When I consider the origins of the Arts, my current conclusion is that they come from a sense of comfort. They are the result of a certain spontaneity born of comfort, for doing something in exchange for nothing. The state of comfort may even arise within a time and space of tumult, when one finally is at peace with the condition of the surroundings, and finally gains the sufficient detachment to feel that sort of comfort. No time or space is ever absolutely perfect, so the state of perceived perfection must come from a form of detachment.
However, that spontaneity cannot arise from a constant crisis mindset. When one feels constantly harried, at risk of one's life and that society is on the brink of collapse, it is difficult to feel creative because one is constantly struggling to survive, and has no time for the creativity that comes with comfort.
Ultimately, there must be a point of acceptance, whereby the chaos of life is momentarily tamed, and one watches from a distance, then makes works that awe and inspire. Yet the creativity cannot come without some measure of chaos, otherwise it takes the form of normalcy and challenges nothing. In being unchallenging, it becomes difficult to awe and inspire. Without that, how can something be called art?
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