What is beauty?
Beauty is both universal and personal. It is immediately recognizable. It is a moment of sublimity, of divinity. The sense that you are experiencing something rare and substantial.
Universally, beauty is the symmetry of a face, the colors of a sunset, the petals of a rose, the chords of a song. There are certain things humans have celebrated across time and geography. Although I make no attempt to explain the phenomenon or identify the common threads, it seems clear that some beauty is universal, undeniable.
On a personal level, beauty varies. For some, it may be in the freckles of a spouse. For others, it lies in a sea of smokestacks. Regardless of the trigger, our experience of beauty shares some key characteristics. It is a physiological reaction—the figurative swelling of the heart, the stopping of breath, the welling of tears. However brief, it is a moment of pure, unadulterated peace.
We experience beauty in nature, in art, and in our daily interactions.
What is art?
Art is, perhaps, in the intentional interjection of beauty into our lives. Its goal is to transcend, to touch the sublime. It also strives to capture a bit of humanity. A friend recently described art to me as “pure humanity committed to a medium.”
Art is often grand and remarkable, but sometimes it is small and subtle. It’s a tiny gift placed lovingly into the pages of your daily life. It's the meticulously wrapped birthday gift or the fresh flowers on the cafe table.
Last week at Confab, content strategists from around the world gathered to discuss the state of the web. I was struck by how frequently the success examples, the case studies for doing content right, included pure art as a major element of their appeal.
For instance, one website sells trinkets on eBay. They buy thrift-store figurines and hire authors to craft a backstory about the trinkets’ origins. The seller then lists items with their accompanying stories for an enormous profit.
Although art is not about selling, people are willing to pay for art. We crave it. We seek something that exists only for the sake of adding beauty to our lives. We are hungry for acknowledgement and celebration of our humanity.
Why do art and beauty matter?
If art is humanity, and art is beautiful, then it stands to reason that humanity is beautiful—that sharing our humanity is a way to add beauty to the world.
In a recent New York Times article, novelist Jonathan Safran Foer proposes that technology has increased barriers between us and other humans. Through the guise of connection, we are actually increasingly separated from those around us.
The more we feel disconnected from the humans around us, the more pronounced our craving for humanity becomes.
Think about the last time someone shared an emotion with you, something personal and real. Did it feel special and rare? Did it momentarily transport you from your task-based existence into a special place, occupied only by you and this other person? Was it something you appreciated? Did you feel a swelling of your heart?
When we share a bit of our humanity, we add beauty to the world. We provide for another that glimmer of recognition, that briefly transcendent moment, that breath-catching thrill of beauty.
Universally, beauty is the symmetry of a face, the colors of a sunset, the petals of a rose, the chords of a song. There are certain things humans have celebrated across time and geography. Although I make no attempt to explain the phenomenon or identify the common threads, it seems clear that some beauty is universal, undeniable.
On a personal level, beauty varies. For some, it may be in the freckles of a spouse. For others, it lies in a sea of smokestacks. Regardless of the trigger, our experience of beauty shares some key characteristics. It is a physiological reaction—the figurative swelling of the heart, the stopping of breath, the welling of tears. However brief, it is a moment of pure, unadulterated peace.
We experience beauty in nature, in art, and in our daily interactions.
What is art?
Art is, perhaps, in the intentional interjection of beauty into our lives. Its goal is to transcend, to touch the sublime. It also strives to capture a bit of humanity. A friend recently described art to me as “pure humanity committed to a medium.”
Art is often grand and remarkable, but sometimes it is small and subtle. It’s a tiny gift placed lovingly into the pages of your daily life. It's the meticulously wrapped birthday gift or the fresh flowers on the cafe table.
Last week at Confab, content strategists from around the world gathered to discuss the state of the web. I was struck by how frequently the success examples, the case studies for doing content right, included pure art as a major element of their appeal.
For instance, one website sells trinkets on eBay. They buy thrift-store figurines and hire authors to craft a backstory about the trinkets’ origins. The seller then lists items with their accompanying stories for an enormous profit.
Although art is not about selling, people are willing to pay for art. We crave it. We seek something that exists only for the sake of adding beauty to our lives. We are hungry for acknowledgement and celebration of our humanity.
Why do art and beauty matter?
If art is humanity, and art is beautiful, then it stands to reason that humanity is beautiful—that sharing our humanity is a way to add beauty to the world.
In a recent New York Times article, novelist Jonathan Safran Foer proposes that technology has increased barriers between us and other humans. Through the guise of connection, we are actually increasingly separated from those around us.
"I worry that the closer the world gets to our fingertips, the further it gets from our hearts."
The more we feel disconnected from the humans around us, the more pronounced our craving for humanity becomes.
Think about the last time someone shared an emotion with you, something personal and real. Did it feel special and rare? Did it momentarily transport you from your task-based existence into a special place, occupied only by you and this other person? Was it something you appreciated? Did you feel a swelling of your heart?
When we share a bit of our humanity, we add beauty to the world. We provide for another that glimmer of recognition, that briefly transcendent moment, that breath-catching thrill of beauty.
We are starved, yet we each carry a buffet of humanity within ourselves. If we are surrounded by starving people, is it not our duty to share our bounty?
The moral imperative
My proposal is that the intentional injection of beauty into life—through art, vulnerable exposure of our humanity, and the creation of environments in which beautiful moments can bloom—is a gift and could be used as a moral compass.
Maybe rather than asking, "What is good? What is right?" in any given situation, we instead look toward, "What is most beautiful?"
When you are walking with someone and the light in the sky stops you short, when you're both standing in awe at the enormity of nature before you and you're overcome with the desire to throw your arms around this person and kiss them on the cheek, maybe this time you do. Maybe that's the most beautiful thing you can do. Even if you've never done that before. Even if it's outside the normal bounds of your relationship. Even if you're afraid.
If you direct your actions toward the creation of beautiful moments, you may also create lasting memories. You may strengthen relationships. You may lift others, if only for the briefest seconds, closer to the divine.
By cultivating beauty, we can elevate others and increase the overall amount of good in the world. Maybe that's all we can ever hope to do.
The moral imperative
My proposal is that the intentional injection of beauty into life—through art, vulnerable exposure of our humanity, and the creation of environments in which beautiful moments can bloom—is a gift and could be used as a moral compass.
Maybe rather than asking, "What is good? What is right?" in any given situation, we instead look toward, "What is most beautiful?"
When you are walking with someone and the light in the sky stops you short, when you're both standing in awe at the enormity of nature before you and you're overcome with the desire to throw your arms around this person and kiss them on the cheek, maybe this time you do. Maybe that's the most beautiful thing you can do. Even if you've never done that before. Even if it's outside the normal bounds of your relationship. Even if you're afraid.
If you direct your actions toward the creation of beautiful moments, you may also create lasting memories. You may strengthen relationships. You may lift others, if only for the briefest seconds, closer to the divine.
By cultivating beauty, we can elevate others and increase the overall amount of good in the world. Maybe that's all we can ever hope to do.
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