ RI FHUWDLQ ZRUNV LV EHFDXVH RI WKH IDFW WKDW LW ZDV QRW WKH ZRUN RI DUW WKDW KDG DQ\ EHDULQJ RQ WKH UHVSRQVH LQ WKH ILUVW SODFH EXW UDWKHU VRPH PQHPRQLF

PAGE 66

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

PAGE 67

%\ GHILQLQJ WKHVH WZR FODVVHV RI UHVSRQVH ZH KDYH DOUHDG\ LQGLFDWHG WKDW WKH\ ZRXOG QRW EH SURSHUO\ UHJDUGHG DV DHVWKHWLF EHFDXVH QHLWKHU RI WKHP IXQGDPHQWDOO\ LQYROYHV WKH ZRUN RI DUW LWVHOI :KDW WKH\ LQYROYH LV HLWKHU WKH FRQWH[W RU ZKDW H[SHUWV UHJDUG DV YDOXDEOH UDWKHU WKDQ WKH ZRUN RI DUW KHQFH WKH\ DUH QRW LQ WKH SXUH VHQVH DHVWKHWLF DW DOO +RZ ZRXOG DQ DHVWKHWLF UHVSRQVH EH GHILQHG" $ QHFHVVDU\ FRQGLWLRQ IRU DQ DHVWKHWLF UHVSRQVH WR DQ DUW ZRUN ZLOO LQYROYH WZR WKLQJV f DQ DSSURDFK WR WKH ZRUN LQ WKH VHQVH WKDW LW H[LVWV DV DQ REMHFW RI DWWHQWLRQ WR WKH RFFDVLRQ RI LWV DSSUHKHQVLRQ DQG f DQ DSSUHFLDWLRQ RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW WR WKH GHJUHH WKDW RQH XQGHUVWDQGV LW WKLV ODWWHU SRLQW LV RQH WKDW QHHGV VRPH HODERUDWLRQ 7R XQGHUVWDQG D ZRUN PHDQV WR EH DEOH WR H[SRVH WKH VWUXFWXUH RI WKDW ZRUN DQG WR DSSUHKHQG LQ FOHDU WHUPV WKH ZD\ LW LV SXW WRJHWKHU LQ WKLV UHJDUG WKH GHJUHH RI RQHnV DHVWKHWLF XQGHUVWDQGLQJ RI D ZRUN RI DUW LV GLUHFWO\ SURSRUWLRQDO WR WKH SHUFHSWLRQ RI WKH LQWHOOLJLEOH VWUXFWXUH RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW 7KLV EULQJV XV WR WKH LGHD WKDW WKH SURFHVV RI DSSUHFLDWLRQ RU XQGHUVWDQGLQJ ERWK EHLQJ WKH VDPH ZLOO LQYROYH DQDO\VLV 7KH SXUSRVH RI DQDO\VLV LV WR PDNH FOHDU WKH LQWHOOHFWXDO VWUXFWXUH RI WKH ZRUN LWVHOI $V VXFK DQDO\VLV ZLOO HQWDLO WKH SURFHVV RI GHFRGLQJ ZKDW LV LQYROYHG LQ WKH ZRUNnV VWUXFWXUH $QDO\VLV WKHQ LV IXQGDPHQWDOO\ D PDWWHU RI SHUFHLYLQJ UHODWLRQVKLSV EHWZHHQ WKH GLVSDUDWH HOHPHQWV RI ZKLFK WKH ZRUN LV FRPSRVHG 7KXV

PAGE 68

WKH GHFRGLQJ RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW RQ WKH SDUW RI WKH DSSUHKHQGHU DQG DHVWKHWLF DSSUHFLDWLRQ RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW DUH RQH DQG WKH VDPH WKLQJ 7KLV SURFHVV RI GHFRGLQJ ZLOO SURGXFH DQ DSSUHFLDWLRQ RI FHUWDLQ FRQILJXUDWLRQV DQG PHQWDO DWWLWXGHV ZKLFK ZLOO EH GHDOW ZLWK XQGHU WKH VHFWLRQ GHYRWHG WR DUWLVWLF FUHDWLRQf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r 7KLV LV WR VD\ WKDW GHFRGLQJ LV VLPSO\ WKH SURFHVV RI XQGHUVWDQGLQJ LH ZKDW LV GHFRGHG LV ZKDW LV XQGHUVWRRG

PAGE 69

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nV MRE LV LQ FRQWUDVW WR WKLV LQ WKDW WKHLU HQFRGLQJ DOVR HQWDLOV VWDWLQJ WKH FRQQHFWLRQV

PAGE 70

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f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

PAGE 71

UHODWHV WR WKH LQLWLDO GLIILFXOW\ RI SHUFHLYLQJ WKH VWUXFWXUH RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW 6XEVHTXHQWO\ D SHUVRQnV WDVWHV DUH TXLWH OLNHO\ WR EH FKDQJHG DQG FKDQJHG PDUNHGO\ E\ DHVWKHWLF DFWLYLW\ PDLQO\ EHFDXVH WKH IRFXV RI WKH SHUVRQn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f PRVW ZRUNV RI DUW DUH HLWKHU XQLQWHOOLJLEOH IRU PRVW SHRSOH RU WKDW WKH\ KDYH QR YDOXH IRU PRVW SHRSOH ,W LV 5LFKDUGnV SRLQW WKDW SUHVXPDEO\ FRUUHFW H[SRVXUH ZRXOG EH VXIILFLHQW WR RYHUFRPH WKHVH LPLWDWLRQV

PAGE 72

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

PAGE 73

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f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

PAGE 74

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n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

PAGE 75

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

PAGE 76

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

PAGE 77

DQG ZKLFK LV LPSRUWDQW EHFDXVH LW SURYLGHV D EDFNJURXQG IRU WKH NLQG RI WDOHQW ZKLFK LV QHFHVVDU\ WR EH D PXVLFLDQ .HHSLQJ LQ PLQG WKHVH SRLQWV ZH PRYH QRZ IURP WKH XQGHUVWDQGLQJ ZKLFK LV WKH UHVXOW RI WKH DSSUHKHQGHUn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

PAGE 78

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f ZKLFK UHVXOW LQ DQ HIIHFW WKH FRQFUHWH H[SUHVVLRQ ZKLFK LV WKH ZRUN LWVHOIf 1RUPDOO\ WKLV FUHDWLYH SURFHVV LV VSRNHQ RI DV LI LW ZHUH RQH VWHS KRZHYHU LW LV HYLGHQW IURP GLVFXVVLRQV DERXW ZRUNV RI DUW WKDW FUHDWLYHQHVV LQYROYHV D GRXEOH VWHS SURFHVV ,Q RWKHU ZRUGV WKHUH LV D GLIIHUHQFH EHWZHHQ IDFWRUV ZKLFK LQVSLUH DQG PRWLYDWH WKH DUWLVW DQG WKH DUWLVWnV DGDSWLQJ PRWLYDWLRQV DQG LQVSLUDWLRQV LQWR WKH DHVWKHWLF DFWLYLW\ ,Q QRWHERRNV ZULWWHQ E\ DUWLVWV IRU H[DPSOH LW LV HYLGHQW WKDW WKH FUHDWLYH SURFHVV FDQ FRYHU YDVW VSDQV RI WLPH )RU H[DPSOH IURP %HHWKRYHQnV QRWHERRNV RQH OHDUQV WKDW PHORGLF PRWLYHV VRPHWLPHV RFFXUUHG WR %HHWKRYHQ DV ORQJ DV WZHQW\ \HDUV EHIRUH WKH\ ZHUH DFWXDOO\ HPSOR\HG GXULQJ WKH HQVXLQJ WLPH WKH\ ZHUH YDVWO\ PRGLILHG DQG WKHQ SXW WRJHWKHU 7KLV PD\ DSSHDU WR FRQWUDGLFW WKH FDVH RI WKH =HQ SDLQWHU ZKR KDV D SHUIHFWO\ FRQFHLYHG VWUXFWXUH EHIRUH VHWWLQJ EUXVK WR SDSHU EXW WKDW FDQ LQYROYH D YHU\ ORQJ PHQWDO SURFHVV DV ZHOO ,GHDV VHHP WR

PAGE 79

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

PAGE 80

D WKRXJKW D PHQWDO HYHQW FDQ PHUHO\ KDYH D FRKHUHQW VWUXFWXUH WKDW LV LW PD\ QRW EH UDQGRP :KDW ZH ZDQW WR UHLQIRUFH KHUH LV WKDW UDWLRQDO VWDWHPHQWV DUH VLPSO\ RQH IRUP RI WKLQNLQJ DQG WKDW WKHUH DUH RWKHU NLQGV RI WKLQNLQJ DV ZHOO )RU H[DPSOH VRPH WKRXJKWV DUH OLQJXLVWLF RWKHUV DUH QRWrp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p3HUKDSV WKH EHVW H[DPSOH RI QRQLQJXLVWLF WKLQNLQJ LV WKH ZD\ FKLOGUHQ JUDVS WKH HPRWLRQDO DVSHFWV RI D ODQJXDJH ORQJ EHIRUH WKH\ JUDVS LWV FRQWHQW $V D UHVXOW FKLOGUHQ LQWXLW WKH HPRWLRQDO DSSURSULDWHQHVV RI FHUWDLQ ZRUGV ORQJ EHIRUH WKH\ KDYH DQ\ QRWLRQ ZKDW WKH\ PHDQ )RU H[DPSOH FKLOGUHQ NQRZ ZKDW RQH VKRXOG VD\ ZKHQ KLWWLQJ D ILQJHU LQDGYHUWHQWO\ ZLWK D KDPPHU \HW KDYH QR LGHD RI ZKDW GDPQDWLRQ PHDQV ‘n‘‘n‘2QH LPDJLQHV WKDW WKHUH LV RQO\ RQH LQWHOOHFW ZKLFK SHUFHLYHV VWUXFWXUHV WKH VDPH UHJDUGOHVV RI ZKHWKHU WKH\ DUH FKHPLFDO VWUXFWXUHV PDWKHPDWLFDO VWUXFWXUHV PXVLFDO VWUXFWXUHV RU SRHWLF VWUXFWXUHV :KLOH WKH VWUXFWXUHV DUH GLIIHUHQW WKH SHUFHSWLRQ RI WKH UHODWLRQV LV WKH VDPH ZKHWKHU ZLWK WKH H\H RU WKH HDU

PAGE 81

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f RU V\PEROL]DWLRQ /DQJHU DQG $UQKHLPf RU HPERGLPHQW 5HLG DQG %RVHQTXHWf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

PAGE 82

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nV ZRUN PD\ EH SUHIHUUHG %XW ZKDW GRHV WKH DUWLVW FRPPXQLFDWH LQ LPSRUWDQW ZRUNV RI DUW" 6XUHO\ WKH LQWHQWLRQ LV QRW WR VD\ WKDW WKH DUWLVW ZDQWV WR FRQYH\ VRPH IDFW VLQFH LW LV FOHDU WKDW DUW LV QRW D ZD\ RI JLYLQJ LQIRUPDWLRQ 7KLV LV QRW WR RYHUORRN WKH SRVVLELOLW\ WKDW ZRUNV RI DUW PD\ FRQWDLQ

PAGE 83

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

PAGE 84

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f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nV VHOIH[SUHVVLRQ WKH LQHYLWDEOH RXWFRPH ZLOO EH D GLVFXVVLRQ

PAGE 85

RI WKH DUWLVW ,I RQH VD\V WKDW DOO DUW LV VHOIH[SUHVVLRQ DUW LV HVVHQWLDOO\ VXEMHFWLYH VR LQ D IXQGDPHQWDO VHQVH LW FRXOG QHYHU EH NQRZQ ,I KRZHYHU DUW LQYROYHV VRPH NLQG RI H[SUHVVLRQ IRU H[DPSOH DV /DQJHU VD\V QRW RI WKH DUWLVWn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
PAGE 86

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nV WHFKQLTXHV RI HQFRGLQJ 6HFRQGO\ WKHUH LV WKH SK\VLFDO PHGLXP RI ZKLFK WKH ZRUN LV PDGH DQG WKH FUHDWLYH PDQLSXODWLRQ ZKLFK FRQVLVWV LQ

PAGE 87

DSSO\LQJ WKH WHFKQLTXHV RI HQFRGLQJ LQ D FRQFUHWH ZRUN RI DUW :H FDQ FDOO WKLV SDUWLFXODU FUHDWLYH DELOLW\ DQ DUWLVWnV WHFKQLTXH LQ WKH PDWHULDO 7KHVH DELOLWLHV QHHG WR EH H[DPLQHG LQ VRPH GHWDLO DQG ZKLOH WKH\ FDQQRW EH HQWLUHO\ GLYRUFHG IURP HDFK RWKHU IRU SXUSRVHV RI HODERUDWLRQ WKH\ ZLOO EH GLVFXVVHG VHSDUDWHO\ 7HFKQLTXHV RI (QFRGLQJ ,Q WKH WHFKQLTXH RI HQFRGLQJ DUWLVWV FUHDWH PHQWDO SDWWHUQV RI FKRRVLQJ ZKLFK WKH\ WUDQVODWH LQWR D SDUWLFXODU PHGLXP 2QFH WKHVH DUH WUDQVODWHG LQWR D PHGLXP WKH\ EHFRPH GLVWLQFWLYH DQG UHFRJQL]DEOH DQG DUH UHIHUUHG WR DV WKH DUWLVWnV VW\OH 7KURXJK VW\OH DQ DUWLVW PD\ EHFRPH OLNH D IULHQG ZKRVH PLVVLQJ ZRUG RQH FDQ VXSSO\ LQ D FRQYHUVDWLRQ WKDW LV LW LV SRVVLEOH IRU RQH WR JUDVS DQ DUWLVWn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

PAGE 88

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nV DWWHQWLRQ WKH ZD\ WKLQJV PXVW EH FRQVWUXFWHG 7KDW LV DQ DWWLWXGH FDQ EH VRPHZKDW SUHFLVH DV LQ WKH FDVH RI VW\OLVWLF DUW ZKLFK KDV D FRPPRQ DWWLWXGH WKDW LV WKH UHDVRQ SUHVXPDEO\ RQH FDQ LGHQWLI\ 5HQDLVVDQFH DUWf RU DWWLWXGHV FDQ EH PRUH JHQHUDO )RU H[DPSOH RQH FDQ VSHDN RI DWWLWXGHV LQ WKH ZD\ SHRSOH VLW WKH ZD\ WKH\ ZDON DQG

PAGE 89

RQH FDQ HYHQ VSHDN RI WKH DWWLWXGH RI D WUHH RU RWKHU QDWXUH REMHFWV 7KH SRLQW LV VLJQLILFDQW EHFDXVH LW PHDQV WKDW DWWLWXGHV DUH YLVLEOH LQ VWUXFWXUH 7KH ZRUG FRQVWHOODWLRQ LV XVHG WR FRQYH\ WKDW ZKDW LV LQYROYHG LV D VHULHV RI DVVRFLDWLRQV RI DWWLWXGHV ZKLFK PD\ RU PD\ QRW RYHUODS DQG ZKLFK IRUP D NLQG RI SDWWHUQ LQ DQG RI WKHPVHOYHV 7KH ZRUG FRQVWHOODWLRQ GRHV QRW SUHMXGJH WKH QDWXUH RU FKDUDFWHU RI WKH SDWWHUQ EXW LQGLFDWHV DW OHDVW VRPH NLQG RI RUJDQL]DWLRQ 7KLV LV QRW WR GHQ\ WKDW LQ PDQ\ ZD\V RUGLQDU\ SHRSOH H[KLELW DWWLWXGHV LQ WKHLU GDLO\ OLYHV EXW RQO\ WR SRLQW RXW WKDW WKH SDWWHUQV WKH FRQVWHOODWLRQV RI PHQWDO DWWLWXGHV ZKLFK DUWLVWV KDYH DUH SUHVXPDEO\ PRUH FRPSOH[ PRUH VXEWOH ULFKHU LQ WKHLU GLPHQVLRQV QRW WKDW WKH\ DUH GLIIHUHQW LQ NLQG ,I WKLV ZHUH QRW WKH FDVH LI DUWLVWV GLG QRW KDYH DWWLWXGHV ZKLFK DUH PRUH YLYLG ULFKHU PRUH FRPSOH[ HWF r 7KLV LV QRW WR VD\ WKDW ZKHQ LW FRPHV WR ZRUNV RI DUW WKDW RQH FDQ HDVLO\ VSHFLI\ WKH DWWLWXGH RI WKH ZRUN WKH GHVFULSWLYH ODQJXDJH RI DWWLWXGHV DQG PRRGV LV WRR SRYHUW\ VWULFNHQ IRU WKLV %XW WKHUH DUH JURXSLQJV RI WHUPV WKDW DUH PRUH DSSURSULDWH RU OHVV VR )RU H[DPSOH LI RQH FRPSDUHV %HHWKRYHQnV 6RQDWD LQ & 0LQRU WR 0HQGHOVVRKQnV 0LGVXPPHU 1LJKWnV 'UHDP RU :DJQHUn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nV *XHUQLFD LV RQH RI WKH WKLQJV WKDW PDNHV D SRZHUIXO LPSUHVVLRQ RQ SHRSOH SUHVXPDEO\ WKH\ FRQFXU LQ WKH KRUURU 3LFDVVR H[SUHVVHV DERXW ZDU DQG LWV GHVWUXFWLRQ

PAGE 90

WKDQ WKH RUGLQDU\ WKHQ WKH ZRUNV WKH\ SURGXFH ZRXOG QRW EH GLIIHUHQW IURP RXU RZQ OLYHV 7R VD\ WKDW WKH DUWLVWn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nV DZDUHQHVV 7R VD\ WKDW D ZRUN RI DUW LV WRR GLIILFXOW LV WR VD\ WKDW WKH WKUHVKROG RI XQGHUVWDQGLQJ GHPDQGHG E\ WKH ZRUN LV KLJKHU WKDQ RXU WKUHVKROG RI DZDUHQHVV 6LPLODUO\ ZKDW LV PHDQW ZKHQ ZH VD\ WKDW WKH ZRUN RI DUW KDV FRPH WR EH XQGHUVWRRG LV WKDW WKURXJK H[SRVXUH WR LW ZH KDYH UDLVHG RXU WKUHVKROG WR WKH OHYHO RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW LWVHOI 7KXV LW LV SRVVLEOH WR VD\ WKDW ZRUNV RI DUW LQIOXHQFH SHRSOH EHFDXVH WKH\ H[WHQG WKH UDQJH RI D SHUVRQnV DZDUHQHVV $ ZRUN RI DUW WKHQ JLYHV H[SUHVVLRQ RU GHILQLWHQHVV WR DUHDV RI H[SHULHQFH ZKLFK DOPRVW HYHU\RQH KDV EXW GRHV VR LQ D PRUH YLYLG PRUH SUHFLVH IRUP WKDQ RQHnV RUGLQDU\ LQWXLWLRQV VLQFH DUWLVWV KDYH WKH DGYDQWDJH RI WDOHQW ZKLFK

PAGE 91

HQDEOHV WKHP WR H[SUHVV LQ D ZD\ WKDW PRVW SHRSOH DUH QRW UHDGLO\ FDSDEOH RI GRLQJ 7KLV EULQJV XV WR WKH DUWLVWn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

PAGE 92

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‘rA7KH UHDVRQ IRU XVLQJ WKH ODQJXDJH PHWDSKRU LV WR VXJJHVW WKDW WKHUH DUH FHUWDLQ UHJXODULWLHV LQ WKH YDULRXV DUW W\SHV WKDW D SHUVRQ PXVW OHDUQ WR UHFRJQL]H 7KH SURFHVV RI EHLQJ H[SRVHG WR DUW LV WKH SURFHVV RI OHDUQLQJ WR UHFRJQL]H WKHVH WKLQJV )RU H[DPSOH RQH OHDUQV WR VHH SDLQWLQJ DQG KHDU PXVLF WKH VDPH ZD\ RQH OHDUQV ODQJXDJH IXQGDPHQWDOO\

PAGE 93

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n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

PAGE 94

7KLV PHDQV WKDW LQVRIDU DV WKH DHVWKHWLF VLJQLILFDQFH RI WKH ZRUN LV FRQFHUQHG WKH ZRUN RI DUW LV QRW D FDWKDUVLV IRU WKH DUWLVW D YHQWLQJ RI HPRWLRQV MXVW DV DHVWKHWLF UHVSRQVH LV QRW DQ DURXVDO RI HPRWLRQV ([SUHVVLRQ LV JLYLQJ IRUP WR DWWLWXGHV ZKLOH WKH UHVSRQVH LV FRPLQJ WR XQGHUVWDQG WKRVH DWWLWXGHV 7KXV DQ DUWLVW QHHG QRW EH VDG WR XQGHUVWDQG KXPDQ VDGQHVV D SHUVRQ QHHG QRW EH VDG WR UHVSRQG WR KXPDQ VDGQHVV $ WUDJLF ZRUN RI DUW LV TXLWH SRVVLEOH ZLWKRXW WKH SHUVRQ KHDULQJ RU VHHLQJ LW EHLQJ DIIHFWHG RU IRU WKH DUWLVW FUHDWLQJ LW WR EH DIIHFWHG :RUNV RI DUW UHSUHVHQW D YLHZ DQ XQGHUVWDQGLQJ DQ LQWHOOHFWXDO DSSUHFLDWLRQ RI VRPH FRQILJXUDWLRQV RI DWWLWXGHV DQG QRW WKH DWWLWXGHV WKHPVHOYHV ,Q WKLV VHFWLRQ ZH KDYH VDLG WKDW WKH DFW RI FUHDWLRQ LV IXQGDPHQWDOO\ WZRIROG f DQ LQWXLWLYH VHQVH RI WKH DSSURSULDWHQHVV RI HOHPHQWV DQG WKH RUJDQL]DWLRQ RI HOHPHQWV LQWR WKH PHQWDO FRQVWHOODWLRQV ZKLFK JDYH ULVH WR WKH H[SUHVVLRQ DQG f WKH PDVWHU\ RI D ODQJXDJH LPSOLFLW LQ WKH ZD\ DUWLVWV DQG WKHLU FRQWHPSRUDULHV ORRN DW DQG PDNH DUW 7KLV ODVW IDFW LV LPSRUWDQW EHFDXVH DORQJ ZLWK WKH DUWLVWnV RZQ YRFDEXODU\ ZKLFK GHWHUPLQHV SHUVRQDO VW\OH WKHUH LV DOVR WKH ODQJXDJH ZKLFK FKDUDFWHUL]HV WKH VW\OH RI D SHULRG 7KDW LV WKH JHQHUDO SRSXODWLRQ DV ZHOO JURZV XS ZLWK MXVW VXFK D ODQJXDJH LQ WHUPV RI ZKLFK WKH\ ORRN DW DQG DUH H[SRVHG WR DUW VR WKDW ZKLOH WKH SDUWLFXODUV RI D ODQJXDJH RI D JLYHQ DUW W\SH DUH QRW HDV\ WR DUWLFXODWH LW LV FOHDU WKDW YLUWXDOO\ HYHU\RQH LV H[SRVHG WR WKHP LQ WKH

PAGE 95

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

PAGE 96

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f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f PDNH VRPH LQWHUHVWLQJ LQVLJKWV EXW WKH\ DUH QRW KHOSIXO LQ HQDEOLQJ RQH WR DQDO\]H ZHVWHUQ SDLQWLQJ

PAGE 97

&RQVLGHULQJ RXU IXQGDPHQWDO UXOH RI FRPPRQDOLW\ WKDW DOO DHVWKHWLF MXGJPHQW DQG GHVFULSWLRQ PXVW EH JHQHUDO DQG DSSOLFDEOH WR DOO W\SHV RI DUW LW LV DSSDUHQW WKDW D PDMRU GLIILFXOW\ WKDW PXVW EH PHW LQ &KDSWHU ,,, ZKHQ WKH ZRUN RI DUW LV FRQVLGHUHG ZLOO EH WKH FUHDWLRQ RI DQ DEVWUDFW YRFDEXODU\ IRU WKH DQDO\VLV DQG GHVFULSWLRQ RI DUW ZRUNV WKDW ZLOO QRW EH UHVWULFWHG WR D SDUWLFXODU VW\OH SHULRG RU E\ DQ\ VLQJOH W\SH RI DUW

PAGE 98

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n REVHUYDWLRQ LV QRW WKH REMHFW RI DUWLVWVn HQGHDYRUV DQG WKHLU DWWHQWLRQ LV UDUHO\ GLUHFWHG WR WKDW TXHVWLRQ 2I WKH LQIRUPDWLRQ WKH\ GR SURYLGH OLWWOH LV RI WKH NLQG WKDW A( YHQ LI ZH ZHUH WR JUDQW WKH UHOLDELOLW\ RI DUWLVWVn DFFRXQWV DQG FKRRVH WKH LQWHQWLRQV RI WKH DUWLVW DV WKH OLQH RI DSSURDFK WR DHVWKHWLF YDOXH ZH IDFH WKH GLIILFXOW\ RI QRW EHLQJ DEOH WR GHDO ZLWK ZRUNV RI DUW WKDW DUH QRW FRQWHPSRUDU\ WKH LQWHQWLRQV RI GHDG DUWLVWV EHLQJ DOPRVW LPSRVVLEOH WR HVWDEOLVKf DQG LI ZH WDNH DQ H[WUHPH SRVLWLRQ RQ WKLV SRLQW RQO\ ZRUNV RI DUW ZKHUH WKH DUWLVW LV NQRZQ FDQ EH GHDOW ZLWK

PAGE 99

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
PAGE 100

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nV UHVSRQVH WR D ZRUN RI DUW LW ZRXOG QRW EH SRVVLEOH WR GHWHUPLQH ZKDW ZRUN HOLFLWHG WKH UHVSRQVH :RUNV RI DUW WKDW DUH VXSSRVHG E\ FRQYHQWLRQDO ZLVGRP WR EH H[WUHPHO\ VDG VWULNH VRPH LQGLYLGXDOV DV HFVWDWLF DQG ZRUNV WKDW VRPH SHRSOH YLHZ DV MR\RXV DUH WKRXJKW E\ RWKHUV WR EH SURIRXQGO\ WUDJLF 7KXV DV ZKHQ HPSKDVL]LQJ WKH DUWLVWnV LQWHQW ZH DUH IDFHG ZLWK WKH SX]]OH RI HVWDEOLVKLQJ ZKLFK RI WZR FRQIOLFWLQJ LQWHUSUHWDWLRQV RI D ZRUN LV FRUUHFW

PAGE 101

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n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

PAGE 102

EHFDXVH WKH LQWULFDFLHV RI KLV ZRUN DUH QRW IXOO\ DSSUHFLDWHG RU WKDW KLV FRPSRVLWLRQ LV XQGHUVWRRG EXW KLV ZRUN LV DHVWKHWLFDOO\ LQIHULRU 'XH WR WKHVH NLQGV RI GLIILFXOWLHV LQ XVLQJ HLWKHU WKH DUWLVW RU WKH DSSUHKHQGHU DV WKH FULWHULRQ IRU DHVWKHWLF YDOXH LW LV VRPHWLPHV VXJJHVWHG DQG ULJKWO\ EHOLHYH WKDW WKH YDOXH RI WKH ZRUN RI DUW OLHV QRW LQ WKH UHVSRQVH RU LQ WKH DUWLVWn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

PAGE 103

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nV 5LQJ F\FOH LV LQ VRPH VHQVH EHWWHU WKDQ KLV 5LHQ]L 7KH YDOXH TXHVWLRQ LV GRHV WKH YDOXH LQKHUH LQ WKH VWUXFWXUH DQG LWV SURSHUWLHV RU GRHV WKH YDOXH LQKHUH LQ WKH LGHD H[SUHVVHG WKURXJK WKH VWUXFWXUH" ,W VKRXOG EH HYLGHQW WKDW ZLWK WKH UHTXLUHPHQW RI WKH UXOH RI FRPPRQDOLW\ WKDW DHVWKHWLF WHUPV EH JHQHUDO WR DOO DUW ZRUNV ERWK GHVFULSWLYH DQG YDOXH WHUPV DUH LQFOXGHG 7KH FRQMXQFWLRQ RI WKH WZR VWDWHPHQWV WKDW GHVFULSWLYH DQG YDOXH WHUPV DUH XQLYHUVDO WR DOO W\SHV RI DUW SURGXFHV WKH

PAGE 104

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

PAGE 105

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f§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

PAGE 106

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f WKH VHOHFWLRQ RI HOHPHQWV E\ WKH 'XFDVVH DOVR VXJJHVWV WKDW WKHUH DUH GLVWLQFW OHYHOV RI DSSUHFLDWLRQ 8QIRUWXQDWHO\ KH RQO\ EULHIO\ VXJJHVWV ZKDW WKHVH OHYHOV RI DSSUHFLDWLRQ PLJKW EH FLWHG LQ 0HOYLQ 5DGHU $ 0RGHUQ %RRN RI (WKLFV 1HZ
PAGE 107

DUWLVW WKH DUUDQJHPHQW RI WKH SK\VLFDO RU SULPDU\ HOHPHQWV LQWR SDWWHUQV ZKLFK DUH LGHQWLILDEOH Ef WKH UHODWLRQV RI WKH SDWWHUQV WR HDFK RWKHU E\ PHDQV RI RUJDQL]LQJ SULQFLSOHV Ff WKH LQWHUUHODWLRQVKLS RI WKH SDWWHUQV ZLWK UHVSHFW WR WKH WRWDOLW\ RI WKH ZRUN ,I ZH DUH FRUUHFW WKDW DOO W\SHV RI DUW LQYROYH WKHVH OHYHOV RI DSSUHFLDWLRQ ERWK SK\VLFDO DQG LQWHOOHFWXDO WKHQ ZH FDQ DQWLFLSDWH WKDW LW VKRXOG EH SRVVLEOH WR LGHQWLI\ IDFWRUV FRUUHVSRQGLQJ WR HDFK RI WKHVH LQ WKH YDULRXV DUW W\SHV WKDW H[LVW DQG IURP WKLV SRLQW GHULYH D YRFDEXODU\ ZKLFK VKRXOG EH PRUH RU OHVV FRPPRQ IURP DUW W\SH WR DUW W\SH 7KH LPSRUWDQFH RI DWWULEXWLQJ KLHUDUFKLFDO OHYHOV RI DSSUHFLDWLRQ WR ZRUNV RI DUW LV WKDW ZH KDYH D VWDUWLQJ SRLQW IURP ZKLFK WR JR DERXW RUJDQL]LQJ D GHVFULSWLYH YRFDEXODU\ 7KXV D WDVN RI WKLV FKDSWHU ZLOO EH WR WHVW RXW WKH OHYHOV LQ D VHOHFWLRQ RI DUW W\SHV LQYROYLQJ WKH PDMRU VHQVRU\ PRGDOLWLHV WR GHWHUPLQH WKH VRXQGQHVV RI WKH K\SRWKHVLV VHW IRUWK DERYH ,Q QDPLQJ WKH GLYLVLRQV RI WKH DUWV RU VHWWLQJ IRUWK DQ RUGHU LQ ZKLFK WKH\ FDQ EH DUUDQJHG LW LV LPPHGLDWHO\ DSSDUHQW WKDW WKH YDULRXV DUWV DUH VHQVXDOO\ SUHVHQWHG DQG 7ZR NLQGV RI YRFDEXODU\ ZRUGV ZLOO EH LQYROYHG LQ WKLV GHVFULSWLYH YRFDEXODU\ Df ZRUGV ZKLFK GHVFULEH WKH SK\VLFDO HOHPHQWV WKHPVHOYHV DQG Ef ZRUGV ZKLFK GHVFULEH WKH UHODWLRQVKLSV DPRQJ WKH HOHPHQWV RU WKH LQWHOOHFWXDO DVSHFWV :KHUHDV WKH ZRUGV GHVFULELQJ WKH SK\VLFDO HOHPHQWV ZLOO GLIIHU IURP DUW W\SH WR DUW W\SH WKH YRFDEXODU\ GHVFULELQJ WKH LQWHOOHFWXDO UHODWLRQV ZLOO EH HVVHQWLDOO\ VLPLODU

PAGE 108

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

PAGE 109

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

PAGE 110

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f ZH GHVFULEH SRHWU\ LQ WHUPV RI PXVLF RU PXVLF LQ WHUPV RI SRHWU\ RU Ef ERWK RI WKHP LQ WHUPV RI SDLQWLQJ RU Ff FRQVWUXFW D ODQJXDJH XVLQJ QRQH RI WKH YRFDEXODU\ QRZ XVHG WR GHVFULEH DQ\ RI WKHP 0XVLF KDV EHHQ FKRVHQ VLPSO\ EHFDXVH WKH ODQJXDJH RI PXVLF FULWLFLVP LV PRUH FDUHIXOO\ ZRUNHG RXW WKDQ HLWKHU OLWHUDU\ FULWLFLVP RU DUW FULWLFLVP LH WKHUH LV PRUH QHDUO\ JHQHUDO DJUHHPHQW DV WR ZKDW WKH WHUPV PHDQf

PAGE 111

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nV SULPDU\ HOHPHQWV 7R EHJLQ DQ H[DPLQDWLRQ RI PXVLFnV SULPDU\ HOHPHQWV DOO VRXQG ZLOO LQYROYH YLEUDWLRQ LQ D WKUHH SDUW UHODWLRQVKLS Df D VRXUFH WKDW SURGXFHV WKH VRXQG VXFK DV D YLEUDWLQJ VWULQJ Ef D VRXQG WUDQVPLWWLQJ PHGLXP VXFK DV DLU DQG Ff D UHFHLYLQJ PHFKDQLVP IRU H[DPSOH WKH KXPDQ HDU 0XVLFDO WRQH PD\ EH GLVWLQJXLVKHG IURP PHUH QRLVH E\ FRPSDULQJ WKH VRXQG SURGXFHG E\ SOXFNLQJ WKH VWULQJ RI D VWULQJHG LQVWUXPHQW ZLWK WKDW PDGH E\ GURSSLQJ FRLQV RQ D IODW VXUIDFH ,Q WKH ILUVW FDVH WKH VRXQG ZLOO EH SURGXFHG

PAGE 112

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f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f

PAGE 113

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

PAGE 114

7KH WKLUG HOHPHQW RI VRXQG LV WKDW RI GXUDWLRQ 7KLV GHSHQGV RQ WKH OHQJWK RI WLPH RYHU ZKLFK YLEUDWLRQ LV PDLQWDLQHG DQG LW LV WKH UHODWLYH GXUDWLRQ RI D VRXQG DOWHUQDWHG ZLWK VLOHQFH ZKLFK GHWHUPLQHV UK\WKP ,Q WKLV UHVSHFW WKH DEVHQFH RI VRXQG SOD\V DQ LPSRUWDQW WKRXJK RIWHQ RYHUORRNHG UROH LQ PXVLF 7KH IRXUWK DQG ODVW HOHPHQW LQ PXVLF PD\ EH GHPRQVWUDWHG E\ SOXFNLQJ WKH ORZHVW VWULQJ RQ WKH VWULQJ EDVV DQG WKHQ VWULNLQJ WKH VDPH QRWH RQ WKH SLDQR ,W ZLOO EH DSSDUHQW DW RQFH WKDW HYHQ WKRXJK WKH SLWFK DQG ORXGQHVV RI WKRVH WZR VRXQGV PD\ EH WKH VDPH WKH\ VRXQG YHU\ GLIIHUHQW 7KLV GLIIHUHQFH LV FDXVHG E\ WKH RYHUWRQH VWUXFWXUH :KHQ WKH VWULQJ RI WKH EDVV LV SOXFNHG WKH VWULQJ LV YLEUDWLQJ QRW RQO\ DV D ZKROH XQLW EXW DOVR LQ KDOYHV TXDUWHUV DQG RWKHU SURSRUWLRQDO XQLWV 7KH VWULQJ YLEUDWLQJ DV D ZKROH SURGXFHV WKH WRQH WKDW LV KHDUG PRVW FOHDUO\ WKH IXQGDPHQWDO RU GRPLQDQW IUHTXHQF\ ZKLOH WKH VPDOOHU YLEUDWLRQV RI WKH VWULQJ SURGXFH ZKDW DUH FDOOHG RYHUWRQHV ZKLFK DUH RI KLJKHU IUHTXHQF\ 2YHUWRQHV DUH XVXDOO\ QRW KHDUG DV VHSDUDWH SLWFKHV LQVWHDG WKH QXPEHU SRVLWLRQ DQG UHODWLYH VWUHQJWK RI WKH RYHUWRQHV DERYH D JLYHQ WRQH ZLOO GLIIHU IURP LQVWUXPHQW WR LQVWUXPHQW ,W LV WKLV FRPELQDWLRQ RI IXQGDPHQWDO RU GRPLQDQW IUHTXHQF\ WRJHWKHU ZLWK WKH PDQ\ RYHUWRQHV ZKLFK JLYHV HDFK LQVWUXPHQW LWV FKDUDFWHULVWLF TXDOLW\ RI VRXQG DQG WKLV LV FDOOHG WLPEUH $ KRUQ VXFK DV D WUXPSHW ZKLFK LV ULFK LQ

PAGE 115

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

PAGE 116

H[DPSOH PHORG\ FRQVLVWV RI SDWWHUQV RI SLWFK IRUPHG E\ D VXFFHVVLRQ RI WRQHV RI YDU\LQJ SLWFK 7KHUH DUH H[DPSOHV LQ PXVLFDO FRPSRVLWLRQV WKDW LOOXVWUDWH H[SORUDWLRQV RI SLWFK SDWWHUQV LQ ZKLFK WKHUH LV D TXRWDWLRQ RI D IRON WXQH RU PHORG\ IURP DQRWKHU FRPSRVHU ZKLFK LV WKHQ V\VWHPDWLFDOO\ GHYHORSHG E\ WKH FRPSRVHU 6XFK D ZRUN LV %HHWKRYHQnV ODVW ZRUN IRU WKH SLDQR 2S WKH 'LDEHOOL 9DULDWLRQV :KLOH 'LDEHOOLnV RZQ PHORG\ ZDV LQVLJQLILFDQW KH LQYLWHG RWKHU FRPSRVHUV LQFOXGLQJ 6FKXEHUWf WR ZULWH YDULDWLRQV IRU LW DQG %HHWKRYHQ UHVSRQGHG ZLWK QRW RQH EXW WKLUW\WKUHH $QRWKHU IDPRXV H[DPSOH LV 3DJDQLQLnV &DSULFH IRU 6ROR 9LROLQ 7KH WKHPH RI WKLV ODVW &DSULFH WKf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nV $EHJJ 9DULDWLRQV 7KHPH VXU OH QRP $EHJJf YDULDWLRQV LQ ) 0DMRU 2S +H ZURWH WKH FRPSRVLWLRQ IRU D \RXQJ ZRPDQ 0HWD $EHJJ DQG WKH RSHQLQJ WKHPH LV D PXVLFDO DQDJUDP GHULYHG IURP WKH OHWWHUV LQ KHU QDPH DQG FRQWDLQLQJ WKH QRWHV $ % ( DQG 7KH YDULDWLRQV DUH QRW W\SLFDO

PAGE 117

RI WKHLU GD\ LQ WKDW WKH\ DUH EDVHG RQ DQ RULJLQDO PHORG\ UDWKHU WKDQ D SRSXODU SLHFH RU WKH ZRUN RI VRPH RWKHU FRPSRVHU 5K\WKP LV D SDWWHUQ SURGXFHG E\ D PDQLSXODWLRQ RI WKH SULPDU\ HOHPHQWV RI GXUDWLRQ DQG WR D OHVVHU H[WHQW YROXPH $ SLHFH H[HPSOLI\LQJ D VSHFLILF DQG QRWHZRUWK\ XVH RI UK\WKP LV 6WUDYLQVN\n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nV 3LFWXUHV IURP DQ ([KLELWLRQ E\ 0XVVRUJVN\ RULJLQDOO\ D SLDQR SLHFH 7KH HIIHFWLYHQHVV RI 5DYHOnV ZRUN LV WKDW LQ VHWWLQJ 0XVVRUJVN\nV SLDQR ZRUN IRU RUFKHVWUD 5DYHO GLG QRW

PAGE 118

SURFHHG PHUHO\ WR WUDQVFULEH LW KH UHWKRXJKW WKH ZKROH ZRUN LQ SXUHO\ RUFKHVWUDO WHUPV ,Q WKH PDNLQJ RI D FRPSRVLWLRQ HDFK RI WKH SULPDU\ HOHPHQWV RI SLWFK YROXPH DQG LQ WKH FDVH RI QRQZHVWHUQ SHUFXVVLYH PXVLF VXFK DV %DOLQHVH WLPEUH LV SRWHQWLDO O\ DV LPSRUWDQW DV WKH RWKHU DQG PXVLF FDQ EH FRQVWUXFWHG EDVHG XSRQ WKH FRQWUDVW RI DQ\ RI WKHP 7KHPHV FRXOG EH FRPSRVHG DOPRVW H[FOXVLYHO\ RQ FRQWUDVW RI UK\WKP DV IRU H[DPSOH D GUXP ZKLFK GRHV QRW KDYH YDULDWLRQ RI SLWFKf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

PAGE 119

DQG LI RQH FKDQJHV WKRVH WKH WKHPH ZLOO KDYH EHHQ FKDQJHG )RU H[DPSOH LI WKH WLPH RI WKH QRWHV RI WKH WKHPH RI %HHWKRYHQn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nV ZLGH YDULHW\ RI SHUFXVVLRQ LQVWUXPHQWV QR RWKHU PXVLFDO WUDGLWLRQ KDV DV ODUJH D UDQJH RI LQVWUXPHQWV DV GRHV :HVWHUQ PXVLF 0RGHUQ PXVLF KDV EHHQ H[FHHGLQJO\ LQWHUHVWHG LQ H[SORLWLQJ WKH GLIIHUHQFHV RI WLPEUH RU WKH SURSHUWLHV RI WKH RYHUWRQHV RI LQGLYLGXDO LQVWUXPHQWV

PAGE 120

+RZHYHU ZKLOH WRQH FRORU LV H[SORUHG WKH WLPEUH RI YDULRXV LQVWUXPHQWV WXUQV RXW WR EH QRW WKH WUXH VRXUFH RI WKH VWUXFWXUH LQ :HVWHUQ PXVLF 0RVW SHRSOH GR QRW UHJDUG WKH RUFKHVWUDWLRQ RI WKH SLHFH DV PDWHULDOO\ GLIIHUHQW IURP WKH XQRUFKHVWUDWHG YHUVLRQ RI LW RU DW PRVW LW LV VHHQ DV D GLIIHUHQFH LQYROYLQJ RQO\ PLQRU FKDQJHV ,OOXVWUDWLRQV VXFK DV %HHWKRYHQnV +DPPHUNODYLHU VRQDWD 2SXV PD\ EH FLWHG LQ WKLV UHJDUG 0RVW SHRSOH GR QRW UHJDUG :HLQJDUWQHUnV RUFKHVWUDWLRQ DV PRUH VLJQLILFDQW WKDQ WKH +DPPHUNODYLHU RQ WKH SLDQR &RQYHUVHO\ WKHUH DUH UHGXFWLRQV RI %HHWKRYHQnV )LIWK 6\PSKRQ\ /LV]WnV IRU H[DPSOHf ,Q HDFK RI WKHVH FDVHV FKDQJHV RI WRQH FRORU DUH QRW UHJDUGHG DV WKH SULPDU\ SDUW RI WKH DHVWKHWLF VWUXFWXUH DQG FKDQJHV LQ WRQH FRORU DUH QRW UHJDUGHG DV VLJQLILFDQWO\ DOWHULQJ WKH VWUXFWXUH RI WKH ZRUN LWVHOI ,QVWHDG RI WLPEUH FRQWUDVWV RXU WUDGLWLRQ LV SUHRFFXSLHG ZLWK KDUPRQ\ DQG WKXV :HVWHUQ PXVLF LV EDVHG SULPDULO\ RQ SLWFK GLIIHUHQFHV 7KHUHIRUH LI D SLHFH LV SOD\HG ZLWK WKH ZURQJ GHJUHH RI FRQWUDVWV LQ ORXGQHVV RU LW LV SOD\HG WRR VORZ RU WRR IDVW HYHQ LI LW LV SOD\HG RQ WKH ZURQJ LQVWUXPHQW WKH SLHFH LV VWLOO UHFRJQL]DEOH 7KHUH DUH RWKHU PXVLFDO WUDGLWLRQV KRZHYHU LQ ZKLFK SLWFK LV XQLPSRUWDQW DQG WKH FRQWUDVWV DUH UK\WKPLF DQG QRW KDUPRQLF FRQWUDVWV 7KHVH DUH WKRVH WUDGLWLRQV LQ ZKLFK SHUFXVVLRQ ,QVRIDU DV WLPEUH LV LPSRUWDQW DXWKHQWLFLW\ RI LQVWUXPHQWV EHFRPHV DQ LVVXH EXW PRVW SHRSOH DUH ZLOOLQJ WR FRQFHGH WKDW %DFK SOD\HG RQ WKH SLDQR LV QRW %DFK GHILOHG +RZHYHU WKHUH DUH SXULVWV ZKR ZLOO VD\ WKDW LI RQH UHDOO\ ZDQWV WR SOD\ %DFK DUFKDLF LQVWUXPHQWV PXVW EH XVHG

PAGE 121

LQVWUXPHQWV GRPLQDWH DV LQ ,QGRQHVLDQ PXVLF $IULFDQ PXVLF DQG WR D FHUWDLQ H[WHQW DUFKDLF &KLQHVH PXVLF ,QGHHG PRVW PXVLFDO WUDGLWLRQV DUH UK\WKPLFDOO\ FRQVLGHUDEO\ PRUH FRPSOH[ WKDQ RXU RZQ :H DGPLW LQWR :HVWHUQ PXVLF RQO\ D YHU\ IHZ VLJQDWXUHV W\SLFDOO\ RU VRPH YDULDQWf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

PAGE 122

UHVWULFWV WKH SRVVLEOH FKRLFH RI WKH QH[W RQH DQG RQFH WKH IRXUWK QRWH LV GHFLGHG WKHQ WKH RUGHU RU VHTXHQFHV RI FKRUGV LV LQ SDUW IL[HG ,I WKH FRPSRVHU VLPSO\ UHSHDWV LW EHFRPHV ERULQJ YHU\ TXLFNO\ 7KHUHIRUH E\ PHDQV RI PDQLSXODWLQJ WKH W\SHV RI FRQWUDVW ORXG VRIW IDVW VORZ FORVH IDU DSDUW HWFf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

PAGE 123

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f D SRHP ZLOO EH SURGXFHG ZKLFK JLYHQ WKH IDPLOLDULW\ RI WKH DXGLHQFH ZLOO EH LQVWDQWO\ UHFRJQL]DEOH DQG LQWHUSUHWDEOH 7KXV VW\OHV IXQFWLRQ DV D SRLQW RI UHIHUHQFH LQ WHUPV RI ZKLFK RQH FDQ DSSUHFLDWH D ZRUN RI DUW WKH VW\OH SURYLGLQJ WKH NH\ WR WKH ZD\ LQ ZKLFK WKH SRWHQWLDOLWLHV RI WKDW DUW

PAGE 124

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nV ILUVW DSSHDUDQFH

PAGE 125

KDUPRQLF VFKHPHf WR WKHVH DV LQWHOOLJLEOH XQLWV DQG KH PRGLILHV WKHVH LQWHOOLJLEOH XQLWV LQ UHJXODU ZD\V ,W VKRXOG EH SRLQWHG RXW WKDW WKH ZRUG V\PEROLF KHUH GRHV QRW LQGLFDWH WKDW WKHVH PRWLIV DUH UHIHUHQWLDO WKDW LV WKHVH PXVLFDO LQWHUYDOV GR QRW UHIHU WR DQ\WKLQJ DQG WKXV DUH QRW D V\PERO LQ WKDW VHQVH :KLOH LQ WKHLU ORJLFDO RUJDQL]DWLRQ WKHLU V\QWD[ LW FDQ EH FDOOHG WKH V\PEROLF UHODWLRQVKLSV RI PXVLF EHFRPH UDWKHU OLNH D ODQJXDJH WKDW DQDORJ\ LV QRW FRPSOHWHA 7KH V\PEROV RI PXVLF DUH QRW LQVWUXPHQWDO WR D VHPDQWLFDO IXQFWLRQ DV LV WKH FDVH LQ ODQJXDJH DQG DV D UHVXOW PXVLFDO VWUXFWXUH QHHG QRW DGKHUH WR WKH UXOHV WKDW DUH QHFHVVDU\ WR PDNH VHPDQWLF LQWHUSUHWDWLRQ SRVVLEOH 7KXV XQOLNH ODQJXDJH ZKRVH SULPDU\ IXQFWLRQ LV UHIHUHQWLDO WKH V\PEROV RI PXVLF GR QRW UHIHU WR VRPHWKLQJ H[WULQVLF WKH\ DUH QRW DERXW DQ\WKLQJ 1RQHWKHOHVV ZKDW LV VLPLODU DERXW PXVLF DQG ODQJXDJH LV DQDO\]DEOH VWUXFWXUH DQG LW LV WKLV UDWLRQDO VWUXFWXUH RI PXVLF WKDW LV HPSKDVL]HG KHUH 7KH V\PEROV RI PXVLF DUH QRQUHIHUHQWLDO H[FHSW LQWHUQDOO\ VR DQG DUH DNLQ WR PDWKHPDWLFV VLQFH WKH ORJLFDO UHODWLRQV LQ PDWKHPDWLFV GR QRW UHIHU WR DQ\WKLQJ H[WHULRU WR WKH PDWKHPDWLFDO IRUPXOD $ PDWKHPDWLFDO IRUPXOD PD\ EH XVHG WR GHVFULEH H[WHUQDO WKLQJV EXW WKH A$ WKRURXJK GLVFXVVLRQ WR ZKLFK DP LQGHEWHG RI WKH OLPLWDWLRQV RI WKH DQDORJLHV EHWZHHQ PXVLF DQG ODQJXDJH DQG PXVLF DQG PDWKHPDWLFV FDQ EH IRXQG LQ 5RJHU 6FUXWRQnV $UW DQG ,PDJLQDWLRQ $ 6WXG\ LQ WKH 3KLORVRSK\ RI 0LQG /RQGRQ 0HWKXHQ DQG &R/WG SS

PAGE 126

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

PAGE 127

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

PAGE 128

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

PAGE 129

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nV OLQH IURP /HV )OHXUV GX 0DL WKH PLQRU RI ZKDW ZH IHHO PDNHV XVH RI ZKDW ZH KHDU DV WKH GLIIHUHQFH EHWZHHQ D PDMRU FKRUG DQG D PLQRU FKRUG VLQFH PRVW SHRSOH GHWHFW D QRWLFHDEOH GLIIHUHQFH LQ PRRG RU IHHOLQJ EHWZHHQ D PDMRU NH\ DQG D PLQRU NH\ +RZHYHU WKH PDMRU DQG PLQRU GLVWLQFWLRQV ZKLFK FRQWHPSRUDU\ :HVWHUQHUV IHHO DUH QRW

PAGE 130

7KHPDWLF (OHPWQV DQG 'HYHORSPHQW 3ULPDU\ (OHPHQWV 0XVLF SLWFK DPSOLWXGH WLPEUH GXUDWLRQ UK\WKP PHORG\ RUFKHVWUDWLRQ WKHPHV FUHDVHG E\ UK\WKPLF FRQWUDVWV SOXV PORGLF FRQWUDVWV )LJXUH 0XVLF )LJXUH RI UHVHPEODQFHV 6,;

PAGE 131

D YLEUDWLQJ VRXUFH HJ D VLQJOH VWULQJf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r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nV H[DPLQDWLRQ RI D VFRUH LQ SUHSDUDWLRQ IRU D SHUIRUPDQFH ,Q VXFK FDVHV DHVWKHWLFV LV QRW LQYROYHG A,Q IDFW PRVW RI WKH SRHWU\ EHLQJ ZULWWHQ WRGD\ LV ZULWWHQ LQ D YHUEDO PRGH )RU H[DPSOH TXHVWLRQV RI YDOXH DVLGH WKH O\ULFV RI SRSXODU PXVLF DUH GHULYHG IURP WKH VSRNHQ ODQJXDJH DQG WKH SRSXODU SRHWU\ RI PRVW RI WKH ZRUOG LV GHVLJQHG IRU DXGLWRU\ DSSUHFLDWLRQ

PAGE 132

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nV H[SORLWDWLRQ RI FHUWDLQ TXDOLWLHV RI ODQJXDJH LQ D GHOLEHUDWH VHOIFRQVFLRXV ZD\ :KLOH ZH QHHG QRW SHUFHLYH WKH SRHP DXUDOO\ WR DSSUHFLDWH WKLV ZH PXVW EH DFTXDLQWHG ZLWK WKH SURQXQFLDWLRQ DQG UK\WKPV RI ODQJXDJH 2WKHUZLVH ZH FRXOG QRW GHWHFW WKH SRHWLF TXDOLWLHV RI D ZRUN DQG GLVWLQJXLVK LW IURP SURVH IRU VLPSO\ WR SULQW ZRUGV LQ EURNHQ OLQHV GRHV QRW PDNH D SRHP 7R LOOXVWUDWH WKH SRLQW RI SRHWU\nV GHSHQGHQFH RQ DXGLWRU\ HIIHFW RQH QHHG RQO\ WR FRQVLGHU WKH FDVH RI &KLQHVH SRHPV ZKLFK DUH GHSHQGHQW RQ 7nDQJ SURQXQFLDWLRQ WR SURGXFH WKHLU DXGLWRU\ HIIHFW &HQWXULHV DIWHU WKHLU ZULWLQJ RQH PXVW JR DERXW PHPRUL]LQJ WKRVH DQFLHQW UXOHV RI SURQXQFLDWLRQ :KLOH LW LV WUXH WKDW RQH FDQ SURQRXQFH $Q H[FHSWLRQ WR WKLV LV LQ &KLQD ZKHUH SRHWU\ KDSSHQV WR KDYH EHHQ UHDG IURP 6XQJ G\QDVW\ WLPHV URXJKO\ IURP WKH \HDU RQ

PAGE 133

WKHVH SRHPV XVLQJ FRQWHPSRUDU\ SURQXQFLDWLRQ RU IRU WKDW PDWWHU (QJOLVK *HUPDQ RU ,WDOLDQ SURQXQFLDWLRQf RQH ZRXOG KDUGO\ DUJXH WKDW WR GR VR HYHQ VLOHQWO\ ZRXOG EH DSSUHFLDWLQJ WKH 7n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f RI D VRXQG LQ SRHWU\ ZKLOH ZKDW ZH FDOO DPSOLWXGH LQ PXVLF ZLOO EH VLPLODU WR D VWUHVVXQVWUHVV RI VRXQG LQ SRHWU\ ,Q WKHPVHOYHV WKHVH HOHPHQWV DUH OHVV LPSRUWDQW WKDQ WKH\ DUH LQ PXVLF LQ WKDW WKH\ WDNH RQ VLJQLILFDQFH GHSHQGLQJ RQO\ XSRQ WKH SDUWLFXODU ODQJXDJH LQ ZKLFK WKH SRHP LV ZULWWHQ 7KLV SRLQW ZLOO EH GHYHORSHG EHORZ 8SRQ FORVH H[DPLQDWLRQ LW EHFRPHV HYLGHQW WKDW ZKDW ZDV UHIHUUHG WR DV WRQH FRORU RU WLPEUH LQ PXVLF UHVHPEOHV

PAGE 134

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

PAGE 135

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

PAGE 136

ZKLFK WKH\ DUH IDPLOLDU )RU H[DPSOH VLQJLQJ D VHULHV RI QRWHV VXFK DV WKRVH LQ )LJXUH A ZRXOG QRW GLIIHU IURP UHDGLQJ DORXG 0HJD ELEOLRQ PHJD NDNRQAp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nV RSHUD 2IHUR HG (XULGLFH 7KLV ZDV FRQVLGHUHG WKH ILQHVW ZRUN E\ WKH +HOOHQLVWLF *UHHN SRHW .DOOLPDFKRV DQG ZDV OLRQL]HG LQ LWV GD\ ,Q (QJOLVK WKH OLQH UHDGV $ ELJ ERRN LV D ELJ HYLO

PAGE 137

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f DQG GXUDWLRQ &RQVHTXHQWO\ WKHUH DUH WZR NLQGV RI UK\WKP LQ SRHWU\ Df RQH EDVHG RQ YROXPH RU ,Q SRHWU\ WKLV LV FDOOHG PHWHU WKDW LV SRHWU\ LQYROYHV PHWULFDO SDWWHUQV ZKLFK KDYH D FHUWDLQ LQWULFDF\

PAGE 138

VWUHVV UK\WKP DV RFFXUV LQ (QJOLVK DQG Ef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n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

PAGE 139

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