The Eye of the Beholder
- Meera Godbole-Krishnamurthy
- Mar 16
- 4 min read
Updated: Mar 17
Margaret Wolfe Hungerford wrote the line, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” in her 1878 novel, though several, including Plato, have explored variations of this theme. It is now a well-worn idiom for people agreeing to disagree on the appeal of something, be it a person, a melody, or a work of art. Is beauty inherent, is it perceived, does it exist at all, what is the relationship between art and beauty? Artists have long struggled with such questions.
The first hurdle lies in defining the concept of beauty. Reading philosophies of aesthetics as postulated by Aristotle, Nietzsche, and other empiricists and rationalists is enough to make one’s head spin. Is beauty a primordial truth contained within the Golden Ratio, which has been superimposed – sometimes inaccurately – on the Parthenon, da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, and Hokusai’s Great Wave of Kanazawa? Is this math applied to works retrospectively a marker of inherent beauty, or merely an interesting, if flawed, coincidence? Johann Winckelmann, often considered the first art historian, believed that unity and simplicity are the two sources of absolute beauty which can only be achieved in man’s artistic creations and not in nature.
Immanuel Kant claimed that to the contrary, ‘true beauty’ can be found only in nature. Poets and artists have embraced this notion with exaltations to the natural universe.
David Hume suggested a complex relationship between the object, its perception, and its comprehension stating, "Beauty in things exists merely in the mind which contemplates them.” If it awakens pleasure or passion in the viewer, then that which is being viewed could be termed beautiful, be it a sunset or a work of art. And then there was Keats with his Ode on a Grecian Urn: “Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty. That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." If you’ve ever looked at a Grecian Urn in a museum, you’ve likely pondered some of these questions. Or perhaps it made little impact in comparison to the Khavda pottery from Gujarat, thought to trace its roots to the Indus Valley civilization. The eye of the beholder, after all.
The traditional ‘purpose’ of art was to transcend the banal and prosaic, to rise into being sacred and sublime. Statues of gods and goddesses whether Indian or Greek were representations of idealised beauty which was determined within the context of time, place, material, and culture. Cows imbued with metaphoric love in a Pichwai painting can evoke feelings of divine devotion, but only if you have knowledge of the lore. Notwithstanding the treatises of philosophers about the Platonic ideal and a priori truths, much aesthetic taste is a result of conditioning.
The women painted by Flemish artist Peter Paul Reubens in the 1600s have little in common with the women in scroll paintings from the Ming dynasty in China, which lasted until 1644. Whether voluptuous or stylized, each artist was creating what was considered glorious to them and their audience.
Though many even today continue to equate art with beauty, art gradually evolved into the portrayal of “real life,” which of course is not always beautiful, no matter which way you define it. Indeed, much modern and contemporary art would lead one to believe that beauty isn’t top of mind for most artists, no matter where they are in the world. Somnath Hore and Chittaprosad Bhattacharya’s drawings of the 1943 Bengal Famine are heart-wrenching.
Dissident Chinese artist Ai Weiwei says, “Life is art. Art is life. I never separate it.” Vivan Sundaram’s politically conscious art raised awareness about many “crises,” as he termed them, including communalism and migration.
Last week, an artist left piglets to starve in a cage at an art show in Copenhagen to make a statement about the mistreatment of animals. The elusive Banksy says, “Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable,” his anti-establishment graffiti art presenting ironic commentaries on socio-political absurdities. Rummana Hussain’s broken terracotta pots are a response to the Babri Masjid demolition of 1992 – wouldn’t Keats’ ode to truth and beauty hold true for her work as well, even though the urn she depicts is shattered and in pieces?
The relationship between art and beauty is complicated. George Bernard Shaw said, “Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable.” The joy and sadness of the human condition is what makes life magical, and art necessarily responds to both. We can lose ourselves in the dreamworlds of Sakti Burman as deeply as in the nightmares of Hieronymus Bosch. Dostoevsky’s Prince Myshkin declared, “Beauty will save the world,” but let’s not forget that he was The Idiot of the book title. Idiots, however, sometimes speak profound truths.
One could argue that art which moves viewers to reconsider their reality in any way offers salvation because, to quote acting teacher Stella Adler, “life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one.” Could there be anything more universally beautiful than rediscovering our humanity?
Vitruvian Man
Great Wave of Kanazawa
Khavda pottery
Pichwai
Reubens
Somnath Hore
Chittaprosad Bhattacharya
scroll paintings from the Ming dynasty
Sakti Burman
Hieronymus Bosch
(Meera is an architect, author, editor, and artist. Her column meanders through the vibrant world of art, discussing ideas, offering critiques, delving into theory and exploring everything in between and beyond.)
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