ation. But the products of these creative activities themselves
become satisfactions on a par with other natural goods.
The objects of art--poems, paintings, statues, symphonies--are
themselves prized and sought after. They afford satisfaction
to that large number of persons who are sensitive to
the beautiful without having a gift for its creation.

[Footnote 1:
Many industrial processes exhibit elements of the fine arts. This is the
case whenever there is opportunity for the worker to feel, and to have some
ground for the feeling, that he is not merely turning out a product, but turning
out a well-made or a beautiful one, to which his own skill is contributing.
The makers of fine books or bindings or furniture, of fine embroidery and the
like, are examples. But such conditions occur chiefly in the so-called luxury
trades. There is very little opportunity for the display of creative talent in
quantity manufacture.

On the other hand, every fine art involves some elements of merely technical
skill or craftsmanship, which is important in achieving an imaginative
result, but is the skill of the mechanic rather than the vision of the artist.
In surveying the finished product of art as it appears in a painting by a
Turner or a Cezanne, we may forget the "dust and ointment of the calling,"
but it is none the less there. The drudgery of art, the practicing of scales.
the mixing of colors, the rehearsing of plays, are, as it were, the necessary preliminary industry in art.]

AEsthetic appreciation is indeed shared by all men, and is
called out by other objects than paintings or poems. There is
hardly anything men do which is not affected by what has
been called "an irrelevant access of aesthetic feeling." We saw
in another connection how our estimates of persons and situations
are qualified by love and hate, sympathy and revulsion.
In the same way all our experiences have an aesthetic coloring.
It may be nothing more than the curious jubilance and
vivacity, the thrill and tingle of the blood that comes upon a
crisp autumn day. It may be, as Mill pointed out, the largeness
of thought and vision promoted by habitually working
in a spacious and dignified room. AEsthetic influences are
always playing upon us; they determine not only our tastes in
the decoration of our houses, our choices of places to walk and
to eat, but even such seemingly remote and abstract matters
as a scientific theory or a philosophy of life. Even the indu