I think it’s funny that whenever I have a busy week, I end up writing a thoughtful piece — the kind that’s less of an analysis and more of a conversation. It’s really a shame because I want to write something more informed, and I’m definitely critical of myself for not having the energy to do that. Anyway, I was recently thinking about the strange dynamic we have with other people when we go to a gallery, an exhibit, or a show, and it led me to this much larger concept. We walk past each other blindly, our sole aim to analyze that painting, sculpture, or installation from a different angle or lighting. Sometimes we rest and just take in the expansiveness of the space, or, alternatively, we plant ourselves squarely in front of a painting and gaze on blankly. In some cases, we question entirely why we came, while others move excitedly from one piece to the next. It’s almost like being at a silent disco — you are either really enjoying the song that’s playing, or you don’t, but still dance along because everyone else is. It seems like we all ingest art with intent, but the reason certainly differs from one person to the next. Ultimately, the overarching question I have is this: What is it that we really want from art?
I think I’ve asked myself this question often because I truly enjoy practicing art, but only when I feel like I’m making progress or have inspiration. I’ll give an example: Very recently, I was asked by our executive staff to create a digital design for a tote bag we intend to provide at The Stute x SGA Alumni and Student Gala this week. I was really excited about taking on that challenge, so I poured upwards of 10 hours into creating the design. It certainly proved worthwhile; the design came out great, and I was very satisfied with the outcome. What was strange to me was that I felt so invested in creating that design, yet I have two of the most detailed works I’ve created just sitting in my queue, untouched and incomplete. Thinking about it, the difference became clear. When I was asked to work on The Stute’s tote design, I was excited at the possibility that others might be able to appreciate it and how it was sort of emblematic of our institution and organization. Meanwhile, those other designs are a product of more deeply personal feelings that needed to be illustrated in the moment, but are no longer present. As time has progressed, I’ve realized that what I really want from art isn’t escape, but rather a deeper appreciation for a medium that is shared amongst others.
Yet, what others desire from art varies widely. Some pursue it to invoke a new emotion, while others prefer the detachment it provides them. Some use it as a vehicle for establishing a community, while others appreciate it in isolation. Some incorporate it as a catalyst for rebellion, while others use it as an instrument of continuity. Obviously, I can’t know what others think unless they explicitly tell me. These are just common trends. I, however, do have a theory: At the moment, we won’t know exactly what we want from art, but once we no longer have it, we will learn its value. The other night I watched this animated film that—on the surface—seemed to tell a simple story about a gifted track and field athlete, but was actually a deeply emotional tale about how they briefly lost the sense of community it brought them in search of glory. When I started watching, I thought it was all quite silly; when it concluded, I was astonished. In that brief moment, it felt like my mind had expanded. I imagine that with art, the realization will feel the same.
