The Descent.

"I cannot think that a player genuinely loving the game can get pleasure just from the number of points scored no matter how impressive the total. I will not speak of myself, but for the masters of the older generation, from whose games we learned, the aesthetic side was the most important."  -  Alexander Kotov

Perhaps unfortunately, I don't include myself  in this description. I've never played with beauty or art in mind. I play to win and embarrass if possible. The more pain and disgust exuded by my opponents, the greater the satisfaction of victory.  The most satisfying win in my matrix came at the expense of one of Alberta's most talented junior players a few years ago.  At the time I was rated roughly 1900, and he was around 2120 if memory serves me well.  Playing the game more or less non-retardedly, I managed to reach a late middle-game position that I knew to be winning. To my amusement, several players who had long finished their own games walked over to our board to observe the action. Visibly distraught, my opponent sunk deeper into himself, shoulders lowered, head sunken, and facial expressions worthy of prime-time TV, he continued to fight a losing battle. Moments later, two friends of mine arrived to join the chorus of silent observers. I looked up at them and Roy Yearwood smiled with approval while the other, a non chess playing friend, simply acknowledged me. Roughly 10 minutes later, my opponent finally surrendered--he offered his hand in disgust with no grip to his shake. He stood up, and quickly darted out of the room,-- a crime scene left to the perpetrator. 

I've also been on the receiving end of similar tragedies and I know the pain and anger he felt that day. I'm sure most of us have. 

Perhaps art in chess is only for those good enough to craft it, and those strong enough to appreciate it. I'm a mere soldier trying to complete objectives within the symphony of war.