What Is Art?

I’ve always performed poorly in art classes. I have never successfully transferred to paper any image from my mind’s eye. I fall short when sketching simple three dimensional boxes. I can’t seem to get the lines parallel. One evening I was helping a friend study for a college entrance exam. She had already achieved a high proficiency in drawing. When she became frustrated and tired of the test preparation she invited me to look at some of her work. I was amazed that someone my age could create drawings that were so evocative and beautiful.

I confessed that I did not know how to draw and that anyone who tried to teach me had failed. I remember saying, “I don’t even know how to draw a straight line.” She replied, “That’s alright. You almost never draw a straight line anyway.” We spent the next hour or so working on simple skills. I remember she had me draw circles all over a paper. They didn’t need to be perfect I was just freeing up my wrist or something. Well, in the end I either lacked the patience or the ability to turn a loose wrist into anything that resembled art.

Even though I do not consider myself an artist, I love art. I started to gain better insights into art and its power to comment on emotions, politics, nature and life during an A.P. European History class. When I later lived in Spain I had regular opportunities to go to art galleries like the Prado but I also began to notice the art all around me; only some of which was created by human hands. I confess that I have a greater passion for Spanish art, but regardless of its origin I am overjoyed whenever art moves me.

Throughout time people argue over what constitutes great art and what we should classify as garbage and everything in between. I remain uncertain whether any piece of art has achieved universal acceptance in any category. Perhaps that is good. For art, whether abstract or representative, possesses a certain danger for both the artist and the viewer. Once she reveals her work, the artist lies exposed to the judgment of others and the viewer confronts a new perspective. Here we find a dissonance. Sometimes the dissonance is quickly resolved as the piece speaks in an intimate and personal way. On other occasions the art is so powerful that the dissonance prevents any and all harmonic resolution. Though we experience a message of discomfort, the very internal cacophony is what makes the art work.

Even if I were an expert I could not define what art is. I just know that I celebrate art. I hang works that my children have drawn on the walls of our home. We celebrated our wedding with a reception in a gallery. When on vacation, if there is a museum to attend we go.

Yet if required to define art I would use a simple definition.

Art: Is.