Book Description
Intentions by Oscar Wilde is a collection of essays that delves into the nature of art, aesthetics, and morality. As a significant work in the genre of literary criticism, it showcases Wilde’s sharp wit and philosophical insights, cementing his status as a leading figure in the aesthetic movement.
In Intentions, Wilde presents a series of essays that explore the role of art and the artist in society. The key essays, “The Critic as Artist” and “The Decay of Lying,” feature conversations between characters Gilbert and Ernest, who discuss the purpose of art and the importance of imagination over reality. Wilde argues that art should not merely reflect life but should create its own truths. Central themes include the conflict between morality and aesthetics, the value of creative expression, and the transformative power of art. Through these discussions, Wilde challenges conventional views, making a compelling case for the importance of artistic freedom and innovation.
Excerpt from Intentions by Oscar Wilde
C (coming in through the open window from the terrace). My dear Vivian, don’t coop yourself up all day in the library. It is a perfectly lovely afternoon. The air is exquisite. There is a mist upon the woods, like the purple bloom upon a plum. Let us go and lie on the grass and smoke cigarettes and enjoy Nature.
V. Enjoy Nature! I am glad to say that I have entirely lost that faculty. People tell us that Art makes us love Nature more than we loved her before; that it reveals her secrets to us; and that after a careful study of Corot and Constable we see things in her that had escaped our observation. My own experience is that the more we study Art, the less we care for Nature.
What Art really reveals to us is Nature’s lack of design, her curious crudities, her extraordinary monotony, her absolutely unfinished condition. Nature has good intentions, of course, but, as Aristotle once said, she cannot carry them out. When I look at a landscape I cannot help seeing all its defects. It is fortunate for us, however, that Nature is so imperfect, as otherwise we should have no art at all.
Art is our spirited protest, our gallant attempt to teach Nature her proper place. As for the infinite variety of Nature, that is a pure myth. It is not to be found in Nature herself. It resides in the imagination, or fancy, or cultivated blindness of the man who looks at her.
