What is art? Honestly, I never thought I would be asked this question. And although I wanted to be an artist when I grew up in Elementary school (I was never the astronaut wannabe) and I’ve taken a few art classes, I never contemplated art on a deeper level. Like many things, I see it as a big gray area.
Sometimes, I look at the essentially splatters of paint I called art in my childhood (all so nicely framed by my parents). Is that art? Can the meaningless brush strokes formed by a three year old really constitute as art? Can it be even in the same category as the items in art museums?
When I look at pieces made by Georgia O’Keefe, Banksy, or even the illustrator of my favorite children’s book, I would definitely remove my artwork from the list of examples of art.
But then, I start to wonder - does it really matter? If my parents found sentimental value in the every slab of paint, should it be discounted?
I think, at the end of the day, whatever makes you tick, whatever art empowers, inspires, or encourages you is valid. And that’s the beauty of it - art doesn’t need permission to exist. It just does.
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