There's been a grand debate about "what is art" and what does it do for us- a debate which has been around for as long as people have created, let alone, contemplated, artwork. Did it start with unruly teenagers leaving smudgy handprints on otherwise-pristine cave walls, or when a basket-weaver decided that if they must have a basket, then why shouldn't it be special. The creation of jewelry, maybe? Who knows. I expect the debate to continue onward, because the ultimate answer, especially when it comes to non-utilitarian decoration, is often simply "because I like it" with a shrug.
Which is perfectly fine. We don't have to defend the art we like, or why we like it, because art speaks to us individually on a deeply subconscious, non-verbal level. It addresses our souls, our core understanding of who we are, on a level beyond such constructs as words or reasons.
But the question we must ask here, when we really get down to understanding the human condition through the lens of art in this modern age of overpowering hyper-consumerism, is why should we go out of our way, and spend typically significant amounts of money (which itself is a fungible yet abstracted representation of our labors and our time on this earth), on "fine art" when mass produced paintings and works, even reproductions of famous masters, are cheaply available at the closest big box stores?
We can rationalize the details- technical production values, the quality, the uniqueness, and even the vision and meaning until the cows come home, but that isn't a root cause conversation. Not really.
So then how do we tackle this? How do we make sense of it and understand the underlying drivers?
The way I approach the conversation is this: there is a fundamental difference between art and decor. Sure it's a fine and often blurry line, but that's okay - the experience of art can only be subjective. That said, we can absolutely understand this dichotomy quickly through how we frame the topic.
Art is what distinguishes a house from a home.
We've all felt the liminal hollowness of a bare, unoccupied room. Or, perhaps, when we've just move in to a new house, but it still has not yet become a home. It's dry and distant. It isn't yours and it isn't a reflection of you.
Likewise, when we stay at a hotel room, with it's generic, mass-produced reproductions of something that was once art but has now lost it's nuance because to you it isn't really meaningful (and because even the best reproductions lose detail). It's just a thing on the wall chosen to humanize an otherwise inhuman space, like the giant sculptures standing vigil out front of their tall corporate towers.
Those aren't things we can connect to.
How do we avoid that disconnection? At what point does this room, this building, this empty vessel, become a special and personal experience, representing, displaying, and enhancing the intrinsic uniqueness of an individual on that deeper, ineffable level? What takes it from being "a space" to an experience?
It's the personalization and the meaning we instill through our artistic choices. Whenever I move to a new home, the art always goes up first. You do that too, right? We can unpack the dishes and television cables later. The things that are most important go up first.
Art humanizes.
The artwork we choose makes our spaces meaningful and valuable.
When you go into a room in your house, what makes you pause and smile to yourself? Do the treasures you've collected in your life, the little things that exist as reflections of you, your values, and your sense of the world bring a sense of peace and belonging? Do others feel it when you invite them to your home?
That is the joy and goal of art.
That connection. That love for life itself.
The art, whether it's red-ochre handprints on a cave wall, a well-dressed lawn goose (folk art at it's finest!), or a large, window-sized painting, is the vehicle through which we humanize and define the world.
Art brings meaning to the world, and the meaning is you.
This is my space. This is who I am. This is me. Come in, friend, and let me share my space with you.
Which is perfectly fine. We don't have to defend the art we like, or why we like it, because art speaks to us individually on a deeply subconscious, non-verbal level. It addresses our souls, our core understanding of who we are, on a level beyond such constructs as words or reasons.
But the question we must ask here, when we really get down to understanding the human condition through the lens of art in this modern age of overpowering hyper-consumerism, is why should we go out of our way, and spend typically significant amounts of money (which itself is a fungible yet abstracted representation of our labors and our time on this earth), on "fine art" when mass produced paintings and works, even reproductions of famous masters, are cheaply available at the closest big box stores?
We can rationalize the details- technical production values, the quality, the uniqueness, and even the vision and meaning until the cows come home, but that isn't a root cause conversation. Not really.
So then how do we tackle this? How do we make sense of it and understand the underlying drivers?
The way I approach the conversation is this: there is a fundamental difference between art and decor. Sure it's a fine and often blurry line, but that's okay - the experience of art can only be subjective. That said, we can absolutely understand this dichotomy quickly through how we frame the topic.
Art is what distinguishes a house from a home.
We've all felt the liminal hollowness of a bare, unoccupied room. Or, perhaps, when we've just move in to a new house, but it still has not yet become a home. It's dry and distant. It isn't yours and it isn't a reflection of you.
Likewise, when we stay at a hotel room, with it's generic, mass-produced reproductions of something that was once art but has now lost it's nuance because to you it isn't really meaningful (and because even the best reproductions lose detail). It's just a thing on the wall chosen to humanize an otherwise inhuman space, like the giant sculptures standing vigil out front of their tall corporate towers.
Those aren't things we can connect to.
How do we avoid that disconnection? At what point does this room, this building, this empty vessel, become a special and personal experience, representing, displaying, and enhancing the intrinsic uniqueness of an individual on that deeper, ineffable level? What takes it from being "a space" to an experience?
It's the personalization and the meaning we instill through our artistic choices. Whenever I move to a new home, the art always goes up first. You do that too, right? We can unpack the dishes and television cables later. The things that are most important go up first.
Art humanizes.
The artwork we choose makes our spaces meaningful and valuable.
When you go into a room in your house, what makes you pause and smile to yourself? Do the treasures you've collected in your life, the little things that exist as reflections of you, your values, and your sense of the world bring a sense of peace and belonging? Do others feel it when you invite them to your home?
That is the joy and goal of art.
That connection. That love for life itself.
The art, whether it's red-ochre handprints on a cave wall, a well-dressed lawn goose (folk art at it's finest!), or a large, window-sized painting, is the vehicle through which we humanize and define the world.
Art brings meaning to the world, and the meaning is you.
This is my space. This is who I am. This is me. Come in, friend, and let me share my space with you.
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