Writings

Nobody else can be blamed for the following but me

George Kovats

Such is life



    When Is Art an Art?

     

    When is art an Art and when
    are artists Artists? I'm always greatly amused when I hear people
    refer to themselves as Artists and their work as Art. Do these
    people have the moral right to do so? Can Art be created at will
    as these people think.

     

    Art cannot be created on command.
    Neither can it be created at will. Art happens. Art happens in
    the mind of the beholder when all elements of the piece being
    viewed are in concert. Art happens to emerge usually after a
    lot of practice and hard labor. One of the definitions of art
    is: activity to imitate beauty with high degree of conception
    and execution. High degree of execution. This can only happen
    after long hours, days and years of practice. High degree of
    conception. This can only happen with lot of imagination and
    practice. Creative process is not without a pain.

     

    And what is beauty. Beauty
    is defined as a quality that pleases or satisfies one's senses
    or mind. Therefore it follows that beauty is in the eye of the
    beholder. Didn't we hear this somewhere? I hold these truths
    to be self-evident . . . and to form the absolute truth in art.

     

    Based on this thesis, only
    the viewer can determine what is art. Viewer other than the creator
    of the work. The view of the creator of the work is not impartial.
    Therefore the creator of the work is not qualified nor should
    he attempt to label the fruits of his work as Art.

     

    Time will determine what is
    Art. Tastes and opinions change. Art is absolute. It is absolute
    because Art attempts to simulate Beauty. Beauty is absolute and
    does not change. What is beautiful today will be beautiful tomorrow.
    And next year . . . and year after that. We may not always know
    it but it is there to be discovered. Therefore Art does not change
    - it is constant. It can only be discovered by the beholder.

stripe

stripe
thin stripe
white thin stripe
almost white thin stripe
one almost white thin stripe

one really black wide stripe
really black wide stripe
black wide stripe
black stripe
stripe

Square

s q u a r e

What is Art?

Art is Beautiful
Art is Ageless
Art is Priceless
Art is Nature
Art is the Human Attempt to Imitate Nature
Art is an Arrangement
An Arrangement of individual parts to form 
A more beautiful union. 
A more beautiful Whole.
Individual ugly parts creating a more beautiful whole
Therefore Art is Beauty itself.
And just like Matter - Beauty cannot be created, 
                         just discovered and manipulated.
Those attempting to create Great Art will fail 
                                        and will be banished
Those attempting to discover Beauty will succeed 
                                                             in creating Art
Not all the time . . . but at least once
And they will be remembered and celebrated
Which is more beautiful?
           a mondrian
         a picasso
       a miro
     a lichtenstein
   a moran
     a bierstadt
       a cole
         a pollock
           a rembrandt
             a van eyck
               a morandi
                 a renoir
               a marden
             a rothko
           a mattise
         a cezanne
       a titian
     a da vinci
   a slavicek
     a carnwath
       a martin
         a close
           or a poussin
Who created The Art and who created 
Just Paintings?
Is it a mind bender!
Is it impossible to evaluate and analyze
The Great Ones
And the Not so Great Ones of Art
Or is it a simple matter to decide?
Can we, are we qualified to decide
Let me know what you think
Send me your comments and opinions
    	      e-mail to gkovats@erols.com

 b     r     a

    i     n   

   . 



p     a      i     n     t     i     n     g     i     s

l     i    k     e     w      r      i     t      i     n

g     c     r     e     a     t     i     v     e     a

n    d      m      i     n     d      b     o      g

g     l    i     n     g     a     n     d     s     o

m    e     t    i     m     e     s     t     h     e

b     r     a     i     n      h     u     r     t     s

Plastic Mind Window

breezy summer afternoon
evening serenade on canvas
trees meadow rocky gorge brook
color symphony cantatas - mind window

field of flowers in bloom
blurred and noisy in the mind
in squiggles and threads is it eye
color field space in time - plastic covered

window covered with plastic
gray smelly fish on a white plate
melon orange lemon pear banana
window shut five past three - locked inside

when i collected chestnuts 

when i collected chestnuts
i was just a little kid
and nothing had remained
to remind me nothing
not even a red star

ever since i can remember
i liked to draw
and paint watercolors
and collect chestnuts

i collected chestnuts
in a park near the castle
and i made sculptures
little figures

i collected leaves
in the fall
and made leaf chains
and colorful tails

some of the leaves
i dried and pressed
with some flowers
i collected

i made lot of drawings
and paintings of
my heros from
fairy tales i read

i don't have any of them
they got lost
what a shame
i have nothing

at age of 10 
i painted a poster
for a school play we put on
to say good bye to our teacher

the poster was sent 
to town hall with a red star
to advertise our play
lot of people came

then we painted
with a friend
just a classmate
panorama of our city

city where we lived
it was another poster
for event that escapes
me now  -  strange

when i was 15
i designed a medal
to be awarded each year
to the best apprentice

it was plain design
laurel wreath
open on right side
with gold ribbon

at the bottom
the ribbon said
best apprentice and there 
was logo in the middle

the committee
selected my design
from about 60 submitted
and added a red star

no hammer and sickle
just a red star but
they never gave me
the medal i designed

when i collected chestnuts
i was just a little kid
and nothing . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
had remained . . . . .
not even a red star . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
nothing but . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
the tears . . . .

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