Beauty

I have a theory that `beauty` as an artistic concept is much more absracter than people give it credit for. Arty people often call renaissance frescos and landscapes with a photoshopped skies beautiful... which I spose they are. In the play Closer (By Paddy Marber), there's this quote when two people meet at an arty exhibition.

Larry: [on a photography exhibit] What do you think?
Alice: It's a lie. It's a bunch of sad strangers photographed beautifully, and... all the glittering assholes who appreciate art say it's beautiful 'cause that's what they wanna see. But the people in the photos are sad, and alone... But the pictures make the world seem beautiful, so... the exhibition is reassuring which makes it a lie, and everyone loves a big fat lie.
Larry: I'm the big fat liar's boyfriend.
Alice: Bastard!

Anyway. The Gospel according to Bennyfingers (yes, I've changed from Bennylegs to Bennyfingers) says Alice is wrong... Bohemians say that beauty and truth are intrinsic*  so I like this exhibition

Linky Link,

because it's an honest, unembelished portrayal of Britain. An no one loves a Big Fat Lie.

That's all I've got to say about that really.

* (according to Moulin Rouge as that's the only education I've really had on early last centry Parisien bohemia)