The liminal space between everything and nothing

Art doesn’t have to be meaningful
Sometimes making art is kinda scary. The pressure of creating for an audience and the constant desire to put out myself have coalesced into a compulsion to consistently create art as rich with narrative and introspection as it is with colour and movers; art unified by carefully-crafted motifs or incisive social commentary; art that’s “meaningful”. And then I thought about it. And I was like, why does it have to be meaningful? Doesn’t intellectualisation detract from the very nature of art. Doesn’t anchoring it to the realm of the rational almost revoke its transcendence? Isn’t systematisation the enemy of spontaneity? I think our obsession with meaning, our inclination toward analysis, stems from an urge to legitimise art as a discipline in the eyes of the capitalist paradigm that demands everything have tangible value. Maybe it’s okay to simply allow the expression of human creativity to speak for itself. Even painting something as trivial as a pretty flower is still a radical declaration of our unique capacity to memorise the things we find meaningful, to give physical form to our subjective perceptions. Maybe that act in itself is where the meaning lies. So maybe, that’s what art is. The liminal space between everything and nothing

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