Great art penetrates, for better or worse. It gets “inside” and lingers there; it excites emotions, makes you feel elated, vulnerable, mortal. If great art penetrates, does aesthetic experience entail feeling a little penetrated by the artist himself (it usually has been him)—does something of his being or soul infiltrate yours, breaching the usual human boundaries? Isn’t that the whole frisson of the thing?Aesthetic pleasure isn’t unrelated to religion, both being in the transcendence business, meaning that sometimes artists have been mistaken for or moved through the world like gods. People worship them, want to sidle up to, bed, or marry them. Artists often being men, many of those doing
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