CULTIVATING TASTE: THE EVOLVING RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ART AND SELF

Our taste forms long before we realize it, deeply shaped by our surroundings—even if we're not always aware of it.

We pick up on the music we hear at home, the stories we’re told, the food we eat and how we prepare it. These early influences—and aesthetic experiences—shape what we come to see as beautiful or meaningful, and by extension, what we attribute immense value to. For many, this foundation remains in place—especially if their surroundings stay largely the same. But when we step outside of what’s familiar—through travel, reading, or meeting people with different perspectives—we start to notice new possibilities. This shift doesn’t always happen intentionally; often, it’s simply the result of being exposed to something different. And with that, our sense of taste begins to expand, and our definition of what we deem valuable and beautiful begins to shift.

For me, that shift emerged through a growing sense of curiosity. I found myself drawn to works that didn’t belong to my immediate environment—art that was quite different from the “ideal” I had determined: still life paintings and portraits by the Dutch masters, created with immense care and technique. I’m still in awe of their beautiful oil paintings, but with time and exposure to different art forms, I also realized that bright colors and figurative shapes make me happy. As I experienced more, this instinct to search deeper and wider extended beyond visual art—it began to shape my taste in music and literature, too.

That desire to understand why certain things moved me only grew stronger when I began studying philosophy, especially the branch of aesthetics. I became interested not only in artworks themselves, but in the frameworks we use to interpret and value them. What is beauty? How do we determine what’s beautiful? Is it a matter of taste? And if so, is there such a thing as “good” taste? Where does it come from? Can it evolve? And how—if at all—can we define “good” art?

These questions gradually led me to rethink taste—not as a fixed set of preferences or a signal of higher education and culture—but as a kind of internal compass. One that develops through engagement, attention, and reflection. A compass that helps us navigate aesthetic experiences and, in the process, reveals something about how we see ourselves and the world.

TASTE ACCORDING TO HUME: CULTIVATION THROUGH REFINEMENT

One of the most well-known philosophical accounts of taste comes from David Hume, who, in his essay Of the Standard of Taste (1757), argued that while beauty is not a property of objects themselves, some judgments about beauty are more valid than others. According to Hume, the ability to judge art depends on extensive experience, comparison, delicacy of sentiment, and freedom from prejudice. In other words, taste is not entirely subjective—it can, and should, be refined.

Hume believed that through repeated exposure to great works, and by exercising discernment over time, one could develop “correct” taste. In his view, individuals who met these conditions formed a kind of informal council of critics—those whose judgments could be trusted because they had cultivated their sensibilities with rigor and care. While he acknowledged that everyone has preferences, he believed some opinions held more weight than others.

There’s something valuable in Hume’s emphasis on attention and intentionality. Developing a deeper appreciation for art often does require repeated exposure, comparison, and reflection—and often, a set of criteria for what we determine to be “good”: technique, composition, harmony, and so on. However, his framework tends to favor a narrow view of what counts as worthy of attention—one shaped by history, status, and tradition. Implicit in his argument is the idea that there exists a canon of works (and a type of person) that defines good taste for others to follow. In that sense, his theory is not just about cultivating taste—it’s also about standardizing it.

TASTE AS EXPLORATION AND SELF-KNOWLEDGE

Where Hume sees taste as something refined toward a standard, I’ve come to think of it as something more exploratory and introspective—less about reaching consensus and more about learning what resonates with you. Rather than a single trajectory toward “correct” taste, there are many possible paths, each shaped by a person’s experiences, emotional responses, and openness to new encounters.

To cultivate your taste, in this sense, is to pay closer attention to what moves you: the colors you find yourself drawn to, the sounds that stir something in your body, the sentiment that lingers after you’ve closed a book. These patterns of resonance aren’t fixed, and they don’t require external validation. They reveal something of who you are—your sensitivities, memories, values—and they often evolve with time.

Of course, we are all influenced by the tastes we inherit. Our cultural context, our upbringing, the people around us—all of these shape what we come to value, often without realizing it. But part of cultivating taste is also about becoming conscious of those influences, and then beginning to make more intentional choices. Not by rejecting what we’ve inherited, but by expanding it, questioning it, adding to it.

This process is not about perfecting one’s taste. It’s about deepening the way we engage with art, culture, and ourselves. Taste becomes a quiet kind of practice—a habit of noticing. Noticing what excites, what soothes, what provokes, what unsettles. And through that noticing, we begin to understand our own inner world with more nuance.

DEWEY’S AESTHETIC: ART AS EXPERIENCE

In contrast to Hume’s emphasis on refinement and critical authority, John Dewey offers a more democratic and experiential understanding of aesthetics. In his influential book Art as Experience (1934), Dewey argues that art should not be separated from the conditions of everyday life. Rather than seeing artworks as estranged objects to be judged from a distance, he views them as extensions of human experience—rooted in emotion, context, and interaction.

For Dewey, aesthetic experience occurs when we are fully engaged—when perception, emotion, and meaning coalesce in a moment of focused attention. This experience isn’t limited to canonical works or institutional spaces. It can be found in listening to a song, watching someone read in a park, preparing a meal, or simply observing nature. What makes these moments “aesthetic” is the quality of experience: a sense of wholeness, rhythm, and emotional resonance.

This perspective aligns closely with the view of taste I’ve come to hold. Rather than striving to emulate an ideal of artistic judgment, we can approach art—and taste itself—as a living process. Dewey’s account reclaims art from abstraction and restores it to the realm of the personal, the felt, and the shared. His ideas invite us to engage with art not as passive observers or evaluators, but as participants in a dynamic and evolving process of meaning-making.

When we accept that art and aesthetic value emerge through experience, we also open ourselves to a wider range of influences and possibilities. We are no longer bound to a single standard of what is “good” or “refined.” Instead, we become attentive to what feels genuine, vivid, and significant in the moment—and in doing so, we create the conditions for more personal forms of cultural engagement.

CURATURA: A SPACE FOR LIVING WITH ART

The desire to further explore and develop my own taste, to engage more deliberately with art and culture, and to share the aesthetic experiences that have moved me eventually led me to create CURATURA—a platform, but also a kind of mental and imaginative space. CURATURA exists not to define what is good or important, but to invite people into the act of paying attention—to beauty, to ideas, and to the quiet signals of their own curiosity. It’s an invitation to engage more mindfully, but also more personally. It’s also a space for me to share works that have brought me joy, sparked curiosity, and—even if briefly—enchanted me, in the hopes that they might do the same for others.

Through curated exhibitions, articles, reflections, and gatherings—both online and in person—CURATURA becomes a place where aesthetic experience is invited rather than prescribed. The space is curated with my taste, yes, but it’s not meant to impose. It’s meant to welcome. The goal isn’t agreement; it’s engagement. Visitors are encouraged to encounter art, music, literature, and philosophical ideas in a way that feels meaningful to them. Some may feel enchanted, others indifferent—and both responses are valid. What matters is that we’re cultivating the habit of noticing: what delights us, what moves us, what feels off, what lingers.

In that sense, it’s not a finished project, but a living one—a reflection of how personal curiosity can take shape as a shared cultural invitation.

CONCLUSION: CULTIVATING TASTE AS A WAY OF BEING

Cultivating taste is not about conforming to a certain standard. Rather, it’s about learning to move through the world with more attention to what you like—pausing to notice what moves you, and being open to the ways those moments shape your perspective.

For me, that awareness is strongest when I’m engaging with art. It’s where I often find clarity, beauty, and meaning. It’s why I began CURATURA: to create a space that invites others into curiosity and reflection that deepen our experience of life—with art always at the center of it.