wondering about art

I wonder what makes art. What makes it not?

I wonder if it birthed through form or function? Both? Neither? There are things that are beautiful that I would not consider art; there are things that are ugly, that I would.

I wonder if it requires intent. Need the artist be aware of the creation he creates? Can her accident be expressed through an expression lacking intended purpose?

I wonder if art requires truth. Perhaps some semblance of it? Perhaps the truth that exists to one person and not to another? The things we know and pretend to know and know are pretend? What of so-called art that obscures the truth and lies to our faces? Does our desire to be lied to hold the tight grip over the title of "art?"

I wonder if this thought counts as art. Would it count if it were worded better? Would it count if it were never read? Would it count if it were read by every last man, woman, and child?

I wonder if this all is as pretentious as it sounds.