What Is Art? 

Okay, I’ve been out of the studio for a week and a half at this point, traveling by car across the West to get to my best friend’s wedding and back.

Before spending more than 30 hours in the car, I had been having conversations with different friends about the age old question: What is art? How do we decide whether or not we are artistic or creative? How do we decide whether what we make is art at all?

Needless to say, as we trundled across state lines in my 2004 Tundra, loaded with a camper, bikes, costumes, and buckets of flowers, I had plenty of time to ponder.

And I do think pondering is the best I can do with a question like this, because I don’t think I will ever arrive at one definitive answer. My feelings on the topic will always be shifting and growing. But I’ll share my most recent thoughts on the matter, since they are currently sitting at the very top of my mind.

I’ll start by laying the groundwork for this contemplation.

A lot of us have quite a bit of unlearning to do when it comes to how we view art and how we view our own creativity. For ages, we have primarily been told by white, wealthy men what is and is not considered art.

But let’s bring that idea even closer to home. From an early age, many of us are taught that art means realism, and that artists possess some inherited, natural ability to recreate what is in front of them as realistically as possible. If you cannot do that, you are considered “bad” at art.

This often leads to young kids being told they are not artistic or creative. Instead of being nurtured, their creativity is made fun of, laughed at, or discouraged. We learn to become incredibly self critical simply because our pencils cannot recreate an apple that looks like a photograph of an apple.

I have met so many people who cannot pick up a paintbrush and put it to paper without experiencing such a deep level of performance anxiety that painting is no longer fun at all. And honestly, how sad is that?

Maybe part of the problem is that we have made art too small. We have confined it to canvases, galleries, technical skill, and finished objects. We have treated art as something that must be judged, rather than something that can simply be experienced.

Because art is everywhere. It is in the way you design your room, the car you choose to drive, your garden, your writing, the clothes you wear, and even the colors you choose for your Google Calendar. Art can exist in the way we pay attention, the choices we make, and the experiences we create for one another.

It can even exist in the way we gather and celebrate. 

Historically, I have been a bit of a wedding hater. I worked in the wedding and event industry, and it absolutely jaded me against the typical extravagance and intentions behind weddings. Not to mention, as a girly-pop in her thirties, I have attended quite a few weddings at this point.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Attending a wedding is usually a great time. But ultimately, they tend to leave me with a white wine hangover and the lingering thought, “Yeah, that was fun, but wow, you spent a lot of money so your parents could invite their friends to watch you have a superficial conversation about how long you have known each other and what you expect from a future together”. Not to mention the random dude in his 50s yapping about how hard marriage is. 

Yes, I know. I am cynical.

But this wedding broke the mold.

This event was a piece of art.

It was born from the couple’s love for each other, but also from their love for their friends and family. The entire event told the story of the life they had already built together, rather than presenting marriage as the beginning of their life together.

Their intention was to celebrate alongside the people who had already been part of their lives and their relationship. The space was decorated with photos of their adventures with each of us. Even the name cards held tiny pieces of inside jokes.

Every word spoken by their friends and family was deeply profound as well as genuinely funny. The guest list had been curated so thoughtfully that each person there could connect through their shared love for and relationship with the couple. There was not a random acquaintance or generic speech in sight.

This was a gathering of community, forged across different places and times, then brought together by two people who live their lives in their truest forms.

Like any piece of art, the wedding began as something imagined. Through hundreds of thoughtful choices, it was slowly brought to life. Every detail reflected the people who created it, but the experience did not belong to them alone. They invited all of us into it. We experienced it, added ourselves to it, and left changed by it.

Maybe that is what made it feel like art.

It was not art because everything was beautiful, although it was. It was art because it expressed something true. It took the couple’s inner world, their history, their relationships, their humor, and their love, and made those things visible and tangible for the rest of us.

And like so much art, it was temporary. The flowers will wilt. The costumes will be packed away. The photos will come down, and all of us will return to our separate lives. But the experience itself will stay with us.

I still don’t have a definitive answer to the question, “What is art?” I’m not sure I ever will. But this wedding expanded my understanding of where art can live.

Maybe art is not determined by how realistically you can draw an apple or whether someone else considers you talented. Maybe it is something we first see in our mind’s eye, then slowly and intentionally bring to life.

Maybe art is the sharing of something within us that we wish to express, celebrate, or understand.

Maybe art is something we create so that another person can experience it and, hopefully, feel something too.

For now, I think art might be less about what we make and more about how honestly and intentionally we bring what is inside of us into the world.

Photo: Rezz Studios