"What is your art about?"
If you haven't been asked this yet, you will be eventually. Because right after someone finds out that you make art and ask more about what you make, they will want to know why you make it.
And I don't know about you, but I rarely have an answer that seems to fit like a glove. More often than not, I bumble my way through regurgitated half-cooked ideas on why I make art and what it means settling into, "I just like too!" with a megawatt smile that no doubt comes off a little too eager and slightly off putting.
These are the exchanges with individuals that will haunt me to the grave.
There is no shortage of ways to ask why you make art:
Why do you make art?
Why did you choose this subject matter?
How would you describe your style? Did you intentionally pick it?
What do you hope to accomplish with your art?
I will always rally behind the importance of art, but these type of questions give me nervous sweats. Even now, five years after launching myself into an art career, my tongue feels oddly thick when I have to talk about my work on a deeper level. As an emotionally stunted person, I struggle to venture into the cave where my why is kept. I do not want to go on the journey to the center of Rachel. What if it's not what I expected? What if it's not interesting enough? What if the core is empty and there is no true meaning? 👀
And since we're on the topic, when did my art suddenly become the cure for so many of the world's messed up situations and problems? If my art is supposed to be a Band-Aid, I bought the off-brand and it is not sticking in any meaningful way.
It just seems like there's too much responsibility on my work and I'd like to skirt around it.
Can you tell I've become defensive about this line of questioning? Harmless curiosity perceived as an interrogation... this hypothetical individual has no idea what a storm of doubt, insecurity, and apprehension they've caused to both me and you.
You Assign the Deeper Meaning to Your Art.
The meaning to your work isn't a discovery. It's not some long since buried truth that'll take ages to uncover. The truth is, that the biggest misconception about making meaningful work, is that it's an elusive purpose, existing like a ghost in a haunted house only for the brave few to find. But your meaning isn't so fragile, it's not a "one wrong move and it'll dissolve into mist" type situation.
The meaning to your art is not one that exists before you even make the work. You have to assemble the meaning as you create.
This means you have to sit with your work. You have to face yourself, your inner ideas, and you have to rummage through them. This means you have to think about your work, journal about the process, and take the time to do it. The process of assembling why you make art and what it means is one that evolves only as you take the time to select a thought, act on it, and see how it fits in the grand scheme of what you'd like your art to be.
And I say all of this as I struggle between the line of the work I make and the work I want to make. The ideas I'm finding and the ones I'm already familiar with. The choice to sit and be uncomfortable with my new work is one I'm currently resisting, I feel incredibly pressured to produce (don't we all?!), but I'm committed to the process even as it does a number on me.
Motivations, Meanings, and Themes in Your Art
This past week, I took all my work from this year and lined it up around my studio. I asked myself:
What stands out to me most about each piece?
What colors am I using?
What does the brushwork look like? Has it changed this past year?
What subject matter am I focusing on? (if any)
What do I want to see more of in my work?
Who is a current artistic inspiration?
And then I started writing. I noticed my work is not so "pop-arty" these days. I noticed there's a lot of nature going on (a business choice I've come to personally enjoy). I noticed the emphasis on difficult lighting. I noticed a preference for chunky renderings vs. smooth. I noticed more of a connection to my work as I paint from my life vs. random internet photos.
This hot mess of thoughts is going to become fuel for my next artist statement. And this is where you become the slightly annoying kid asking yourself, 'why', over and over again and creating the answer for your work. This is where the meaning in your work becomes concrete vs. mysterious.
Why am I painting landscapes? I feel grounded in the nature surrounding me.
Why do I enjoy capturing different light? It cements a moment of time on the canvas. It feels like magic to me.
Why do I like chunky work? I like the journey of the brush and the way it adds emotion and prompts individual storytelling while viewing.
ChatGPT could take all of this information and write me something and I could call it a day, but the point is for you to understand what you're trying to say at the end of your musing. You decide what the answers mean. You assign the purpose behind the work.
If your work is a connection point between art and nature, say that. If you create because it is a grounding activity meant to bring peace to those who use your functional pieces, say that.
Your answer for any of these questions is just that, the answer. Meaning does not have to mean profound. It just has to matter.
Let's Talk About Your Art
It's so much easier to talk about something when you know what you're talking about. If you sat down with your work and have a concrete base to build upon, those are the answers you use when people begin to ask about your work. If they say, "why this?", you can now respond with, "because that."
I got asked a lot last year, "Is this Wisconsin?" in reference to my landscapes. Half the time it wasn't and I found myself wishing it was. Now in 2025, a lot of my work actually is. Watching people react to my art helped me understand what connection points I can continue to move into and which ones I want to move away from. I do not want to be the, "beer can artist" as someone once lovingly called me.
When you're discussing your art, focus on the areas you truly understand and are excited about. What do you love about this piece? What do you want your work to say? Why did you choose to do it this way vs. a more standard approach? What technical skills are you bringing into the art?
Not only can you use these questions to start conversations, but you can also use them as you further begin to understand your art and why you make it.
Connecting with Other Artists
You know what is a game changer? Inviting creative friends into your space and asking for them to give you feedback on your work. True feedback, not just niceties.
It is a vulnerable thing to ask about your work and invite people to critique something that matters to you. But this is where the growth happens. If you know you want your art to create nostalgia, but it's not doing that... you now have the opportunity to problem solve with creatives who want to help you achieve that goal.
Making art is not a solo activity... or at the very least it shouldn't be. When artists can get to the place where they feel more confident and comfortable sharing the losses, missteps, and even victories, more of us can rise to the level of thriving. We need less suffering in silence and more craft clubs with each other. More opportunities to act as a mentor, support system, or soundboard! Take the time to foster these relationships because it's much easier to say, "My work is about this, what do you think?," to a friend than it is to share it with an internet full of people who do not know you and won't take the time to change that.
If It Matters to You, It Will Matter to Others
The meaning of your work doesn't need to be some profound, life changing idea. In fact, I think we dismiss the simple answers because they don't seem good enough... not artsy enough. And yet, the little ideas are the ones we connect with. These are the ones that get us to sympathize with strangers and rally behind causes.
Yes, buying yourself flowers on a bad day is a good idea. Yes, you deserve a $7 latte. No, you don't need to explain yourself to jerks. Yes, you should buy the bolder color paint.
Don't present these ideas to others in a way that asks for their permission to pursue it. When you say, "My work centers around bold color and playful imagery to remind the viewer not to take life too seriously.", that ends with a period, not a question mark. It's not a Ron Burgandy moment where you are at the mercy of your teleprompter.
You are in charge and you can't be contradicted. No one can tell you what your work is about, this is up to you. You get to outline the story your work tells.
And this is where all these words take us: I like color. I like chunky brushwork. I like to paint trees. I like to paint pickles and cocktails and water. I like to paint and connect to my surroundings. I like the challenge of translating what I'm seeing into something pleasant to look at.
The passion behind your words is what makes them an engaging idea. Give your audience the chance to connect the dots on their own and see how the impression they get differs from yours or mirrors it.
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