As one who has dabbled in both ophthalmology and music, I am inclined to believe that, just as beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, so music is attuned to the ear of the listener. And perhaps I would not be stretching the point too far to suggest that song similarly resides in the throat of the singer.

Since the practice of medicine is an art in itself, what could be more natural than for ingrained artistic inclinations to seek other channels of expression? Hands trained to apply - with extreme precision and delicacy - a probe or a scalpel are equally adept at handling a paintbrush or a sculptor's chisel.

But we all know - don't we - that it isn't just the skill to wield a brush or a chisel that makes an artist. There's that indefinable added ingredient that perhaps William Blake had in mind when he painted his portrait in verse of the "Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, in the forests of the night".

Blake, who was both artist and poet, surely alluded to that ingredient when he wrote: "What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art could twist the sinews of thy heart?"

Art - true art - is always attempting to twist the sinews of the heart. And it can only succeed in doing so through what I am emboldened to suggest is a form of electrical discharge. A discharge that occurs when there is a direct connection between the artist, with his inspiration, and an audience with the ability to recognise his achievement.

Artistic appreciation demands more of us that the act of looking at something and saying "That's nice". It demands an understanding of what the artist is trying to say, and usually that understanding requires a certain degree of effort.

We have all, I am sure, found ourselves - at some time or other - observing the reaction of visitors to an art gallery. We see those who keep walking, glancing and moving on, their stride hardly interrupted as they silently murmur to themselves "That's nice" or "Not sure about the next one" or perhaps even "What on earth is that all about?"

And there are those others who stand immobile before a particular landscape or canvas, as if lost in a dream, studying every brushstroke as though intent upon penetrating its hidden layers of meaning. In musical terms, it's the difference between nodding over a pretty tune and unravelling its texture, note by note.

I will venture to paraphrase the words of another English poet, John Milton, when I say "They also serve who only stand and stare", for artists value those who stand and stare more than they value those who simply pass by with a nod or a gesture of dismissal. The fact is that artists need to be understood and appreciated. They want to "twist the sinews of the heart". They crave that emotive response that makes it worthwhile for them to "dare seize the fire".

Much has been said and written recently about the government's efforts to stimulate Hong Kong's cultural development. Critics have suggested that we shouldn't attempt to provide new facilities until we have educated the public to a greater understanding of culture. But how can you teach a person to see and appreciate until there is something to look at? How can you teach him or her to listen until there is something to hear?

Our ability to appreciate fine art can be developed only if the art is there in the first place. Hong Kong is lacking neither in artists nor in those who appreciate art. What we need are more opportunities for the two to make that vital connection which provides the wings on which we dare aspire.

Secretary for Home Affairs Patrick Ho's column first appeared in an English-language newspaper.