Art illiterate
In a discussion a couple days ago my father called me art illiterate. I don’t think he’s wrong. But does it really matter?
Conversation was really friendly. It was good. He told me that with great respect, he thought I was somewhat art illiterate. I agreed with him. Completely!
My father is an art collector. He particularly likes modern art. He has a half decent collection of pieces from a variety of artists, including well-known ones.
He himself is an artist, however he uses words to paint pictures rather than brushes and paint. He is a multiply published poet. He often searches for the deeper meaning.
The irony is that we were talking a few months ago about the book he’s working on. He was telling me that he only writes for himself. He laughed when I pointed out it probably isn’t entirely true because otherwise he wouldn’t be seeking to publish his work. The artist’s eternal dilemna, he said.
Despite that contradiction, I do sketch and paint for myself. My audience is me. I do it to relax, and enjoy myself while I do it. My drawings are here as Reminders. I look at my past pieces and enjoy the moment that was then and there. Obviously I enjoy sharing what I do with other people. But the sharing of things is not the purpose.
My art isn’t carrying a message. Some artists share messages and deep meaning through their work. My art is there for itself. My art just is.
And perhaps I don’t understand the deeper meaning found in the paintings and art pieces my dad likes. Perhaps what I do does not carry such a message. I’m not sure it matters.
Oh, I’m interested. I’ll learn. Because learning new stuff is good.
Not everything is about deeper meanings or messages. What I do just is. And that’s enough. It’s enough for me.
More thoughts
Published on November 6, 2025