irregular expressions

Sometimes I'm jealous of people who engage in the more "standard" arts as hobbies or professions--things like painting, photography, woodworking, writing, etc. Or, at least, "jealous" is the best way I can describe it; really, it's more a feeling of sadness directed at an unfortunate state of the world rather than at any person or field.

I'll try to explain; it's not that I feel that they possess some sort of faculty that I lack, or that they somehow gain an enjoyment of life that I am unable to attain. Art, in all forms, is a wonderful thing--not just for the observers (for whom it is sometimes not so wonderful; seen Ultraviolet lately?), but for the artist.

For me, art is primarily about creation. The artist takes some sort of raw material from the world--be it paint and canvas, steel and brick, or even just a subtle trick of light on a city street--mixes it with a portion of him- or herself, and delivers the finished product in all it's novel glory to the world (or anyway, that's how I think of it when I see something that stirs me).

Yet, this sort of creation is not limited to the "Arts". Sometimes, I feel the same feeling looking at an intricately, complicatedly tangled system of on-ramps and freeway exits as I do when I hear the Rohan theme in The Two Towers. Some civil engineer (or some few) designed that, built it, took the concrete and steel and added a dash of human will to produce something entirely new in the universe. It's the same with my source code, or an elegant math proof, or a novel argument for some philosophical concept.

Therein lies my jealousy, if that's what you can call it; what is it about the world (or just our society, or whatever) that robs practical things of their aesthetic value? Why is it so admirable to be able to design a living room, but not a word processor? Why are there television shows dedicated to competitions in fashion design, but not in architecture? Why America's Next Top Model, but no America's Next Top Modeler?

Anyway, that's my rant for the day. Too much Fountainhead, I guess.