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[Home]
[Up]
[Contents]
[Preface]
[Bibliographical Note]
[A Note on the Text]
[WHAT IS ART?]
I
II
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IV
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VI
VII
VIII
IX
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XI
XII
XIII
XIV
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XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
[CONCLUSION]
[Appendix I]
[Appendix II]
[Notes]
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WHAT IS ART?
¿¹¼úÀº ¹«¾ùÀΰ¡?
TRANSLATED BY RICHARD PEVEAR AND LARISSA VOLOKHONSKY
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¿¹¼úÀº ¹«¾ùÀΰ¡?
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Becoming ever poorer in content and ever more incomprehensible in form, art in its latest manifestations has even lost all the properties of art and has been replaced by simulacra of art. |
³»¿ëÀº ²÷ÀÓ¾øÀÌ ÀúÁúÀÌ µÇ¾î°¡°í Çü½Äµµ ²÷ÀÓ¾øÀÌ ³ÇØÇÏ°Ô µÇ¾î
°¡¸é¼, °¡Àå ÃÖ±Ù¿¡ Ç¥ÇöµÇ°í ÀÖ´Â ¿¹¼úÀº ½ÉÁö¾î ¿¹¼úÀÇ ¸ðµç Ư¼ºµéÀ» ÀÒ°í¼ ¿¹¼ú°ú À¯»çÇÑ °Íµé·Î ´ëüµÇ¾î ¹ö·È´Ù. |
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As if it were not enough that, owing to its separation from the art of the whole people, the art of the upper classes became poor in content and bad in form — that is, more and more incomprehensible — this art has in the course of time even ceased to be art and has come to be replaced by counterfeits of art. |
Àüü ¹ÎÁßµéÀÇ ¿¹¼ú·ÎºÎÅÍ ºÐ¸®µÊ¿¡ ÀÇÇØ, »ó·ù °è±ÞµéÀÇ ¿¹¼úÀº
³»¿ë¿¡¼± ÀúÁú·Î ±×¸®°í Çü½Ä¿¡¼± ³ª»Ú°Ô
— Áï, Á¡Á¡ ´õ ³ÇØÇÏ°Ô —
µÈ °ÍÀ¸·Î ÃæºÐÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀº µí, ÀÌ ¿¹¼úÀº ½Ã°£ÀÌ °¡¸é¼ ½ÉÁö¾î ¿¹¼úÀ̱⸦ Áß´ÜÇÏ°í ¿¹¼úÀÇ ¸ðÁ¶Ç°µé·Î ´ëüµÇ´Â Áö°æ¿¡ À̸£·¶´Ù. |
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This has happened for the following reasons. Art of the whole people emerges only when a man of the people, having experienced a strong feeling, has need of conveying it to others. Art of the wealthy classes emerges, not because of any need in the artist, but mostly because people of the upper classes demand amusements, which are very well remunerated. People of the wealthy classes demand that art convey feelings pleasing to them, and artists try to satisfy these demands. But to satisfy these demands is very difficult, since the people of the wealthy classes, leading a life of idleness and luxury, demand continuous amusement from art, while it is impossible to produce art at will, even of the lowest sort — it must be born of itself in the artist. And therefore, in order to satisfy the demands of upper-class people, artists had to develop methods by which they could produce objects simulating art. And these methods were developed. |
À̰ÍÀº ´ÙÀ½ÀÇ ÀÌÀ¯µé·Î ¹ß»ýÇß´Ù. Àüü ¹ÎÁßÀÇ ¿¹¼úÀº ¿ÀÁ÷ ¹ÎÁßÀÇ
ÇÑ »ç¶÷ÀÌ, °·ÄÇÑ ´À³¦À» °æÇèÇϰí¼, ±×°ÍÀ» ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô Àü´ÞÇÒ Çʿ並 °¡Áú ¶§ ³ªÅ¸³´Ù. ºÎÀ¯ÇÑ °è±ÞµéÀÇ ¿¹¼úÀº, ¿¹¼ú°¡¿¡ ÀÖ¾î¼
¾î¶² ÇÊ¿ä ¶§¹®ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, ´ëüÀûÀ¸·Î »ó·ù °è±ÞÀÇ »ç¶÷µéÀÌ ¿À¶ôµéÀ» ¿ä±¸Çϸç, º¸¼ö°¡ ÈÄÇϱ⠶§¹®¿¡ ³ªÅ¸³´Ù. ºÎÀ¯ÇÑ °è±ÞµéÀÇ »ç¶÷µéÀº
¿¹¼úÀÌ ±×µé¿¡°Ô Áñ°Å¿î ´À³¦µéÀ» ÀüÇØÁÙ °Í°ú, ¿¹¼ú°¡µéÀÌ À̵éÀÇ ¿ä±¸µéÀ» ¸¸Á·½ÃÄÑÁÖ±â À§ÇØ ³ë·ÂÇÒ °ÍÀ» ¿ä±¸ÇÑ´Ù. ±×·¯³ª À̵éÀÇ ¿ä±¸µéÀ»
¸¸Á·½ÃŰ´Â °ÍÀº ¸Å¿ì ¾î·Æ´Ù, ¿Ö³ÄÇÏ¸é ºÎÀ¯ÇÑ °è±ÞµéÀÇ »ç¶÷µéÀº, ½ÉÁö¾î °¡Àå ÀúÁú½º·¯¿î Á¾·ù¶óµµ, — Ʋ¸²¾øÀÌ
¿¹¼ú°¡ ¾È¿¡¼ ÀÚ¿¬È÷ ÅÂ¾î³ °ÍÀÌ´Ù —
¿¹¼úÀ» ÀÚÀ¯ÀÚÀç·Î »ý»êÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ ºÒ°¡´ÉÇÑ
ÆíÀε¥µµ, °ÔÀ¸¸£°í »çÄ¡½º·± »îÀ» ¿µÀ§Çϸé¼, ¿¹¼ú·ÎºÎÅÍ Áö¼ÓÀûÀÎ ¿À¶ôÀ» ¿ä±¸Çϱ⠶§¹®ÀÌ´Ù. ±×·¯¹Ç·Î, »ó·ù °è±Þ »ç¶÷µéÀÇ ¿ä±¸µéÀ» ¸¸Á·½Ã۱â À§ÇÏ¿©, ¿¹¼ú°¡µéÀº ¿¹¼úÀ» Èä³» ³»´Â ¹°°ÇµéÀ»
»ý»êÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ¹æ¹ýµéÀ» °³¹ßÇØ¾ß¸¸ Çß´Ù. ±×¸®°í ÀÌµé ¹æ¹ýµéÀº °³¹ßµÇ¾ú´Ù. |
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These methods are: (l) borrowing, (2) imitation, (3) effectfulness, and (4) diversion. |
ÀÌµé ¹æ¹ýµéÀº ´ÙÀ½°ú °°´Ù: (1) Â÷¿ë, (2) ¸ð¹æ, (3)
È¿°ú, ±×¸®°í (4) Àüȯ. |
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The first consists in borrowing either whole subjects or only separate features from earlier, well-known poetic works and so reworking them that, with some additions, they represent something new. Such works of art, evoking memories of previously experienced artistic feelings in people belonging to a certain circle, produce an impression similar to that of art, and pass for art among those who seek pleasure from art, if some other necessary conditions are satisfied at the same time. Subjects borrowed from earlier works of art are usually called poetic subjects. Objects and characters borrowed from earlier works of art are called poetic objects. Thus, in our circle, all sorts of legends, sagas and old tales are regarded as poetic subjects. Poetic characters and objects include maidens, war¡©riors, shepherds, hermits, angels, devils in all forms, moonlight, thunderstorms, mountains, the sea, precipices, flowers, long hair, lions, the lamb, the dove, the nightingale; all objects used by earlier artists in their works are generally considered poetic. |
ù°´Â °ú°ÅÀÇ, Àß ¾Ë·ÁÁø ½Ã ÀÛǰµé·ÎºÎÅÍ Àüü ÁÖÁ¦µé ȤÀº ¿ÀÁ÷
º°µµÀÇ Æ¯Â¡µéÀ» ºô·Á¿Í Àç°¡°øÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ̸ç, ¾à°£¾¿ ÷°¡ÇÏ¿© ±×µéÀº ¾î¶² »õ·Î¿î °ÍÀ» º¸¿©ÁØ´Ù. ±×·± ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰµéÀº, ƯÁ¤ÇÑ ¹üÁÖ¿¡ ¼ÓÇÏ´Â
»ç¶÷µé ¾È¿¡ °ú°Å¿¡ °æÇèÇÑ ¿¹¼úÀû ´À³¦µé¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ±â¾ïµéÀ» ºÒ·¯ ³»¾î, ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰ°ú ºñ½ÁÇÑ ÀλóÀ» ¸¸µé¾î ³»¸ç, µ¿½Ã¿¡ ¾î¶² ´Ù¸¥ ÇÊ¿äÁ¶°ÇµéÀÌ
ÃæÁ·µÈ´Ù¸é, ¿¹¼ú·ÎºÎÅÍ Äè¶ôÀ» Ãß±¸ÇÏ´Â »ç¶÷µé »çÀÌ¿¡ ¿¹¼ú·Î ¿©°ÜÁø´Ù. ÀÌÀü ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰµé·ÎºÎÅÍ Â÷¿ëÇÑ ÁÖÁ¦µéÀº ÁÖ·Î ½ÃÀû ÁÖÁ¦µéÀÌ´Ù. °ú°ÅÀÇ
¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰµé·ÎºÎÅÍ Â÷¿ëµÈ ´ë»óµé ¹× Àι°µéÀº ½ÃÀû ´ë»óµé·Î ºÒ¸°´Ù. ±×·¡¼, ¿ì¸® ÁÖº¯¿¡¼ ¸ðµç Á¾·ùÀÇ Àü¼³µé, ¿µ¿õ´ãµé ¹× ¿¾³¯À̾߱âµéÀº
½ÃÀû ÁÖÁ¦µé·Î ¿©°ÜÁø´Ù. ½ÃÀû Àι°µé ¹× ´ë»óµéÀº ó³àµé, Àü»çµé, ¾çÄ¡±âµé, ÀºµÐÀÚµé, õ»çµé, ¸ðµç ÇüÅÂÀÇ ¾Ç¸¶µé, ´Þºû, õµÕ¼Ò¸®µé,
»êµé, ¹Ù´Ù, Àýº®µé, ±ä¸Ó¸®, »çÀÚµé, ¾ç, ºñµÑ±â, ³ªÀÌÆÃ°ÔÀÏÀ» Æ÷ÇÔÇÑ´Ù; °ú°ÅÀÇ ¿¹¼ú°¡µé¿¡ ÀÇÇØ ±×µéÀÇ ÀÛǰµé ¾È¿¡ »ç¿ëµÈ ¸ðµç
´ë»óµéÀº ÀϹÝÀûÀ¸·Î ½ÃÀûÀÌ¶ó ¿©°ÜÁø´Ù. |
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About forty years ago a lady (since deceased), not very intelligent but highly civilized, ayant beaucoup d¡¯acquis, [85] invited me to listen to a novel she had written. The action began with the heroine in a poetic forest, by the waterside, in a poetic white dress, with poetically loose hair, reading poetry. It was set in Russia, and suddenly from behind the bushes the hero appeared in a hat with a feather à a Guillaume Tell (so it was written), and with two poetic white dogs accompanying him. It seemed to the author that this was all very poetic. Everything would have been well, however, if the hero had not needed to speak: but as soon as the gentleman in the hat à la Guillaume Tell started talking with the girl in the white dress, it became obvious that the author had nothing to say, that she was moved by poetic memories of earlier works and thought that by rummaging through these memories she could produce an artistic impression. But an artistic impression is an infection, it works only when the author has himself experienced some feeling and conveys it in his own way, not when he conveys someone else¡¯s feeling as it was conveyed to him. This sort of poetry out of poetry cannot infect people, and only produces the simulacrum of a work of art, and that only for people with perverted aesthetic taste. The lady was very stupid and untalented, and therefore one could see at once how things were; but when such borrowings are undertaken by well-read and talented people, with a developed artistic technique besides, the results are those borrowings from the Greek, the antique, the Christian, and the mythological world, which have multiplied so greatly and, especially now, continue to appear in large numbers, and which the public takes for works of art, if the borrowings are nicely presented by means of the technique of the art to which they belong. |
»ç½Ê¿© ³â Àü ¾î¶² ºÎÀÎÀÌ (±× ÈÄ »ç¸ÁÇÏ¿´À½), Áö±ØÈ÷ ÁöÀûÀº
¾Æ´ÏÁö¸¸ »ó´çÈ÷ ±³¾ç ÀÖ°í, »î¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ¸¹Àº °æÇèÀ» Áö´Ñ »ç¶÷À¸·Î, ±×³à°¡ ¾´ ¾î¶² ¼Ò¼³À» µé¾îº¸µµ·Ï ³ª¸¦ ÃÊûÇß´Ù.
ÁٰŸ®´Â ¾î¶² ½ÃÀûÀÎ ½£ ¼Ó, ¹°°¡¿¡¼, ½ÃÀûÀÎ ÀÇ»óÀ» µÎ¸£°í, ½ÃÀûÀ¸·Î È帣´Â ¸Ó¸®Ä«¶ô¿¡, ½Ã¸¦ Àд ¿©ÁÖÀΰø°ú ÇÔ²² ½ÃÀ۵Ǿú´Ù. Àå¼Ò´Â
·¯½Ã¾Æ¿´À¸¸ç, °©Àڱ⠴ýºÒ µÚ¿¡¼ ÁÖÀΰøÀÌ
Àª¸®¾öÅÚ Ç³ÀÇ (±×·¸°Ô ¾²¿© ÀÖ¾ú´Ù) ±êÅÐÀ» ²ÈÀº ¸ðÀÚ¸¦ ¾²°í ³ªÅ¸³µÀ¸¸ç, µÎ ¸¶¸®ÀÇ ½ÃÀûÀÎ ÇÏ¾á °¾ÆÁöµéÀÌ
±×¸¦ µû¸£°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. ÀÛ°¡¿¡°Ô ÀÖ¾î¼ À̰ÍÀº ¸ðµÎ ³Ê¹«³ª ½ÃÀûÀÎ °Íó·³ º¸¿´´Ù. ÇÏÁö¸¸, ¸ðµç °ÍÀº Àß ³ª°¬À» °ÍÀÌ´Ù, ¸¸ÀÏ ÁÖÀΰøÀÌ ¸»ÇÒ
Çʿ䰡 ¾ø¾ú´Ù¸é: ±×·¯³ª Àª¸®¾öÅÚ Ç³ÀÇ ¸ðÀÚ¸¦ ¾´ ½Å»ç°¡ ÇÏ¾á ¿ÊÀ» ÀÔÀº ¿©ÀÚ¿Í ¸»Çϱ⠽ÃÀÛÇÏÀÚ
¸¶ÀÚ, ÀÛ°¡´Â ¾Æ¹« ÇÒ ¸»ÀÌ ¾øÀ½ÀÌ ¸í¹éÇØÁ³À¸¸ç, ±×³à´Â °ú°Å ÀÛǰµéÀÇ ½ÃÀûÀÎ Ãß¾ïµé·Î °¨µ¿ ¹Þ¾ÒÀ¸¸ç ÀÌ·± Ãß¾ïµéÀ» ÇìÁý°í ´Ù´ÔÀ¸·Î½á ±×³à´Â
¿¹¼úÀû °¨¸íÀ» ¸¸µé¾î ³¾ ¼ö ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. ±×·¯³ª ¿¹¼úÀû °¨¸íÀº ÀÏÁ¾ÀÇ Àü¿°À¸·Î¼, ¿ÀÁ÷ ÀÛ°¡ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ¾î¶² ´À³¦À» °æÇèÇÏ°í ±×°ÍÀ» ÀÚ±â ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ
¹æ½ÄÀ¸·Î Àü´ÞÇÒ ¶§¿¡ ÀÛ¿ëÇϸç, ±×¿¡°Ô Àü´ÞµÈ ´Ù¸¥ ¾î¶² »ç¶÷ÀÇ ´À³¦À» Àü´ÞÇÒ ¶§´Â ¾Æ´Ï´Ù. ÀÌ·± ·ùÀÇ ½ÃÁ¤À» ÅëÇÑ ½ÃÁ¤Àº »ç¶÷µéÀ» Àü¿°½Ãų
¼ö ¾ø´Ù, ±×¸®°í ¿ÀÁ÷ ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀÇ ¸ðÁ¶Ç°À» »ý»êÇϸç, ±×°ÍÀº ¿ÀÁ÷ Ÿ¶ôÇÑ ¹ÌÀû ÃëÇâÀ» Áö´Ñ »ç¶÷µéÀ» À§ÇÑ °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±× ºÎÀÎÀº ³Ê¹«³ª
¸ÛûÇϰí Àç´Éµµ ¾ø¾ú´Ù, ±×·¯¹Ç·Î »ç¶÷µéÀº ´çÀå ¾î¶² ³»¿ëÀÎÁö ¾Ë ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù; ±×·¯³ª ±×·± Â÷¿ëµéÀÌ ¹Ú½ÄÇϸç Àç´É ÀÖ´Â, °Ô´Ù°¡ °³¹ßµÈ ¿¹¼úÀû
±â¼úµéÀ» Áö´Ñ »ç¶÷µé¿¡ ÀÇÇØ ÀÌ·ç¾îÁú ¶§, °á°úµéÀº ±×¸®½º, °í´ë, ±×¸®½ºµµ±³, ±×¸®°í ½ÅÈ ¼¼°è·ÎºÎÅÍ Â÷¿ëÇÏ°Ô µÇ¸ç, ±×°ÍµéÀº ¾öû³ª°Ô
Áõ´ëµÇ¾î, Ưº°È÷ ÇöÀç¿¡ ÀÖ¾î¼, ´Ù·®À¸·Î ³ªÅ¸³ª¸ç, ¸¸ÀÏ Â÷¿ëÇÑ °ÍµéÀÌ ÇØ´ç ¿¹¼úÀÇ ±â¼ú¿¡ ÀÇÇØ »ê¶æÇÏ°Ô Á¦½ÃµÈ´Ù¸é, ´ëÁßÀº ±×°ÍÀ» ¿¹¼ú
ÀÛǰµé·Î ¹Þ¾Æ µéÀδÙ. |
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Rostand¡¯s play Princesse Lointaine (¡®Princess Faraway¡¯), [86] in which there is not a scintilla of art, but which seems to many, probably including its author, to be very poetic, may serve as a typical example of such artistic counterfeits. |
·Î½ºÅºµåÀÇ ¿¬±Ø
Princesse Lointaine ('²Þ¼ÓÀÇ °øÁÖ')´Â, Ƽ²ø¸¸ÅÀÇ ¿¹¼ú¼ºµµ ¾øÀ¸¸é¼µµ, ¸¹Àº »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô, ¾Æ¸¶ ±× ÀÛ°¡µé Æ÷ÇÔÇÏ¿©, ¸Å¿ì
½ÃÀûÀÎ °Íó·³ º¸ÀÌ´Â °ÍÀ¸·Î, ÀÌ·¯ÇÑ ¿¹¼úÀû ¸ðÁ¶Ç°µé¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ÀüÇüÀû ¿¹·Î µé ¼ö ÀÖÀ» °ÍÀÌ´Ù. |
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The second method of producing a simulacrum of art is what I have called imitation. The essence of this method consists in conveying the details that accompany what is being described or portrayed. In verbal art, this method consists in describing in minute detail the external appearance, faces, clothing, gestures, sounds and positions of the characters with all the accidents that occur in life. Thus, in novels and stories, each time a character speaks, we are told what sort of voice he spoke in and what he was doing at the same time. And the speeches themselves are given not so as to have the greatest meaning, but in a lifelike manner, poorly put together, with interruptions and omissions. In dramatic art, this method consists in presenting, together with imitative speech, the whole situation and all the actions of the characters as they would be in real life. In painting, this method reduces painting to photography, and abolishes the difference between photography and painting. Strange as it may seem, this method is also employed in music, when it tries to imitate, not only with rhythm but with sounds themselves, the very sounds which in real life accompany that which it wishes to portray. |
¿¹¼ú°ú À¯»çÇÑ °ÍÀ» ¸¸µå´Â µÎ ¹øÂ° ¹æ¹ýÀ» ³ª´Â ¸ð¹æÀ̶ó ºÎ¸¥´Ù. ÀÌ ¹æ¹ýÀÇ ÇÙ½ÉÀº ¹¦»çµÇ°Å³ª ±×·ÁÁö°í
ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀ» µ¿¹ÝÇÏ´Â ¼¼ºÎ»çÇ×À» Àü´ÞÇÔ¿¡ ÀÖ´Ù. ¾ð¾î ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼, ÀÌ ¹æ¹ýÀº µîÀå Àι°µéÀÇ ¿Ü¸ð,
¾ó±¼µé, ÀÇ»ó, ¸öÁþµé, ¼Ò¸®µé ¹× À§Ä¡µéÀ» »î¿¡¼ ¹ß»ýÇÏ´Â ¸ðµç »ç°Çµé°ú ÇÔ²² ¸Å¿ì »ó¼¼ÇÏ°Ô ¹¦»çÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±×¸®ÇÏ¿©, ¼Ò¼³µé ¹×
À̾߱âµé¿¡¼, µîÀå Àι°ÀÌ ¸»À» ÇÒ ¶§¸¶´Ù, ±×°¡ ¸»ÇÑ ¸ñ¼Ò¸®ÀÇ Á¾·ù, ±×¸®°í µ¿½Ã¿¡ ±×°¡ ¹«¾ùÀ» Çϰí Àִ°¡¸¦ µè°Ô µÈ´Ù. ±×¸®°í
´ëȵé ÀÚü´Â ¸Å¿ì Áß¿äÇÑ Àǹ̸¦ Áö´Ï´Â °ÍÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, ½ÇÁ¦Ã³·³, Á¶ÀâÇÏ°Ô ¿«¾îÁ®, ²÷±â±âµµ ÇÏ°í »ý·«µÇ¸é¼ ÁÖ¾îÁø´Ù. ±Ø¿¹¼ú¿¡¼, ÀÌ
¹æ¹ýÀº, ¸ð¹æÀû ´ëÈ¿Í ÇÔ²², Àüü »óȲ ¹× ½ÇÁ¦ »ýȰ¿¡¼ ÀÖÀ» ¹ýÇÑ µîÀåÀι°µéÀÇ ¸ðµç ÇൿµéÀ» º¸¿©ÁÜ¿¡ ÀÖ´Ù. ȸȿ¡¼, ÀÌ ¹æ¹ýÀº ȸȸ¦
»çÁø¼ú·Î Àü¶ô½Ã۸ç, »çÁø¼ú°ú È¸È »çÀÌÀÇ Â÷À̸¦ ¾ø¾Ö ¹ö¸°´Ù. ÀÌ»óÇØ º¸ÀÏÁö ¸ð¸£Áö¸¸, ÀÌ ¹æ¹ýÀº ¿ª½Ã À½¾Ç¿¡¼µµ ä¿ëµÇ¸ç, À̶§ ¸®µë»Ó¸¸
¾Æ´Ï¶ó, ¼Ò¸®µé ÀÚü¸¦, ½ÇÁ¦ »ýȰ¿¡¼ ±×·Á³»°íÀÚ ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» µ¿¹ÝÇÏ´Â ¹Ù·Î ±× ¼Ò¸®µé ¸¶Àú ¸ð¹æÇÏ·Á ¾Ö¾´´Ù. |
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The third method consists in affecting external sensations, often in a purely physical way, by what is called strikingness or effectfulness. These effects, in all the arts, consist mainly in contrasts — in a juxtaposing of horrible and tender, beautiful and ugly, loud and soft, dark and light, the most ordinary and the most extraordinary. In verbal art, besides effects of contrast, there are also effects consisting in the description or portrayal of something that has never been described or portrayed before, predominantly in the description or portrayal of details that arouse sexual lust, or details of suffering and death that evoke the feeling of horror — for example, in describing a murder, to give a minute description of the torn tissues, the swellings, the smell, the quantity and appearance of the blood. So, too, in painting: together with contrasts of various sorts, another contrast is becoming widely used, consisting in the thorough finishing of one object and the sketchy treatment of the rest. The main effects used in painting are the effects of light and the portrayal of the horrible. In the drama, the most ordinary effects, apart from contrasts, are tempests, thunderstorms, moonlight, action on the sea or near the sea, changes of costume, the baring of the female body, madness, murders, and deaths in general, when the dying people convey in detail all the phases of their agony. In music, the most commonly used effects consist in following very weak and monotonous sounds with a crescendo and complication, culminating in the strongest and most complex sounds of the whole orchestra, or else in repeating the same sounds arpeggio in all octaves and on all instruments, or else in having a harmony, tempo, or rhythm utterly different from what would naturally flow from the course of the musical idea, but striking in their unexpectedness. |
¼Â° ¹æ¹ýÀº ÈçÈ÷ ¼ø¼öÇÏ°Ô ¹°¸®Àû ¹æ¹ýÀ¸·Î, ¼ÒÀ§ ºÎ°¢ ȤÀº È¿°ú¸¦
ÀÌ¿ëÇØ¼, ¿ÜÀûÀÎ Áö°¢µé¿¡ ¿µÇâÀ» ¹Ìħ¿¡ ÀÖ´Ù. ÀÌ·± È¿°úµéÀº, ¸ðµç ¿¹¼úµé¿¡¼, ÁÖ·Î ´ëºñµé
— ¹«¼¿ò°ú ¿ÂÈÇÔ, ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿ò°ú ÃßÇÔ, ½Ã²ô·¯¿ò°ú ºÎµå·¯¿ò, ¾îµÎ¿ò°ú ¹àÀ½, °¡Àå Æò¹üÇÔ °Í°ú °¡Àå ºñÁ¤»óÀûÀÎ °Í —
·Î ±¸¼ºµÈ´Ù. ¾ð¾î ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼, ´ëºñÀÇ È¿°úµé »Ó¸¸ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, °ú°Å¿¡ °áÄÚ Ç¥ÇöµÇ°Å³ª ¹¦»çµÈ ÀûÀÌ ¾ø´Â ¾î¶² °ÍÀÇ Ç¥Çö ȤÀº ¹¦»ç¿¡, ¾ÐµµÀûÀ¸·Î
¼ºÀû ¿å¸ÁÀ» ¾ß±âÇÏ´Â »ó¼¼ÇÑ ³»¿ëµé, ȤÀº ÀüÀ²ÀÇ ´À³¦À» ºÒ·¯¿À´Â °íÅë°ú Á×À½¿¡ ´ëÇÑ »ó¼¼ÇÑ ³»¿ëµéÀÇ
— ¿¹¸¦ µé¸é, »ìÀÎÀ» ±â¼úÇÔ¿¡¼, Âõ°ÜÁø »ìµé, ºÎÆÐÇÑ °Íµé, ³¿»õ, ÇÇÀÇ ¾ç°ú ¸ð¾ç¿¡ ´ëÇØ ÀÚ¼¼È÷ ±â¼úÇÏ´Â °Í —
Ç¥ÇöÀ̳ª ¹¦»ç·Î ±¸¼ºµÇ´Â È¿°úµéÀÌ Á¸ÀçÇÑ´Ù. ȸȿ¡¼µµ ¿ª½Ã ±×·¯ÇÏ´Ù: ¿©·¯ Á¾·ùµéÀÇ ´ëºñµé°ú ÇÔ²², ´Ù¸¥ ´ëºñµµ ³Î¸® »ç¿ëµÇ°í ÀÖÀ¸¸ç,
ÇѰ¡Áö ´ë»óÀº öÀúÈ÷ ¸¶¹«¸®ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ¸ç ´Ù¸¥ ÂÊÀº ´ëÃæ ó¸®ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ȸȿ¡¼ »ç¿ëµÇ´Â ÁÖµÈ È¿°úµéÀº ºûÀÇ È¿°úµé ¹× ÀüÀ²ÀÇ ¹¦»çÀÌ´Ù.
±Ø¿¡¼, °¡Àå Æò¹üÇÑ È¿°úµéÀº, ´ëºñ¿Í´Â ´Þ¸®, ÆøÇ³¿ìµé, ¹ø°³ Ä¡´Â ÆøÇ³µé, ´Þºû, ¹Ù´Ù À§ ȤÀº ¹Ù´Ù ÀαÙÀÇ ÇàÀ§µé, ÀÇ»óÀÇ º¯È,
¿©¼ºÀÇ ½Åü¸¦ ¹þ±â´Â °Í, ±¤±â, »ìÀεé, ±×¸®°í ÀϹÝÀûÀ¸·Î Á×À½µé·Î¼, Á×¾î °¡´Â »ç¶÷µéÀÌ ±×µéÀÇ °íÅëÀÇ ¸ðµç ´Ü°èµéÀ» »ó¼¼È÷ Àü´ÞÇÏ´Â
°ÍÀÌ´Ù. À½¾Ç¿¡¼, °¡Àå Æò¹üÇÏ°Ô »ç¿ëµÇ´Â È¿°úµéÀº ¸Å¿ì ¹Ì¾àÇÏ°í ´ÜÁ¶·Î¿î ¼Ò¸®µéÀ» Á¡Á¡ ¼¼°Ô ¹× º¹ÀâÇÏ°Ô Ãß±¸ÇÏ¿©, Àüü ¿ÀÄɽºÆ®¶óÀÇ °¡Àå
°·ÄÇÏ¸ç °¡Àå º¹ÀâÇÑ ¼Ò¸®µé·Î ÀýÁ¤À» ÀÌ·ë¿¡, ȤÀº ¸ðµç ¿ÁŸºê ¹× ¸ðµç ¾Ç±âµé¿¡ ¾Æ¸£ÆäÁö¿À °°Àº ¶È°°Àº ¼Ò¸®µéÀ» ¹Ýº¹ÇÔ¿¡, ȤÀº À½¾ÇÀûÀÎ
»ý°¢À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ÀÚ¿¬ÀûÀ¸·Î Èê·¯ ³ª¿À´Â °Í°ú´Â ÀüÀûÀ¸·Î ´Ù¸¥ ÈÀ½, ¹ÚÀÚ, ȤÀº ¸®µëÀ» Áö´Ï¸é¼ ±×°ÍµéÀÇ ÀǿܼºÀ¸·Î µÎµå·¯Áö°Ô ÇÔ¿¡ ÀÖ´Â
°ÍÀÌ´Ù. |
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These are some of the most commonly used effects in the various arts, but there is one more besides, which is common to all the arts, and that is the portrayal by one art of what is usually portrayed by another, so that music should ¡®describe¡¯, as all programme music does, both that of Wagner and that of his followers, while painting, drama and poetry should ¡®create a mood¡¯, as is done in all decadent art. |
´Ù¾çÇÑ ¿¹¼úµé¿¡´Â °¡Àå º¸ÆíÀûÀ¸·Î »ç¿ëµÇ´Â È¿°úµéÀÌ ¸î °¡Áö¾¿
ÀÖÀ¸³ª, »Ó¸¸ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ÇѰ¡Áö ´õ ÀÖÀ¸¸ç, ±×°ÍÀº ¸ðµç ¿¹¼úµé¿¡ °øÅëÀÎ °ÍÀ¸·Î, ±×°ÍÀº ÈçÈ÷ ´Ù¸¥ ¿¹¼ú¿¡ ÀÇÇØ ¹¦»çµÇ´Â ¾î¶² ¿¹¼ú¿¡ ÀÇÇÑ
¹¦»çÀ̸ç, ±×¸®ÇÏ¿© À½¾ÇÀº ¹Ýµå½Ã, "¸ðµç Ç¥Á¦ À½¾ÇÀÌ ±×·¯Çϵí, ¹Ù±×³ÊÀÇ À½¾Ç »Ó¸¸ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ±×ÀÇ ÃßÁ¾ÀÚµéÀÇ °Íµµ 'Ç¥Çö'Çϸç, ¹Ý¸é ȸÈ,
¿¬±Ø ¹× ½Ã´Â ¸ðµç ÅðÆóÁÖÀÇ ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼ ÇàÇØÁöµí '°æÇâ'À» âÁ¶ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. |
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The fourth method is diversion, that is, an intellectual interest added to the work of art. Diversion may consist in an entangled plot — a method still very much in use in recent English novels and French comedies and dramas, but which is now going out of fashion and is being replaced by documentary methods, that is, by the detailed description either of some historical period or of some particular sphere of contemporary life. Thus, for instance, the diversion consists in describing Egyptian or Roman life in a novel, or the life of miners, or of salesmen in a department store; the reader becomes interested, and he mistakes this interest for an artistic impression. The diversion may also consist in the methods of expression themselves. This sort of diversion is now very much in use. Poetry and prose, as well as paintings, dramas and musical pieces, are now written in such a way that they must be puzzled out like rebuses, and this process of puzzling out also affords pleasure and gives a semblance of the impression produced by art. |
³Ý° ¹æ¹ýÀº Àüȯ, Áï, ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰ¿¡ ºÎ°¡µÇ´Â ÁöÀûÀÎ °ü½ÉÀÌ´Ù.
ÀüȯÀº º¹ÀâÇÏ°Ô ¾ôÈù ÁٰŸ®·Î ±¸¼ºµÈ´Ù
—
ÀÌ ¹æ¹ýÀº ÃÖ±Ù ¿µ±¹ ¼Ò¼³µé ¹× ÇÁ¶û½º Èñ±Øµé ¹× ¿¬±Øµé¿¡¼ ¾ÆÁ÷µµ ¸Å¿ì ¸¹ÀÌ »ç¿ëµÇ°í ÀÖÁö¸¸, ÀÌÁ¦ À¯Çà¿¡¼ ¹þ¾î³ª°í ÀÖÀ¸¸ç ±â·Ï¿¡ ÀÇÇÑ
¹æ¹ýµé¿¡ ÀÇÇØ, Áï, µ¿½Ã´ëÀÇ »î¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ÀϺΠ¿ª»çÀû ½Ã±âÀÇ È¤Àº ÀϺΠƯÁ¤ÇÑ ¿µ¿ª¿¡ ´ëÇÑ »ó¼¼ÇÑ ¼¼ú·Î ÀÇÇØ ´ëüµÇ°í ÀÖ´Ù. ±×·¯¹Ç·Î ¿¹¸¦
µé¸é, ÀüȯÀº ¼Ò¼³ ¾È¿¡¼ ÀÌÁýÆ®ÀΠȤÀº ·Î¸¶ÀÎÀÇ »î, ȤÀº ±¤ºÎÀÇ È¤Àº ¹éÈÁ¡ÀÇ ÆÇ¸Å¿øÀÇ »îÀ» ¹¦»çÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù; µ¶ÀÚ´Â Èï¹Ì¸¦ °¡Áö°Ô µÇ¸ç
±×´Â ÀÌ·± Èï¹Ì¸¦ ¿¹¼úÀû °¨µ¿À¸·Î ¿ÀÀÎÇÏ°Ô µÈ´Ù. ÀüȯÀº ¶ÇÇÑ Ç¥ÇöÀÇ ¹æ¹ýµé ÀÚü¿¡µµ ÀÖÀ» ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. ÀÌ·± Á¾·ùÀÇ ÀüȯÀº ÀÌÁ¦ ¸Å¿ì ¸¹ÀÌ
»ç¿ëµÇ°í ÀÖ´Ù. ½Ã¿Í »ê¹®, »Ó¸¸ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ȸȵé, ¿¬±Øµé ¹× À½¾Ç ÀÛǰµéµµ, ÀÌÁ¦ ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¾²¿©Á®¼ ¼ö¼ö²²³¢µéó·³ Ç®¾î¾ß Çϸç, ÀÌ·±
¼ö¼ö²²³¢¸¦ Ǫ´Â ÀÛ¾÷Àº ¶ÇÇÑ Äè¶ôÀ» Á¦°øÇÏ°í ¿¹¼ú¿¡ ÀÇÇØ ¸¸µé¾îÁö´Â °¨µ¿°ú À¯»çÇÑ °ÍÀ» ÁØ´Ù. |
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It is very often said that a work of art is very good because it is poetic, or realistic, or effectual, or interesting, whereas not only can neither the one, nor the other, nor the third, nor the fourth be a standard of worth in art, but they do not even have anything in common with it. |
¾î¶² ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀº ±×°ÍÀÌ ½ÃÀûÀ̰ųª, Çö½ÇÀûÀ̰ųª, ÀûÀýÇϰųª,
ȤÀº Èï¹Ì Àֱ⠶§¹®¿¡ ¸Å¿ì ÈǸ¢ÇÏ´Ù°í ÈçÈ÷µé ¸»ÇÑ´Ù, ±×·¸Áö¸¸ À̰͵µ, Àú°Íµµ, Á¦ »ïÀÇ °Íµµ, ȤÀº Á¦ »çÀÇ °Íµµ ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼ °¡Ä¡ÀÇ Ç¥ÁØÀÏ
¼ö ¾øÀ¸¸ç, ±×°ÍµéÀº ½ÉÁö¾î ¿¹¼ú°ú ¾Æ¹«·± °øÅëÁ¡ÀÌ ¾ø´Ù. |
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Poetic means borrowed. And any borrowing only suggests to readers, spectators or listeners some vague memories of the artistic impressions they received from earlier works of art, and does not infect them with a feeling that the artist himself has experienced. A work based on borrowing — Goethe¡¯s Faust, for example — may be very well executed, full of intelligence and every beauty, but it cannot produce a true artistic impression, because it lacks the chief property of a work of art — wholeness, organicness, in which form and content constitute an inseparable whole expressing the feeling experienced by the artist. In borrowing, the artist conveys only the feeling that was conveyed to him by an earlier work of art, and therefore any borrowing of entire themes or various scenes, situations, descriptions is only a reflection of art, its simulacrum, and not art itself. And therefore, to say of such a work that it is good because it is poetic — meaning that it resembles a work of art — is the same as to say of a coin that it is good because it resembles a real one. Just as little can imitation, realism, contrary to what many think, be a standard of the worth of art. Imitation cannot be a standard of the worth of art because, if the chief property of art is to infect others with the feeling experienced by the artist, this infecting not only does not go together with a detailed description of what is conveyed, but is largely disrupted by the superfluity of details. The attention of the one receiving the artistic impression is distracted by all these well-observed details, and this prevents the author¡¯s feeling, if indeed there is any, from being conveyed. |
½ÃÀûÀÎ ¼ö´ÜµéÀÌ Â÷¿ëµÇ¾ú´Ù. ±×¸®°í ¾î¶² Â÷¿ëµµ ´ÜÁö µ¶ÀÚµé,
°üÁßµé ȤÀº ûÃëÀڵ鿡°Ô ÀÌÀüÀÇ ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰµé¿¡¼ ¹ÞÀº ¿¹¼úÀû °¨µ¿¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ¾à°£ÀÇ ¸·¿¬ÇÑ ±â¾ïµé¸¸À» ¾Ï½ÃÇÒ »ÓÀ̸ç, ¿¹¼ú°¡ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ °æÇèÇÑ ¾î¶²
´À³¦À» ±×µé¿¡°Ô Àü¿°½ÃŰÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù. Â÷¿ëÀ» Åä´ë·Î ÇÑ ÀÛǰ
— ¿¹¸¦ µé¸é, ±«Å×ÀÇ ÆÄ¿ì½ºÆ® — ´Â ¸Å¿ì ÈǸ¢È÷ °ø¿¬µÇ¸ç, Áö¼º°ú ¿ä¸ðÁ¶¸ð ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀ¸·Î Â÷ ÀÖ°ÚÁö¸¸, ÂüµÈ ¿¹¼úÀû °¨µ¿À»
¸¸µé¾î ³¾ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù, ¿Ö³ÄÇÏ¸é ±×°ÍÀº ÇÑ ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀÇ ÁÖµÈ ¼Ó¼º — ¿ÏÀüÇÔ, À¯±âÀû ¼º°Ý — À» °á¿©Çϰí ÀÖÀ¸¸ç, ±× ¼Ó¼º ¾È¿¡¼ Çü½Ä°ú
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±×¿¡°Ô Àü´ÞµÈ ´À³¦À» Àü´ÞÇϸç, ±×·¯¹Ç·Î Àüü ÁÖÁ¦µé ȤÀº ´Ù¾çÇÑ Àå¸éµé, »óȲµé, Ç¥ÇöµéÀ» Â÷¿ëÇÔÀº ´ÜÁö ¿¹¼úÀÇ ¹Ý¿µ, Áï, ¸ðÁ¶Ç°ÀÏ »Ó
¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰ ÀÚü´Â ¾Æ´Ï´Ù. ±×¸®°í ±×·¯¹Ç·Î, ÇÑ ÀÛǰÀÌ ½ÃÀûÀ̱⠶§¹®¿¡ ÈǸ¢ÇÏ´Ù°í ¸»ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº ¾î¶² µ¿ÀüÀÌ ±×°ÍÀ» ½ÇÁ¦ÀÇ °ÍÀ» ´à¾Ò±â ¶§¹®¿¡
ÈǸ¢ÇÏ´Ù°í ¸»ÇÏ´Â °Í°ú ¶È°°´Ù. ¸ð¹æ°ú ¸¶Âù°¡Áö·Î, »ç½ÇÁÖÀǵµ, ¸¹Àº »ç¶÷µéÀÌ »ý°¢ÇÏ´Â °Í°ú´Â ¹Ý´ë·Î, °ÅÀÇ ¿¹¼úÀÇ °¡Ä¡ ±âÁØÀÌ µÉ ¼ö
¾ø´Ù. ¸ð¹æÀº ¿¹¼úÀÇ Ç¥ÁØÀÌ µÉ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù, ¿Ö³ÄÇϸé, ¸¸ÀÏ ¿¹¼úÀÇ ÁÖµÈ ¼Ó¼ºÀÌ ¿¹¼ú°¡¿¡ ÀÇÇØ °æÇèµÈ ´À³¦À» ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô Àü¿°ÇÏ´Â
°ÍÀ̶ó¸é, ÀÌ·¸°Ô °¨¿°ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº Àü´ÞµÇ´Â °Í¿¡ ´ëÇÑ »ó¼¼ÇÑ ¹¦»ç¿Í ÇÔ²²ÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ» »Ó¸¸ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ´ëüÀûÀ¸·Î »ó¼¼ÇÑ ¼¼úÀÌ ³ÑÃij²À¸·Î½á ¹«»êµÇ¾î
¹ö¸°´Ù. ¿¹¼úÀûÀÎ °¨µ¿À» ¹Þ´Â »ç¶÷ÀÇ ÁýÁß·ÂÀº ÀÌ ¸ðµç ÈǸ¢È÷ ÁöÄÑÁö´Â »ó¼¼ÇÑ ¹¦»çµé·Î Èå·ÁÁø´Ù, ±×¸®°í À̰ÍÀº ÀÛ°¡ÀÇ ´À³¦ÀÌ, ½ÇÀç·Î
Á¸ÀçÇÑ´Ù ÇÏ´õ¶óµµ, Àü´ÞµÇ´Â °ÍÀ» ¹æÇØÇÑ´Ù. |
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To evaluate a work of art by the degree of its realism, by the truthfulness of the details conveyed, is as strange as to judge the nutritional qualities of food by its appearance. When we define the value of a work of art by its realism, we merely show thereby that we are talking, not of a work of art, but of a counterfeit. |
¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀ» ±×
»ç½Ç¼º¿¡ ÀÇÇØ, Àü´ÞµÇ´Â »ó¼¼ÇÑ ³»¿ëÀÇ Áø½Ç¼º¿¡ ÀÇÇØ, Æò°¡ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº À½½ÄÀÇ ¿µ¾ç°¡¸¦ ±× ¸ð¾çÀ¸·Î ÆÇ´ÜÇÏ´Â °Í ¸¸ÅÀ̳ª ÀÌ»óÇÑ ÀÏÀÌ´Ù.
¿ì¸®°¡ ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀÇ °¡Ä¡¸¦ ±× »ç½Ç¼ºÀ¸·Î Á¤ÀÇÇÑ´Ù¸é, ¿ì¸®´Â ´Ü¼øÈ÷, ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, ¸ðÁ¶Ç°À» ¸»Çϰí ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀ» º¸¿©ÁÙ »ÓÀÌ´Ù. |
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The third method of counterfeiting art — by strikingness, or effectfulness — goes together no more than the first two with the concept of genuine art, because the strikingness, the effects of novelty, unexpected contrasts, horrors, do not convey any feeling, but only affect the nerves. If an artist makes an excellent portrayal of a bloody wound, the sight of the wound will strike me, but there will be no art in it. One drawn-out note on a powerful organ will produce a striking impression, will even call up tears, but there will be no music in it, because it conveys no feeling. And yet physiological effects of this sort are constantly mistaken for art by people of our circle, not only in music, but in poetry, painting and the drama. It is said that art has become refined in our time. On the contrary, owing to the pursuit of effects, it has become extremely crude. Take a performance of the new play Hannele, [87] which is showing in theatres all over Europe, and in which the author wishes to convey to the public his compassion for a girl tormented to death. To call up this emotion in the spectators by means of art, the author ought to have made one of his characters express this compassion in such a way as to infect everyone, or to have given a true description of the girl¡¯s sensations. But he cannot or will not do this, and chooses another way, more complicated for stage technicians but easier for artists. He has the girl die onstage; and furthermore, to enhance the psychological effect on the public, he puts out the lights in the theatre, leaving the audience in darkness, and, to the sounds of pitiful music, shows the girl¡¯s drunken father pursuing her and beating her. The girl writhes, squeals, moans, falls. Angels appear and carry her away. And the audience, experiencing a certain excitement, is quite sure that this is an aesthetic feeling. But there is nothing aesthetic in this excitement, because it is not one man infecting another, but is only a mixed feeling of suffering for another and gladness for oneself, that it is not I who am suffering — like what we experience in viewing an execution, or what the Romans experienced in their circuses. |
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Èå´À³¢°í ³Ñ¾îÁø´Ù. õ»ç°¡ ³ªÅ¸³ª ±×³à¸¦ µ¥¸®°í °¡ ¹ö¸°´Ù. ±×¸®°í ûÁßµéÀº, ƯÁ¤ÇÑ ÈïºÐÀ» °æÇèÇϰí¼, À̰ÍÀÌ ¹ÌÀûÀÎ ´À³¦À̶ó°í ÁüÁþ
È®½ÅÇÑ´Ù. ±×·¯³ª ÀÌ·± ÈïºÐ¿¡´Â ¾Æ¹«·± ¹ÌÀûÀÎ °ÍÀÌ ¾ø´Ù, ¿Ö³ÄÇÏ¸é ±×°ÍÀº ÇÑ »ç¶÷ÀÌ ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷À» Àü¿°½ÃŰ´Â °ÍÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, ´ÜÁö ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷¿¡
´ëÇÑ °íÅë¿¡ °üÇÑ È¥ÇÕµÈ ´À³¦À̸ç ÀÚ±â ÀÚ½ÅÀ» À§ÇÑ Áñ°Å¿òÀÌ¸ç — ¿ì¸®°¡ óÇüÀ» ¹Ù¶ó º¸¸é¼ °æÇèÇÏ´Â °Íó·³, ȤÀº ·Î¸¶ÀεéÀÌ ±×µéÀÇ ¿øÇü
°æ±âÀå¿¡¼ °æÇèÇß´ø °Íó·³ — °Þ´Â °ÍÀº ³»°¡ ¾Æ´Ï±â ¶§¹®ÀÌ´Ù. |
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The substitution of effects for aesthetic feeling is especially noticeable in musical art — an art peculiar in its direct physiological impact on the nerves. Instead of using melody to convey the feelings experienced by the composer, the new musician accumulates and interweaves sounds, and by alternately intensifying and weakening them, produces a physiological effect on the public, which can be measured by an apparatus specially designed for that purpose. [88]
And the public mistakes this physiological effect for the effect of art. |
¹ÌÀûÀÎ ´À³¦À»
È¿°úµé·Î ´ëüÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº ƯÈ÷ À½¾Ç ¿¹¼ú — ½Å°æ¿¡ Á÷Á¢Àû »ý¸®ÇÐÀûÀÎ ¿µÇâÀ» ¹ÌÄ£´Ù´Â Á¡¿¡¼ ƯÀÌÇÑ ¿¹¼ú — ¿¡¼ µÎµå·¯Áø´Ù. ÀÛ°î°¡¿¡ ÀÇÇØ
°æÇèµÈ ´À³¦µéÀ» Àü´ÞÇϱâ À§ÇØ ¸á·Îµð¸¦ »ç¿ëÇÏ´Â ´ë½Å, ½ÅÁø À½¾Ç°¡µéÀº ¼Ò¸®µéÀ» ÃàÀûÇϰí Â¥¸ÂÃß°í, ±×°ÍµéÀ» ¹Ù²Ù¾î °¡¸ç °Á¶Çϰųª ¾àÇϰÔ
ÇÔÀ¸·Î½á, ´ëÁß¿¡°Ô »ý¸®ÇÐÀûÀÎ È¿°ú¸¦ ¸¸µé¾î ³»¸ç, À̰͵éÀº Ưº°È÷ ±×·¯ÇÑ ¸ñÀûÀ¸·Î °í¾ÈµÈ ÀåÄ¡·Î ¸¶·ÃµÉ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. ±×¸®°í ´ëÁßÀº ÀÌ·±
»ý¸®ÇÐÀûÀÎ È¿°ú¸¦ ¿¹¼úÀ» À§ÇÑ È¿°ú·Î ¿ÀÀÎÇÑ´Ù. |
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As for the fourth method, diversion, though it is more foreign to art than the others, it is more often confused with it. Not to mention an author¡¯s deliberate concealment of something in a novel or story which the reader must then guess, one often hears it said that a painting or a musical composition is interesting. What does ¡®interesting¡¯ mean? An interesting work of art is either one that provokes unsatisfied curiosity, or one which, as we contemplate it, gives us information that is new to us, or else it is a work that is not entirely comprehensible, the meaning of which we figure out gradually and with effort, finding a certain pleasure in this guessing process. In none of these cases does the diversion have anything to do with an artistic impression. The aim of art is to infect people with a feeling experienced by the artist. But the mental effort required of a spectator, listener or reader to satisfy their aroused curiosity, or to master the new information imparted by the work, or to grasp its meaning, absorbs the reader¡¯s, spectator¡¯s or listener¡¯s attention, thereby interfering with the infection. And therefore what is diverting in the work not only has nothing to do with its artistic worth, but hinders rather than helps the artistic impression. |
³Ý° ¹æ¹ýÀÎ
Àüȯ¿¡ ´ëÇØ¼´Â, ´Ù¸¥ °Íµéº¸´Ù ¿¹¼ú¿¡ ´õ¿í ÀÌÁúÀûÀÎ °ÍÀÌÁö¸¸, ´õ ÀÚÁÖ ¿¹¼ú°ú È¥µ¿µÇ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ¼Ò¼³ ȤÀº À̾߱⠾ȿ¡¼ µ¶ÀÚ°¡ ÃßÃøÇØ¾ß¸¸
ÇÏ´Â ¾î¶² °ÍÀ» ÀÛ°¡°¡ ÀǵµÀûÀ¸·Î ¼û±èÀº ¸»ÇÒ °Íµµ ¾ø°í, ȸȳª À½¾Ç ÀÛ°îÀº Èï¹Ì·Ó´Ù°í ¸»ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» ¿ì¸®´Â Á¾Á¾ µè´Â´Ù. 'Èï¹Ì ÀÖ´Ù'´Â
¹«¾ùÀ» ÀǹÌÇϴ°¡? Èï¹Ì·Î¿î ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀº ¸¸Á·½º·´Áö ¸øÇÑ È£±â½ÉÀ» À¯¹ß½ÃŰ´Â °ÍÀ̰ųª, ȤÀº ¿ì¸®°¡ ¿¹»óÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÎÁï, ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô »õ·Î¿î Á¤º¸¸¦
ÁÖ´Â °ÍÀ̰ųª, ȤÀº ÀüÀûÀ¸·Î ÀÌÇØµÉ ¼ö ¾ø´Â ÀÛǰÀ¸·Î, ±×°ÍÀÇ Àǹ̸¦ ¿ì¸®´Â Á¡Â÷ÀûÀ¸·Î ±×¸®°í ³ë·ÂÀ» ÅëÇØ ¾Ë¾Æ ¸ÂÃß°í, ÀÌ °°Àº ÃßÃø
°úÁ¤¿¡¼ ¾î¶² Äè¶ôÀ» ¹ß°ßÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ¿¹¼úÀÇ ¸ñÀûÀº ¿¹¼ú°¡¿¡ ÀÇÇØ °æÇèµÈ ´À³¦À» »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô Àü¿°½ÃŰ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±×·¯³ª °üÁß, ûÁß È¤Àº
µ¶ÀÚ°¡ ±×µéÀÇ ²ú¾î ¿À¸£´Â È£±â½ÉÀ» ÃæÁ·Çϱâ À§ÇØ, ȤÀº ÀÛǰÀÌ ÁÖ´Â »õ·Î¿î Á¤º¸¸¦ Á¤º¹Çϱâ À§ÇØ, ȤÀº ±× ¶æÀ» ÆÄ¾ÇÇϱâ À§ÇØ ¿ä±¸µÇ´Â
Á¤½ÅÀû ³ë·ÂÀº µ¶ÀÚÀÇ, °üÁßÀÇ È¤Àº ûÁßÀÇ ÁýÁßÀ» ¼ÒÁø½ÃŰ¸ç ±×·³À¸·Î½á Àü¿°À» ¹æÇØÇÑ´Ù. ±×·¯¹Ç·Î ÀÛǰ¿¡¼ Àüȯ½ÃÄÑÁÖ´Â °ÍÀº ¿¹¼úÀû °¡Ä¡¿Í
¾Æ¹«·± °ü°è°¡ ¾øÀ¸¸ç, ¿ÀÈ÷·Á ¿¹¼úÀû °¨µ¿À» µ½±â º¸´Ù´Â °¡·Î¸·´Â´Ù. |
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A work of art may be poetic, imitative, striking or diverting, but none of these qualities can replace the chief property of art — the feeling experienced by the artist. Lately, however, in the art of the upper classes, the majority of objects that pass for objects of art are precisely the sort that only resemble art, and do not have as their basis the chief property of art — the feeling experienced by the artist. There are many conditions necessary for a man to create a true object of art. It is necessary that the man stand on the level of the highest world outlook of his time, that he have experienced a feeling and have the wish and opportunity to transmit it, and that he have, with all that, a talent for some kind of art. It is very seldom that all these conditions necessary for the production of true art come together. But to produce, with the help of the developed methods of borrowing, imitation, effectfulness and diversion, that simulacrum of art which is so well remunerated in our society, one need only have a talent for some kind of art, which occurs quite often. I call talent the ability, in verbal art, to express one¡¯s thoughts and impressions with ease, and to observe and remember characteristic details; in plastic art, to distinguish, remember and convey lines, forms and colours; in music, to distinguish intervals, to remember; and convey a sequence of sounds. In our time, a man with such talent, once he has learned the techniques and methods of counterfeiting his art, if he is patient, and if his aesthetic sense, which would make such works loathsome to him, has atrophied, can ceaselessly produce, to the end of his days, works which in our society are regarded as art. |
¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰÀº
½ÃÀûÀÏ ¼öµµ, ¸ð¹æÀûÀÏ ¼öµµ, ºÎ°¢µÉ ¼öµµ, ȤÀº ÀüȯÀûÀÏ ¼öµµ ÀÖ´Ù, ÇÏÁö¸¸ ÀÌµé ¼ºÁúµé Áß ¾î´À °Íµµ ¿¹¼úÀÇ ÇÙ½É ¼ºÁú — ¿¹¼ú°¡¿¡
ÀÇÇØ¼ °æÇèµÈ ´À³¦ — À» ´ëüÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù. ±Ù·¡¿¡, ±×·¯³ª, »ó·ù °è±ÞµéÀÇ ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼, ¿¹¼úÀÇ ´ë»óµé·Î ¿©°ÜÁö´Â ´ë´Ù¼ö ´ë»óµéÀÌ Á¤È®È÷
¸»Çؼ ´ÜÁö ¿¹¼ú°ú ´à¾Æ ÀÖÁö¸¸ ±× Åä´ë¿¡ ÀÖ¾î¼ ¿¹¼úÀÇ ÇÙ½É Æ¯¼º — ¿¹¼ú°¡¿¡ ÀÇÇØ °æÇèµÈ ´À³¦ — À» Áö´ÏÁö ¾Ê°í ÀÖ´Ù. ÇÑ »ç¶÷ÀÌ
¿¹¼úÀÇ ÂüµÈ ´ë»óÀ» âÁ¶Çϱâ À§Çؼ ÇÊ¿äÇÑ ¸¹Àº Á¶°ÇµéÀÌ Á¸ÀçÇÑ´Ù. ±× »ç¶÷Àº ±× ½Ã´ëÀÇ ÃÖ°íÀÇ ¼¼°è Àü¸ÁÀÇ ´Ü°è¿¡ ¼ÀÖÀ» °Í, ¾î¶² ´À³¦À»
°æÇèÇßÀ¸¸ç ±×°ÍÀ» Àü´ÞÇÒ ¼Ò¸Á°ú ±âȸ¸¦ °¡Áú °Í, ±×¸®°í ±× ¸ðµç °Í°ú ÇÔ²², ¾î¶² Á¾·ùÀÇ ¿¹¼ú¿¡ Àç´ÉÀ» ¼ÒÀ¯ÇÒ °ÍÀÌ ÇÊ¿äÇÏ´Ù. ±×·¯³ª,
Â÷¿ë, ¸ð¹æ, È¿°ú ¹× ÀüȯÀ̶ó´Â °³¹ßµÈ ¹æ¹ýµéÀÇ µµ¿òÀ¸·Î, ¿ì¸® »çȸ¿¡¼ ±×Åä·Ï ÈÄÇÏ°Ô º¸»óÇØÁÖ´Â ±× °°Àº ¿¹¼úÀÇ ¸ðÁ¶Ç°À» ¸¸µé¾î ³»·Á¸é,
¿ì¸®´Â ¿ÀÁ÷ ÀÏÁ¤ÇÑ Á¾·ùÀÇ ¿¹¼ú¿¡ ´ëÇÑ Àç´ÉÀ» °¡Áú °ÍÀÌ ÇÊ¿äÇÒ »ÓÀ̸ç, ±×·± ÀÏÀº ¸Å¿ì ÈçÇÏ´Ù. ³ª´Â Àç´ÉÀ», ¾ð¾î ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼, ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ
»ç»óµé ¹× °¨µ¿µéÀ» ¿ëÀÌÇÏ°Ô Ç¥ÇöÇϰí, Ư¡ÀûÀÎ »ó¼¼ÇÑ ³»¿ëµéÀ» °üÂûÇÏ°í ±â¾ïÇÏ´Â; Á¶Çü ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼, ¼±µé, ¸ð¾çµé ¹× »ö»óµéÀ» ±¸º°Çϰí,
±â¾ïÇϸç Àü´ÞÇÏ´Â; À½¾Ç¿¡¼, À½Á¤µéÀ» ±¸º°Çϰí, ±â¾ïÇϸç, ÀÏ·ÃÀÇ ¼Ò¸®µéÀ» Àü´ÞÇÏ´Â ´É·ÂÀ» ÀÏÄ´´Ù. ¿ì¸® ½Ã´ë¿¡ ÀÖ¾î¼, ±×·¯ÇÑ Àç´ÉÀ»
Áö´Ñ »ç¶÷Àº, ±×ÀÇ ¿¹¼ú¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ±â¼ú ¹× ¸ðÁ¶ÇÏ´Â ¹æ¹ýµéÀ» Å͵æÇÏ°í ³ª¸é, ±×°¡ Àγ»°¡ ÀÖ´Ù¸é, ±×¸®°í ±×ÀÇ ¹ÌÀûÀÎ °¨°¢ÀÌ — ±×°ÍÀÌ ±×·±
ÀÛǰµéÀÌ ±×¿¡°Ô Áö°ã°Ô ´À²¸Áöµµ·Ï ÇϰÚÁö¸¸ — ÅðȵǾú´Ù¸é, ±×ÀÇ »ýÀÇ ¸¶Áö¸·±îÁö ½° ¾øÀÌ ¿ì¸® »çȸ°¡ ¿¹¼ú·Î ¿©±â´Â ÀÛǰµéÀ» »ý»êÇÒ ¼ö
ÀÖ´Ù. |
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To produce such counterfeits, there exist certain rules or recipes in every kind of art, so that a talented man, having learned them, can produce such objects à froid, coldly, without the least feeling. To write poetry, a man with verbal talent need only accustom himself to using, in place of each single, real, necessary word, depending on the demands of metre and rhyme, another ten words of approximately the same meaning, and then accustom himself to saying each sentence, which to be clear must have its own particular word-order, in every other possible verbal combination, so long as there is some semblance of meaning; and then, too, depending on words that happen to rhyme, to accustom himself to inventing simulacra of thoughts, feelings or pictures to go with these words, and then the man can proceed ceaselessly to turn out verses, short or long, religious, amatory, or civic, depending on the need. |
±×·± ¸ðÁ¶Ç°µéÀ»
¸¸µé¾î ³»±â À§Çؼ´Â, ¸ðµç Á¾·ùÀÇ ¿¹¼ú¿¡¼ ÀÏÁ¤ÇÑ ±ÔÄ¢µé ȤÀº 󹿵éÀÌ Á¸ÀçÇϸç, ±×·¡¼ Àç´É ÀÖ´Â »ç¶÷Àº, ±×°ÍµéÀ» Å͵æÇÏ°í ³ª¸é, ±×·±
´ë»óµéÀ», à froid, ³ÃÁ¤ÇϰÔ, ÃÖ¼ÒÇÑÀÇ ´À³¦µµ ¾øÀÌ, ¸¸µé¾î ³¾ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. ½Ã¸¦ ¾²°íÀÚ ÇÑ´Ù¸é, ¾ð¾îÀû
Àç´ÉÀ» Áö´Ñ »ç¶÷À̸é, ¿îÀ² ¹× ¾Ð¿îÀÇ ÇÊ¿äµé¿¡ µû¶ó, Á¦°¢±â À¯ÀÏÇϸç, »ç½ÇÀûÀ̰í ÇÊ¿äÇÑ ´Ü¾î ´ë½Å¿¡ °ÅÀÇ µ¿ÀÏÇÑ ÀǹÌÀÇ ´Ù¸¥ ¿ °¡Áö
´Ü¾îµéÀ» »ç¿ëÇÔ¿¡ Àͼ÷ÇØ Áö±â¸¸ ÇÏ¸é µÉ »ÓÀ̸ç, ±×¸®°í ¾î´À Á¤µµ Àǹ̸¸ ºñ½ÁÇÏ´Ù¸é, Á¦°¢±â ¹®ÀåÀ», Ʋ¸²¾øÀÌ ¹Ýµå½Ã ±× ÀÚüÀÇ Æ¯º°ÇÑ
¾î¼øÀ» Áö´Ô¿¡µµ, Á¦°¢±â ´Ù¸¥ °¡´ÉÇÑ ¾ð¾î Á¶ÇÕÀ¸·Î ¸»ÇØ ³»´Â °Í¿¡ Àͼ÷ÇØ Áö¸é µÇ¸ç; ±×¸®°í ¶ÇÇÑ ¾Ð¿î¿¡ ÀÖ´Â ´Ü¾î¿¡ µû¶ó, ÀÌ·± ´Ü¾îµé¿¡
¾î¿ï¸®´Â »ç»óµé, ´À³¦µé ȤÀº ¹¦»çµéÀÇ ¸ðÁ¶Ç°À» ¹ß¸íÇØ ³¿¿¡ Àͼ÷ÇØ Áø´Ù¸é, ±×·¸´Ù¸é Çʿ信 µû¶ó, ªµç ±æµç, Á¾±³ÀûÀ̵ç, ¾ÖÁ¤ÀûÀ̵ç,
ȤÀº µµ½ÃÀûÀ̵ç, ±× »ç¶÷Àº ²÷ÀÓ ¾øÀÌ ½ÃµéÀ» µ¹·Á ³»¸é¼ ³ª¾Æ °¥ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. |
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If a man talented in verbal art wishes to write stories or novels, all he need do is develop a style — that is, learn to describe everything he sees and accustom himself to remembering or noting down details. Once he has mastered that, he can ceaselessly write novels or stories, depending on the demand or his own desire — historical, naturalistic, social, erotic, psychological, or even religious, a fashion and demand for which is beginning to appear. He can take plots from his reading or from events he has experienced and copy the characters of the protagonists from his own acquaintances. |
¸¸ÀÏ ¾ð¾î
¿¹¼ú¿¡ Àç´É ÀÖ´Â »ç¶÷ÀÌ À̾߱⳪ ¼Ò¼³À» ¾²°íÀÚ ÇÑ´Ù¸é, ±×°¡ ÇØ¾ß ÇÒ ÀüºÎ´Â ¹®Ã¼ — Áï, ±×°¡ º¸´Â ¸ðµç °ÍÀ» ¹¦»çÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» Å͵æÇϰí
»ó¼¼ÇÑ ³»¿ëÀ» ±â¾ïÇϰųª ¸Þ¸ðÇØ µÎµç °Í¿¡ Àͼ÷ÇØ Áö´Â °Í — ¸¦ °³¹ßÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±×°¡ ÀÏ´Ü ±×°ÍÀ» Á¤º¹Çß´Ù¸é, ±×´Â ²÷ÀÓ¾øÀÌ ¼Ò¼³µé ȤÀº
À̾߱âµéÀ», ¼ö¿ä ȤÀº ÀÚ±â ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ¿å¸Á¿¡ µû¶ó, ¿ª»ç, ÀÚ¿¬, »çȸ, ¿¬¾Ö, ½É¸® ȤÀº ½ÉÁö¾î Á¾±³¿¡ ´ëÇÑ °ÍÀ̶óµµ, À¯Çà ¹× ÀÌÁ¦
³ªÅ¸³ª±â ½ÃÀÛÇÏ´Â ¼ö¿ä¿¡ µû¶ó ¾µ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. ±×´Â ±×°¡ ÀÐÀº °ÍÀ̳ª ±×°¡ °æÇèÇß´ø »ç°Çµé·ÎºÎÅÍ ÁٰŸ®¸¦ Àâ°í ÁÖÀΰøµéÀÌ µÇ´Â µîÀå Àι°µéÀ»
ÀÚ±â ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ¾Æ´Â »ç¶÷µé·ÎºÎÅÍ º£²¸ ¿Ã ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. |
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And such novels and stories, if they are garnished with well-observed and recorded details, best of all erotic ones, will be regarded as works of art, though they lack even a scintilla of experienced feeling. |
±×¸®°í ±×·±
¼Ò¼³µé ¹× À̾߱âµéÀº, ÈǸ¢È÷ ¼³¸íÀ» ´Þ°í »ó¼¼È÷ ±â·ÏÇÏ¿© ²Ù¸çÁø´Ù¸é, ¸ðµç ¿¬¾Ö ¼Ò¼³µé Áß¿¡¼ ÃÖ°í·Î, ±×°ÍµéÀÌ ½ÉÁö¾î ÇÑ Æ¼²øÀÇ °æÇèµÈ
´À³¦µµ Áö´ÏÁö ¾Ê´õ¶óµµ, ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰµé·Î ¿©°ÜÁú °ÍÀÌ´Ù. |
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To produce art in dramatic form, a talented man, along with everything needed for writing a novel or story, must also learn to put into the mouths of his characters as many apt and witty words as possible, to use theatrical effects, and manage so to interweave the actions of the heroes that there is not a single long conversation on the stage, but as much bustle and movement as possible. If a writer knows how to do that, he can write dramatic works ceaselessly, one after the other, choosing his plots from criminal records, or from the latest question that society is taken up with, such as hypnotism, heredity, and so on, or from the most ancient and even fantastic realms. |
¿¬±ØÀÇ ÇüÅÂÀÇ
¿¹¼úÀ» ¸¸µé¾î ³»·Á¸é, Àç´É ÀÖ´Â »ç¶÷À̶ó¸é, ¼Ò¼³ ȤÀº À̾߱⸦ ¾²±â À§ÇØ ÇÊ¿äÇÑ ¸ðµç °Í°ú ÇÔ²², ¶ÇÇÑ, ±ØÀûÀÎ È¿°úµéÀ» »ç¿ëÇϱâ À§ÇØ,
±×ÀÇ µîÀå Àι°µéÀÇ ÀÔ¿¡ °¡´ÉÇÑ ¸¹Àº ÀûÀýÇϰí ÀçÄ¡ ÀÖ´Â ´Ü¾îµéÀ» ¹Ð¾î ³Ö´Â °ÍÀ» ¹è¿ö¾ß Çϸç, ÁÖÀΰøµéÀÇ ÇൿµéÀ» ¿«¾î¼ ¹«´ë »ó¿¡¼ ´Ü
ÇϳªÀÇ ±ä ´ëȵµ ¾ø°í, °¡´ÉÇÑ ¸¹Àº ºÎ»ê°ú ¼Ò¶õÀ» ¶³µµ·Ï ÇØ¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. ¸¸ÀÏ ÀÛ°¡°¡ ±×·¸°Ô ÇÏ´Â ¹ýÀ» ¾È´Ù¸é, ±×´Â ±Ø ÀÛǰµéÀ» ²÷ÀÓ ¾øÀÌ
¾µ ¼ö ÀÖÀ¸¸ç, ±×¶§¸¶´Ù, ±×ÀÇ ÁٰŸ®µéÀ» ¹üÁË ±â·Ïµé¿¡¼, ȤÀº »çȸ°¡ ´ç¸éÇÑ °¡Àå ÃÖ±ÙÀÇ ¹®Á¦µé·ÎºÎÅÍ, ¿¹·Î µé¸é ÃÖ¸é¼ú,
À¯Àü, µîµî, ȤÀº °¡Àå °í´ëÀÇ ±×¸®°í ½ÉÁö¾î °¡Àå ȯ»óÀûÀÎ ¿µ¿ªµé·ÎºÎÅÍ °ñ¶ó ³»´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. |
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For a man talented in painting or sculpture, it is still easier to produce objects that resemble art. All he needs is to learn to draw, paint or sculpt — especially naked bodies. Once he has learned that, he can ceaselessly paint one painting after another or sculpt one statue after another, choosing, according to his inclination, mythological, religious, fantastic or symbolic subjects, or portraying what is written about in the newspapers — a coronation, a strike, the Graeco-Turkish War, the disasters of famine; or, most commonly, portraying all that seems beautiful, from naked women to copper basins. |
È¸È È¤Àº Á¶°¢¿¡ Àç´É ÀÖ´Â »ç¶÷¿¡°Ô´Â, ¿¹¼úÀ» ´àÀº ´ë»óµéÀ»
¸¸µé¾î ³»´Â °ÍÀÌ ÈξÀ ½±´Ù. ±×°¡ ÇØ¾ß ÇÒ ¸ðµç °ÍÀº — ƯÈ÷, ¹ú°Å¹þÀº
À°Ã¼µéÀ»— ±×¸®°í, Ä¥Çϰí ȤÀº Á¶°¢ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» ¹è¿ì´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ÀÏ´Ü ±×°¡ ±×°ÍÀ» ¹è¿ü´Ù¸é, ±×´Â ²÷ÀÓ ¾øÀÌ ÇÑ Æø ¶Ç
ÇÑ Æø ±×¸®°Å³ª, ȤÀº ÇÑ Á¶°¢ ¶Ç ÇÑ Á¶°¢À» »õ°Ü ³ª°¥ ¼ö ÀÖÀ¸¸ç, ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ÃëÇâ¿¡ µû¶ó, ½ÅÈÀû, Á¾±³Àû ȯ»óÀû ȤÀº »ó¡Àû ÁÖÁ¦µéÀ»
¼±ÅÃÇϰųª, ȤÀº ½Å¹®µé¿¡ ±â·ÏµÇ¾î ÀÖ´Â °Í — ´ë°ü½Ä, ÆÄ¾÷, ±×¸®½º-Å;îŰ
ÀüÀï, ±â±Ù¿¡ ÀÇÇÑ Àç¾Óµé — À» ; ȤÀº, °¡Àå ÈçÇÑ °ÍÀ¸·Î, ¾Æ¸§´ä°Ô ¿©°ÜÁö´Â ¸ðµç °ÍÀ», ¹ú°Å¹þÀº ¿©Àڵ鿡¼ ±¸¸®
¼¼¼ý´ë¾ß±îÁö ¹¦»çÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. |
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To produce musical art, a talented man needs still less of what constitutes the essence of art — that is, a feeling which will infect others; but, on the other hand, he needs more physical, gymnastic labour than for any other art, with the possible exception of dancing. To produce works of musical art, one needs first of all to learn to move one¡¯s fingers on some instrument as quickly as those who have reached the highest degree of perfection in it; then, one must leam how polyphonic music was written in the old days — that is, learn what are known as counterpoint and fugue; and then master orchestration — that is, the use of instrumental effects. Once he has learned all that, the musician can then ceaselessly write one work after another: programme music, operas, songs, devising sounds that more or less correspond to the words; or else chamber music — that is, taking other people¡¯s themes and reworking them by means of counterpoint and fugue within defined forms; or, most commonly, a fantastic music, taking combinations of sounds that accidentally come to hand and piling all sorts of complications and adornments on top of these accidental sounds. |
À½¾ÇÀû ¿¹¼úÀ» ¸¸µé¾î ³»·Á¸é, Àç´É ÀÖ´Â »ç¶÷À̶ó¸é ¿¹¼úÀÇ º»ÁúÀ»
±¸¼ºÇÏ´Â °Í — Áï, ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µéÀ» °¨¿°½ÃŰ´Â ´À³¦ —
À» ÈξÀ ´ú ÇÊ¿ä·Î ÇÑ´Ù; ±×·¯³ª, ¹Ý´ë·Î, ±×´Â ´Ù¸¥ ¾î¶² ¿¹¼ú º¸´Ù, ¹«¿ëÀÇ °æ¿ì ¾Æ¸¶µµ ¿¹¿Ü°ÚÁö¸¸, ´õÇÑ À°Ã¼ÀûÀ̸ç ÈÆ·ÃÀ» ¿äÇÏ´Â
³ëµ¿À» ÇÊ¿ä·Î ÇÑ´Ù. À½¾Ç ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰµéÀ» ¸¸µé¾î ³»±â À§Çؼ, ¸ÕÀú ƯÁ¤ ¾Ç±â À§¿¡¼ ¼Õ°¡¶ôµéÀ» °¡´ÉÇÑ »¡¸® ¿òÁ÷ÀÌ´Â °ÍÀ» ¹è¿ö¼ ±× ¾È¿¡¼
ÃÖ°íÀÇ ¿Ï¼ºµµ¿¡ µµ´ÞÇÑ »ç¶÷µéó·³ µÇ¾î¾ß ÇÑ´Ù; ±×¸®°í ³ª¸é, °ú°Å ½Ã´ë¿¡ ´ëÀ§¹ý À½¾ÇÀÌ ¾î¶»°Ô ¾²¿©Á³´ÂÁö
— Áï, ´ëÀ§¹ý ¹× Ç»°¡·Î ¾Ë·ÁÁø °Í — ¸¦ ¹Ýµå½Ã
¹è¿ö¾ß Çϸç; ±×¸®°í ³ª¸é °üÇö¾Ç — Áï, ¾Ç±âµéÀÇ È¿°úµéÀÇ »ç¿ë — À» ¹è¿ö¾ß¸¸ ÇÑ´Ù. ±×°¡ ÀÌ ¸ðµç °ÍÀ» ¹è¿ü´Ù¸é,
±× À½¾Ç°¡´Â ÀÌÁ¦ ²÷ÀÓ ¾øÀÌ ÇÑ ÀÛǰ ÇÑ ÀÛǰ ÀÛ°îÇØ ³ª°¥ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù: Ç¥Á¦À½¾Ç, ¿ÀÆä¶óµé, °¡°îµé, ´Ù¼Ò °¡»çµé¿¡ ÀÏÄ¡ÇÏ´Â ¼Ò¸®µéÀ»
°í¾ÈÇϰųª; ȤÀº ½Ç³» À½¾Ç — Áï, ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µéÀÇ ÁÖÁ¦µéÀ» µû¿Í¼ ±×°ÍµéÀ» Á¤ÀÇµÈ ÇüÅ ¾È¿¡¼ ´ëÀ§ ¹× Ç»°¡¸¦ ÀÌ¿ëÇÏ¿© °³ÀÛÇÑ °Í; ȤÀº,
°¡Àå ÈçÇÑ °ÍÀ¸·Î, ȯ»óÀûÀÎ À½¾Ç, ¿ì¿¬È÷ ¼Õ¿¡ ÁýÈ÷´Â ¼Ò¸®µéÀ» Á¶ÇÕÇϰí ÀÌµé ¿ì¿¬ÇÑ ¼Ò¸®µéÀÇ ÃÖ»óÀ§¿¡ ¿Â°® ³ÇØÇÑ ±â¹ýµé ¹× ²Ù¹ÒµéÀ» ½×¾Æ
¿Ã¸° °ÍÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù. |
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Thus, in all areas of art, counterfeit works are produced by a ready-made, worked-out recipe, which our upper-class public takes for genuine art. |
ÀÌ·¸°Ô ÇØ¼, ¿¹¼úÀÇ ¸ðµç ºÐ¾ßµé¿¡¼, ¸ðÁ¶ ÀÛǰµéÀÌ ÁøºÎÇϰí,
¹Ì¸® ¸¶·ÃµÈ ó¹æ¿¡ ÀÇÇØ »ý»êµÇ°í, ¿ì¸®ÀÇ »ó·ù °è±Þ ´ëÁßÀº À̰ÍÀ» ÁøÂ¥ ¿¹¼ú·Î ¿©±â´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. |
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And this replacement of works of art by counterfeits is the third and most important consequence of the separation of upper-class art from the art of the whole people. |
±×¸®°í ¸ðÁ¶Ç°µé¿¡ ÀÇÇÑ ¿¹¼ú ÀÛǰµéÀÇ ÀÌ¿Í °°Àº ´ëü´Â »ó·ù °è±Þ
¿¹¼úÀÌ Àüü ¹ÎÁßÀÇ ¿¹¼ú·ÎºÎÅÍ ºÐ¸®µÈ ¼¼ ¹øÂ°ÀÌÀÚ °¡Àå Áß¿äÇÑ °á°úÀÌ´Ù. |
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[Home]
[Up]
[Contents]
[Preface]
[Bibliographical Note]
[A Note on the Text]
[WHAT IS ART?]
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
[CONCLUSION]
[Appendix I]
[Appendix II]
[Notes]
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