ABSTRACT
In much of the foregoing I have spoken of artists as present in their works. I spoke of the way in which, in Picasso’s Nude dressing her hair, one might admire the way the representation had so been arranged that each detail contributed to the overall effect. In something like Scorcese’s Casino one might admire the judiciousness of the cutting, aware that different decisions would have produced a less impressive effect. In music one admires the artistry with which an effect is achieved, as when Helen Schlegel noticed the effect of the key change in the last movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. We speak, too, as if an artist’s qualities manifested themselves in the work: the distinctive irony in Jane Austen’s novels, the mawkishness Dickens can show, the discrimination shown by Mozart in his development choices, the characteristic wit of Wilde, the scatological interest Swift and Picasso can display, the pretentiousness sometimes shown by Peter Greenaway.
