ideas of emotions which, by the power of
association, that form may awaken in ourselves. What the artist gives
is merely the arrangement of lines and colours in a given manner, which
may, as in painting, resemble an already existing natural object; or, as
in architecture and pattern decoration, resemble no already existing
natural object; the arrangement of sounds which may, as in a dramatic
air, recall the inflexions proper to a given emotion, or, as in a formal
fugue, recall no emotional inflexions whatever. This, and not any train
of thoughts awakened by this possibly but not necessarily existing
resemblance to an already known natural object, or to an already known
sort of emotional voice inflexion, is what is given by the artist, and
this is artistic form, the absolutely, objectively existing work of art.
And now we may examine what mental faculties, in the various arts, are
required for the production of this work: what portions of the whole
individual man are included or excluded in that smaller, more limited
individual whom we call the artist. Let us investigate the point by a
sort of experiment: by stripping away, one by one, those qualities of an
ideal individual which are not necessary for the production of the
various kinds of artistic work; let us separate and afterwards, if need
be, select and reunite the qualities which are required and those which
are not required to make up a poet, a painter, a sculptor, or a
musician.

And first we must create our ideal man, who contains within him the
stuff of every kind of artist, the faculties of producing every kind of
artistic work. First, a word about this ideal man, and about the manner
in which he differs from other men. He differs in completeness, in
balance, in intensity. For almost every one of us has some mental
faculty so imperfectly developed that we may say that it does not
exist: it exists indeed, and perhaps not without a certain necessary
effect, but as with a single solitary instrument in a powerful orchestra
of dozens of every other kind of instruments, this effect is not
consciously perceived. And the faculties which we do possess are rarely
of very remarkable strength and intensity: we have enough of them for
our ordinary wants of life, but not necessarily more. Our sense of
hearing is sufficient to distinguish the voice of one friend from
another, but not always sufficient to be able to enjoy music, still less
often to perform, least often of al