“Aim at softness and ease in your performance of a dance.
Endeavor that all shall be harmonious.
However hard you work at your lessons or at rehearsals,
let none of this effort be visible in your performance.
There must be no sign of concentration, exertion, or tension.
All must be free and natural.
For the true art is that which conceals the labor that produced it.”
We own the image. Fantasy comes from the ghosts. Fantasy is what people in the North own. We are concrete. The image comes from the Mediterranean. Orestes knows his way, where Hamlet is torn apart by his doubts.
That the supreme god of Plato’s cosmos should wear the mask of a manual worker is a triumph of the philosophical imagination over ingrained social prejudice. ... But this divine mechanic is not a drudge. He is an artist or, more precisely, what an artist would have to be in Plato’s conception of art: not the inventor of new form, but the imposer of pre-existing form on as yet formless material.