Romantic vs Classicist*

A seemingly eternal argument between some friends and I.

*As defined by a philosophy student who was party to some of them - he later admitted he got the definitions from ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’.

“Form follows Function. A well-built machine, designed to last decades if not longer, has a quiet craftsmanship, an economical beauty, which no amount of pointless frippery or gilding - or, indeed, curved plastic - can ever match.”

“But much art has no function, as you would define it. Would you say that the Mona Lisa, or the Sistine Chapel are not beautiful?”

“They’re in a different category altogether, we’re talking about things that have an intrinsic function, don’t change the subject. And yet - find me one wasted brushstroke, on either of those. Gaudiness is tacky for a reason, and it’s one that should be applied more generally.”

“You speak of economical beauty, but I remember you raving over that machine that, in your words: 'had care lavished over every detail, no matter how minor.’ How does that match any definition of economical?”

…And on and on. It’s been going for years, seriously. (I may have embroidered the dialogue a little, but the points are the same) – RecklessPrudence(?) [AN: Forgot to check. Sorry]

(#00423 - A048)

“Care and attention to detail are essential for form and function to be compatible. You can have a machine that does the job and looks ugly. You can have a machine that does the same job and looks like a poet made it.”

“Poets don’t build things. They write poetry. Tha-that’s why they’re called poets, dummins.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“All I know is I’m g-gonna be in trouble with Paige.”

“Rabbit, for the third time, that refrigerator was not 'giving you the eye’. It doesn’t have eyes.”

“It ain’t my fault I’m too be-beautiful for this world.”

The Spine sighed and wondered, not for the first time, why Pappy had built them all with human-shaped bodies. With all the inherent human wants and desires somehow inveigled into their robotic makeup. “Rabbit…” he shook his head. “Why do we have to have this conversation every time we enter a white goods store?”

“Y-y-y-y-you stay away from me, ya bunch'a hussies,” Rabbit edged away from a display of blenders.

“They’re not even turned on, Rabbit.”

“With us around? Are you ki-k-k-kidding?”

This was why he always asked Mr Walter if he was certain he wanted robotic help with the heavy lifting.

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