The purpose of art

I am taking art classes at my local community college this Spring, and this past weekend I spent writing various introductions on discussion boards. The questions were super introspective: what is art? what does it mean to you? what does it feel like to create art with your hands? Anyway, I liked some of the reflections I had so I am adding it to my blog as a keepsake. hehe.

I have a copy of The Artist’s Way, and one of my favorite parts is the quotes in the margins from famous artists. Often, the quotes speak to something larger than the creation or product, but to the energetic feeling that produces art. I don’t know how to explain this feeling other than: art is life itself. The whole creation of a child, birth and development, is so artistic in both principle and reality. I don’t mean to come across as pretentious with this observation. I truly believe that everything around us is art. We are art. To be alive is to be an artist. Our inner emotional world is akin to selecting the colors for your canvas. How do you want to paint your reality? With hues of cerulean and lavender? Or black, grey, and beige? Neither is right or wrong; it’s simply a way of depicting your inner world.

There have been so many early moments in which I was touched by art that it’s hard to distinguish the first one. However, one moment comes to mind in particular. I was around eight years old at the Apple Store, and I watched Michael Jackson’s music video for Thriller on a model Nano iPod. My stomach turned the moment Michael Jackson transformed into a werewolf. I was petrified. Immediately, I ran to my parents and had to share the horrors of what I had just seen. For the three days following, I had trouble falling asleep, conjuring the image of Michael Jackson’s costume, which was so immaculately designed that it did not appear to be a costume at all. Even years later, hearing Vincent Price’s voice in Thriller sends shivers down my spine. The whole song is so incredibly well done that it creates a wide range of emotional experiences for all who listen to it, and it has clearly stood the test of time.

I have a few different favorite art practices, but I feel collage-making most acutely in my hands. When I paint, it feels more cerebral, but when I rip pages from magazines, tear corners, and get glue stuck on my fingertips, I feel physically connected to the process. I start by flipping through a magazine and selecting pages that pop out to me, bright colors, interesting fonts, relatable phrases, and so on. I begin to create a story. I pull a section from one page and then another, and suddenly I am looking for pieces that build on that story. Once I am finished, I feel complete. It’s as if I was putting myself together as well