Art: The World’s Savior or a Sophisticated Torture Device?
They say art saves lives, changes minds, heals the soul. But if that’s true, why do so many artworks make me feel like I’m failing an IQ test? I mean, let’s be real—who among us hasn’t stared at an abstract painting for an uncomfortably long time, hoping for some sort of divine revelation, only to leave the gallery feeling slightly more anxious than before?
Sure, studies show that exposure to art can reduce stress, boost dopamine levels, and even increase cognitive function. One 2019 study published in The Journal of Positive Psychology found that engaging with visual art for just 10 minutes a day can significantly improve well-being. Museums and galleries, in theory, should be places of enlightenment and relaxation. But then why do I feel like modern art is just another way for the intellectual elite to make the rest of us feel stupid?
Why Does Modern Art Feel Like a Prank?
Okay, let’s address the elephant in the room. Some modern and contemporary art feels like it’s deliberately messing with us. Remember the banana duct-taped to the wall at Art Basel? That sold for $120,000. Not to be dramatic, but if I had known that was an option, my kitchen would have been an art installation years ago.
The defenders of conceptual art always say, “It’s not about what you see, it’s about what it means.” Alright, but what if it means absolutely nothing to me? What if my brain just doesn’t have the bandwidth to analyze the metaphysical implications of three randomly arranged metal rods?
Take Kazimir Malevich’s Black Square—a literal black square on a canvas. Revolutionary, they say. A statement against traditional forms. But be honest, if your 5-year-old niece painted that, would you frame it and call her a genius or would you hand her another crayon?
Why Do People Pretend to Understand Art?
Admit it—half the time, when people nod at a piece of art and say things like “It really speaks to me,” they have no idea what they’re talking about. And that’s because art, particularly the highbrow, avant-garde kind, operates like an exclusive club. You either get it, or you pretend to get it so nobody realizes you don’t belong.
The thing is, nobody wants to be the idiot who asks, “But what does it mean?” We’ve all been conditioned to assume the problem is us—that we’re the ones who need to think harder, analyze deeper, read the 16-page exhibit description, or worse, Google what the hell we just looked at.
There’s a reason the phrase art appreciation exists. You’re not just seeing the art—you’re supposed to be appreciating it, which is code for “find meaning in it or risk looking like an uncultured swine.”
Art and the Brain: Science Tries to Explain the Madness
To be fair, the human brain loves art, even when we don’t consciously understand it. Neuroscientists have discovered that our brains are wired to seek patterns and meaning—even in randomness. When we look at abstract art, our brains naturally try to impose structure and find something recognizable. This is why you might stare at a Jackson Pollock painting and suddenly see a dog, a face, or your tax problems staring back at you.
In fact, studies using fMRI scans show that abstract art activates the brain’s default mode network—the same system responsible for introspection, daydreaming, and self-reflection. In other words, our confusion is part of the experience.
So, Should We Even Bother Trying to “Get” Art?
Here’s the thing: Maybe we’re not supposed to understand all art. Maybe we’re just supposed to feel it. Maybe it’s okay to admit that some paintings make us feel something deep and profound while others make us want to demand a refund.
Art isn’t always meant to be comfortable. Sometimes it’s meant to challenge us, piss us off, or make us laugh at how ridiculous the art world can be. And that’s fine. We don’t have to love every masterpiece or pretend that a blank canvas with a single brushstroke is the second coming of Michelangelo.
So yeah, art might save the world. But if it could just send me a manual next time, that’d be great.