Going to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre is an easy example of disappointing art. Arguably the most famous painting in the world, the Mona Lisa in situ is a tiny portrait surrounding by plexiglass and tourists crowding around to get a look at the piece. The worst part is that whatever secret the Mona Lisa is supposed to reveal remains hidden beneath her enigmatic smile – a smile that may just be a way to hide bad teeth.
I don’t want to read poetry about peeling onions or how the poet felt when the cat died. I don’t want to read poems about shaving legs or faces. I want to read about the things that matter in life. I want to read about how to make my life better – at the very least, I want to read something that makes life better. This doesn’t mean that art has to be happy. Pointing out the things that cause pain can be instructive.
Art for the sake of art is useless when it contains no beauty. Art needs to bring truth to the fore. It needs to say something. It needs a purpose.
I love participating in the creation of art. It is in creation that I find truth, serenity and beauty revealed. I may never be a great artist or poet for anyone else, but that is okay as long as I am a great artist for myself.