“I would like to briefly reflect on how frustrating it can be to talk about beauty; to define it. To talk about all those things we perceive, smell or sense as beautiful, either what is considered to be beautiful according to a canon throughout time and its influence in the consolidation of cultural values, or what seems beautiful in a more intimate manner, silent and individual.
The human being has developed the capability to bestow voice and credit to the beautiful as a matter of survival. An unquestionable value determined by the necessity of surviving to reality, avoiding us to choke without having digested it in our guts. Thus, we allow beauty to embrace our lies making them true. It is possible that the idea as such does not even exist, or that it only does within the limited parameters of the human condition. Nevertheless, we allow that fallacy for its own beauty, like the dream’s own, like the yearning (so human), to be immortal, wise or invincible.
What do we see in the face, in the hands, in the gestures of the one we love? Why does the saliva of some kisses ask to taste it more and more? What does half of mankind see in the other half of mankind, which hates at the same time that loves each other, in spite of knowing that what is real reeks foul keeping on the effort of pursuing the scent of memory?
It could all be a conspiracy of the universe. The beautiful exists without mass, without weight, intangible. Even so, it generates in us the strange certainty of having seen it at one point with the corner of the eye, but in a fleeting manner, as it inevitably disappears when trying to capture it, to center it in our visual field.
Trying to define, think, verbalize what we consider beautiful; to find the reason, which gives it sense, may have the consequence to cease that venture. In the same way that we have to cease, for coherence sake, to try to give a logical definition to concepts like the infinite or nothingness. We will always have the feeling, that there is no verb that can articulate such ideas, or we will rather feel reduced to the state of little suspended or erratic atoms in the vacuum, tiny and absurd.
The beautiful (not only the perfect according to geometric parameters, mathematics or those of symmetry, nor the balanced by the aerodynamics that purifies the abrupt and rough, but what individually is considered to be beautiful) achieves to penetrate in our senses and violates them with such a strength that there is no way out. Its light, its scent, its embrace revives the beast that lives within us and after waking it, piercing any possible resistance, it perverts that animal part, taming it, rationalizing it and converting it to something more reasonable and human.
Embodying the beauty to simply be able to talk about it, we can perceive its seductive and manipulating intentions towards our integrity. But, true is, that the evil beauty does not think about us, nor it considers us conversational partners of its possible discourse. The easiest way would be to assume that its effect or value is to give sense to our existence over our desire to understand its way of functioning over our biology or spirituality, enabling us to survive and allowing us to disconnect from the real and all its nearly always painful sharpness.
The beautiful let us dream that this is not finishing.
The beautiful, in my opinion, seems to derive from the spark produced by the instant of our first cell division. A quantum wave, which reproduces the instinctive echo of living and remaining forever, transcending. A beautiful lie to believe.”
Baltasar González Pinel