Art....

I'm about three minutes from attempting to read the remainder of Virginia Woolfe's A Room of One's Own. At least that's what i've been thinking for the past half hour. Before you applaud me for trying to "culture" myself, I must let you know that it's not with my own free will that I read the book. No, the book is for English class. I don't make a practice of reading about women who, instead of trying to activly change the misogynistic world in which they live, take the whiny, materialistic, elititst road (as if that path is not already filled with men who possibly hold more disdain for them then any others).

Anyway, the reason for me reading this "book" is to try to find the definition of art and to discover what conditions are nessessary for its creation. I don't think it's possible, but since I have not yet recieved my Phd, (I am in fact a freshmen and will therefore not be seeing those letters preceeding my name for a few years and possibly a couple hundred thousand dollar's from now) my opinion, apparently, holds no weight in the midst of the great (dead) thinkers. I believe that art is a thing which does not and can not have a concise definition. Like most ideas such as love, happiness, and peace, art can only be accurately described by the individual who experiences it. When there is a group "definition" for art, it looses much of what makes it what it is, and that is something that we as human beings cannot afford.

Just dropping my two cents into the bottom of the world sized opinion jar.