The Question of Blind Taste: Unfiltered Reflections of the Truth Behind Art & Culture

You cannot separate art from her culture. You could take the same varietal and plant it across an unchartered slope, hidden in an unknown land. There, you see, the crafty could use the same practices and reach a final wine that tastes remarkably close to its original; yet still, the imposter is not unliked solely because it is undrinkable and the bottle’s interior is not cheaper because of its lack of care, attention, or design. The copycat could fool the masters in its remarkable closeness to a Grand Cru from the valley of Loire. Heck, you could label the original as the imposter and it still unfurls the same crime. The “faker” may, in turn, be forced to retreat, left naked, seeking shelter in a panic from its loss of charm & elegance. The questionable liquid would now fail to ensnare the senses simply because the taster is aware of its fraud before he sips; not because of the taste. Not because of the quality.

Now, the wine sits still; unable to make do, unable to make ends meet.

Bad publicity. A young establishment. A century old family feud. Obscurity. An unrecognizable name or plot. Who knows.

It seems that the perception of truth matters as much as its reality. Maybe more.

World renowned wineries claim that their goal is to make spectacular wine. Does this sentiment imply that these calculations are untrue? We may forget that duty, history, tradition, and prestige may matter just as much to the winemaker, and duly so to the one who drinks.

Should that imposition, then, not change the goal? or maybe what they profess is the goal?
Would you drink a wine just for the name, should the contents be tarnished vinegar, plagued with indigestible bitters? *

There seems to be a second element to the end expression. There is the literal, and then, there is the perceived. Which one matters more? We might ask.

Art.

The study of the classics is typically not just of the piece. As much as we love the endearing charm of A Dream Deferred, “the raisin in the sun” did not dry up on a white sandy beach in Bali. The exact rhetoric would not ring the same bell if it weren’t for its surrounding splendor or demise.

Might this be why many biological predecessors of the greats have trouble achieving the same elevation of delight, despite their highly endowed nature and intentionally worldy nurture?

Curious.

The rags to riches story is told a dozen times to one of the rich man born rich man who died a rich man. Name one who wasn’t a king or a household name. The ones you know of now are most likely plagued (or gifted) with the surname jammed in the company’s slogan. The Waltons couldn’t think of a better name than Wal-mart.

Obvious.

If art is more than just the piece, undoubtably… then should it not be inseparable from its entire package?

Should we be allowed to drink a wine without knowledge of its terroir?

Should we read Hamlet without studying the life of Shakespeare?

How much would the Mona Lisa be worth if you were freezing cold, had never heard of her, and it was the last piece of tender for your fire in the area?

Questions to ponder. Questions that decide the fate of our tasting and enjoyment of our vine ventures.

x Chelsea

*Enter rich wine collectors or as they say, “the billionaire’s vinegar”