I admit that the amount of exposure I have had to “great” art is, regrettably, very little. I have visited a few art exhibitions here and there, including one displaying century-old sumi paintings and another one that featured installations that were over fifty meters in length. I have been to palaces and castles during my time in Germany and have seen the romantic ceiling murals of the rooms where kings have laid. All of these pieces were, even to my amateur-esque eyes, quite magnificent. 

I sometimes wonder to myself—why did these artworks leave a lasting impression on me? Surely I have seen countless other artworks in my lifetime, but for some curious reason, when I hear the words “good art,” only a few pieces come to mind.

It was last year that I learned in my AP World History class that the reason why kings loved to invest their crazy supply of wealth into making unnecessarily large structures was because those structures were, to put it simply, cool. The people of the past would look at the absurd things and think something along the lines of, “If this thing is so big, then surely whoever made it must be just as powerful!”

So that could be one reason as to why certain artworks were more impressionable to me than others. Because they were big. It is in human nature after all, or animal nature in general, to submit to things that are larger than ourselves. It is intimidating to do otherwise. Things of magnitude command both fear and respect, awe and horror.

Probably more times than what is healthy, I will scroll through my social media feed and let myself be sucked into a barrage of neverending one-minute videos. These reels have just enough content to keep me entertained but not too much as to give me a lethal brain rot. 

Occasionally, I will stumble across a certain artist trend where somebody will start off with an extreme close-up of their work and then dramatically pan out to the full view of their piece right as the music beat drops. It’s essentially a thirst trap but for art instead of celebrity crushes.

The ones that impress me, the ones that make me “wow” out loud, are the artworks that start off looking like an endless expanse of details but then somehow come together seamlessly when the camera moves farther and farther away. In a situation where every singular detail shouldn’t make any obvious difference to the piece itself, where all of the thousands of paintstrokes or chisels in stone are just a fraction of the full scale—even when they all seem to blend together, the difference between detailed work and non-detailed work is just as clear as a comparison between a toddler’s Play-Doh human and Michelangelo’s David.

So, a second reason as to why I might fancy certain artworks more than others is the details. Works with more detail and rendering generally look more impressive. I’d reason that this is because finer details on a piece usually equates to more time spent on it, and a longer time spent on something will allow for more of that artist’s intention to be imbued into it. 

Three years ago, on July 24th, I visited a Picasso exhibition with my family. It was a typical summer day in Japan and the dewy humidity layered with my own tacky sweat to cling to my body like a second skin. The exhibition was a part of a larger open-air museum that had several displays of sculptures and other interesting things.

I remember standing in front of that white exhibition building with high expectations. One of the bordering walls had the word “Picasso” written on it in huge life-sized letters, almost as if there was any possibility of a visitor being unaware of whose work they were in the presence of. Pablo Picasso, Spanish painter and sculptor, one of the most well-known masters in art history, the man who blazed a never-before-seen path to modernism and the realm of “abstract”. Who hasn’t heard of him?

The first couple of paintings I saw blew my breath away. They were all painted in realism, a style I had never associated or imagined someone like Picasso could do. “These are the works befitting of a great artist,” I remember thinking to myself. 

According to the written descriptions underneath the paintings, they were all done during his youth when he was only around ten to fifteen years old. I was both shocked and slightly relieved he was not born in my time because the sheer amount of talent and technical prowess he possessed at such a young age was truly frightening. “Surely his other paintings will be just as amazing!” I thought.

I was wrong. Each wall or section in the exhibition contained a collection of one of Picasso’s periods. His Blue Period works were bunched into one corner while his handmade sculptures were bunched into another. The overall exhibition was laid out in a formation where the further back you went, the more recent the displays would get. As such, with every wall and encased podium I shuffled past, the youthful skill I saw at the beginning only seemed to dissipate.

One painting in particular left me deeply displeased. “Dad, I could make that!” fourteen-year-old me exclaimed. The piece featured a humanoid figure composed of geometric shapes and solid colors. The only distinguishable part of its face was an eye that seemed to jut out of the side of its head. I stared at that eye with mixed emotions. “This piece isn’t big or particularly detailed. Aren’t the masters and artistic savants supposed to be unreachable? Aren’t I supposed to not be able to make anything remotely as magnificent? How can this be?”

“It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.” -Picasso 

I think that’s total and complete B.S.  Like Picasso, many artists nowadays have similar reasonings behind how they got into modern art. Some people say that modern art is capable of expressing emotions and ideas in ways that otherwise wouldn’t be possible through more traditional means like photorealism. And, to some extent, I agree. It does allow people to express themselves, as all art does, and it certainly leaves an impression on the audience, although maybe not the most flattering one.

A few weeks ago, I came across a TikTok of a young performance artist standing in front of a huge clay pot. The pot was taller than him and it was settled on top of a wheel that spun the clay at high speeds. From its dark coloration, I could tell that the clay was still wet and malleable.

When the man stepped up to the pot, I was caught off guard when he pressed the whole side of his face into the clay, nuzzling it like one would to a dog. Where his cheeks and nose made contact with the surface, long lines appeared that shot around the circumference of the spinning pot. When he pulled his head back, his whole face was plastered gray like an alien. If I could ask that man one question, it would simply be: why?

That video, along with several other modern art videos that popped up on my feed shortly after, left me with a lingering feeling of puzzlement. What’s the point of modern art? Is modern art really art? I previously thought society unanimously agreed that big and detailed artworks were “good”. Was I wrong?

E: Ok so like, you guys know modern art right? For example, when there’s an art piece that literally has nothing on it and it’s just a blank canvas and it sells for like three million dollars—what are your guys’ thoughts on it?

D: I feel like if it’s like, performance art and stuff like that, those are nice—but like, sometimes if you were to see a banana stuck on a canvas with tape, I wonder how much you could sell for the meaning of it, you know?

E: You think, like, there’s no meaning behind it?

D: No, there's meaning I can tell that, but you argue then for money is what I’m confused about.

M: I definitely think it’s money laundering, like-

*laughter* 

M: I have no other explanation other than money laundering.

Y: Maybe like, I don’t want to say, like, maybe capitalism?

E: Huh~ what do you think is actual art then? Like what makes modern art not like, actually art?

D: It’s ugly.

E: It’s ugly?! *laugh*

(M: No guys, I swear it’s money laundering!)

So, kings use art to build their power, TikTokers use art to make thirst traps, and modern artists use art for…capitalism and money laundering? Perhaps this speculation is not too far off the mark. After all, on many occasions, I’ve heard stories of modern artists selling strange things for thousands of dollars. Who in their sane mind would buy such a thing? But, because people do buy it, then surely there must be some reason for it, no?

A few days ago, I conducted an interview with my art teacher, a man of round stature from Liverpool who holds such an extensive knowledge in the arts that I remain fascinated by him to this day. In replying to my inquiry about modern art and his opinion of it, I was struck with a perspective only someone as enlightened as him could possess.

“There’s modern art which is art itself and then there’s the business of modern art,” he said. “When someone hangs a blank canvas on a wall, they might have a particular set of reasons for creating that work. Whoever invites them to hang it on the wall may have a different set of reasons for displaying that work. Meanwhile, whoever walks into the space and buys it may also have a different set of reasons for buying that work.”

“I’m not judgemental in terms of ‘that isn’t art’ or ‘that isn’t right’ because people make their own decisions about what they value, and value is put on things for different reasons. So, art can be valued for being beautiful, or it can be valued for being controversial.”

But, what about the crazy money transactions?

“Well, sometimes you’ll see in the newspapers of ‘young artist sells work for ten million dollars’, but quite often that young artist has sold it via gallery show for a small amount and its been resold and resold in auction. As that artist’s career progresses, the value of the work increases until they’re really famous and now people buy it for millions. It’s an investment on their part.”

“In the cases where the artist auctions off their work, the gallery owner will be taking anything from 25% to 80% of that money. It’s not a lot of money the artist is earning from their work. It actually means that along the way, someone else is very good with marketing and it’s able to encourage people to buy into the belief that something will happen and it will gain more value.”

“So for me, I don't have any anger, frustrations or anything about someone saying they’ll pay a million dollars for a piece of art. If someone’s willing to pay for it, then why not.”

Why not. The lacking piece of understanding I had for modern art’s purpose was such a simple and straightforward principle. Why can’t Picasso decide to paint like a child after all those years of making masterpieces at the age of twelve? Why can’t a random guy on TikTok smear his face in wet clay in front of an audience? Why can’t people splurge their money on art just to enjoy the absurdity of it? 

It’s their choice, their creativity, and their money. Maybe the whole term “good art” is B.S. Nobody has to adhere to the rules that big and overly detailed works have more value than ones that don’t. I guess, in the end, everyone is entitled to their own beliefs and opinions. Send a gallery a blank canvas and sell it for a million dollars for all I care, ‘cause, why not?