The dominance of one or the other of these two schools of thought swings back and forth like a pendulum. It's called change and as some ancient philosopher no doubt noted, change is, ironically, the only constant in life. And, it is very nearly a definition of art. Of course that which can only be observed and that which can only be felt are both extremes. Naturally, reality (as opposed to Realism) lies somewhere in the middle. Extreme positions are always untenable. And likewise, that art which clings to either extreme, while serving the purpose of defining the limitations of what "is" or "isn't" art, is also, by its very nature, cold, empty, often ugly, and in most cases, just plain boring. The ultimate in abstract minimalism, a plain, blank canvas (arguably all black or all white), would be just as uninspiring as the most realistically painted depiction of the smallest visible detail of molecular science.

In art, nature, philosophy, politics, literature, and romance--literally any human endeavour-- some semblance of balance is needed. In art we have the Romantic landscapes of Rousseau and the observed impressions of Monet. Neither are extremes. Each however lean toward opposite polarities and both are as beautiful as they are inspiring. But perfect balance is also an extreme. Because it implies a least-common-denominator blandness, it is just as uninspiring as that art which lies at the extremes. Like a chess tourney in which every game ends in a draw, the result is not interest but ennui. If the pendulum stops, so does change, so does time, life, and art.