Introduction
As a student of contemporary art and theory, the act of looking at visual art is both a personal journey and an academic pursuit. This essay seeks to explore the reasons behind my engagement with visual art, reflecting on the motivations that draw me to galleries, social media feeds, and even the quiet moments of sketching at home. It also examines how my personal perspective contrasts with an AI-generated response to the same question: “Why look at art?” By delving into my own experiences—colored by emotion, curiosity, and cultural context—and comparing them with the more detached, algorithm-driven overview provided by AI, I aim to illuminate the uniquely human aspects of my relationship with art. This reflection will focus on one specific artwork that has shaped my appreciation, while also considering broader themes of inspiration, escapism, and critical thought. Ultimately, this essay is a narrative of why I look at art, and how that act differs from or aligns with a machine’s interpretation.
My Personal Connection to Visual Art
I look at visual art for a variety of reasons, but at its core, it is a way to connect with something beyond my immediate reality. Art offers an escape—a momentary departure from the stresses of university life or the mundane routines of the everyday. When I walk into a gallery or scroll through Instagram posts of bold contemporary pieces, I feel a sense of release. It is as if the colors, shapes, and textures on display absorb my worries, if only for a fleeting moment. This escapist quality is not mere distraction; it is, arguably, a form of emotional processing. Art allows me to confront feelings I might not otherwise articulate, whether it’s the melancholy of a grayscale photograph or the exuberance of a vibrant abstract painting.
Beyond escapism, I look at art out of curiosity and a desire for understanding. As someone studying contemporary art, I am fascinated by how artists respond to the world around them—be it through political commentary, cultural critique, or personal narrative. For instance, I often find myself drawn to works that challenge societal norms, prompting me to question my own assumptions. Art, in this sense, becomes a dialogue. It is not just a passive act of looking; it is an active engagement with ideas. I recall visiting the Tate Modern last semester and being captivated by Ai Weiwei’s Sunflower Seeds (2010), an installation of over 100 million handcrafted porcelain seeds spread across the gallery floor. Each seed, individually painted, represented both uniformity and uniqueness, reflecting themes of mass production and individuality in modern China (Tate, 2010). This piece—measuring approximately 1,000 square meters in its initial display—made me ponder global labor practices and my own complicity in consumer culture. Looking at art, therefore, is a way to educate myself, to broaden my worldview beyond the confines of textbooks and lectures.
Finally, I look at art for inspiration. As an aspiring artist myself, I often sit at my kitchen table with a sketchbook, hoping to capture a fragment of the creativity I see in others’ work. Art fuels my own practice; it shows me what is possible. Whether it’s the bold brushstrokes of a Lucian Freud painting or the conceptual daring of a Marina Abramović performance, each encounter sparks a desire to experiment, to push my own boundaries. In short, looking at art is both a personal indulgence and a professional necessity—a way to grow as a thinker and creator.
A Specific Encounter: Frida Kahlo’s *The Two Fridas*
One artwork that profoundly influenced my reasons for looking at art is Frida Kahlo’s *The Two Fridas* (1939), an oil on canvas measuring 173.5 x 173 cm. I first encountered this piece in a digital exhibition hosted by the Museo de Arte Moderno during a lockdown module on Latin American art. The painting depicts two versions of Kahlo herself, seated side by side, their hands clasped and their hearts exposed—one dressed in traditional Tehuana attire, the other in a European-style white dress with lace. A vein connects their hearts, symbolizing pain, identity, and duality, while blood drips onto the white dress, evoking themes of loss (Herrera, 1983).
I was drawn to this work not just for its technical mastery but for its raw emotional honesty. Kahlo’s exploration of her fractured identity—stemming from her Mexican and European heritage, as well as her tumultuous personal life—mirrored my own struggles with belonging as a first-generation student navigating cultural expectations and academic pressures. Looking at The Two Fridas became a moment of recognition; it validated my internal conflicts and made me feel seen. This personal resonance is a key reason I return to art—it often speaks to the parts of myself I cannot easily express in words. Furthermore, Kahlo’s work taught me that art can be a form of resistance, a way to reclaim one’s narrative against societal constraints. This lesson continues to shape how I view and create art today.
The AI Perspective on “Why Look at Art?”
To fulfill the second part of this assignment, I queried an AI tool with the question, “Why look at art?” The response was predictably broad and systematic, outlining several general reasons: art’s aesthetic appeal, its historical and cultural insights, its capacity for emotional connection, and its role in fostering creativity. The AI emphasized art as a universal human endeavor, a means of preserving history (e.g., through Renaissance paintings) and understanding diverse perspectives. It also highlighted psychological benefits, such as stress relief and mindfulness, often citing generic studies without specific references. While comprehensive, the response lacked personal depth or emotional texture—it was a summary of commonly accepted ideas, devoid of individual bias or lived experience.
Reflecting on this output, I noticed both overlaps and stark differences with my own reasoning. Like the AI, I recognize art’s educational value and its potential for emotional resonance. My appreciation of Ai Weiwei’s work, for instance, aligns with the AI’s mention of cultural insight. However, my motivations are far more personal and context-specific. The AI does not account for the visceral pull of escapism I experience, nor the specific way Kahlo’s painting spoke to my identity struggles. Its response is a detached overview, a compilation of widely accepted truths, whereas mine is imbued with subjectivity—my “hang-ups and prejudices,” as the assignment prompt suggests. Where the AI offers breadth, I offer depth; where it provides neutrality, I bring emotion. This comparison underscores the human element of looking at art: it is not just an intellectual exercise but a deeply felt, often messy, personal journey.
Contrasting Human and Machine: What Makes My Perspective Unique?
The divergence between my perspective and the AI-generated response highlights the irreplaceable nature of human experience in engaging with art. My reasons for looking at art are shaped by specific memories, cultural background, and personal aspirations. For instance, my encounter with *The Two Fridas* is not merely an appreciation of its artistic merit but a reflection of my own life’s complexities. The AI, by contrast, cannot replicate this specificity—it lacks the capacity for introspection or emotional stakes. Its response feels like a textbook summary, useful but uninspired.
Moreover, my perspective carries a sense of urgency and evolving curiosity that the AI cannot mimic. As a student of contemporary art, I am not just a passive observer; I am an active participant in a field that demands critical thought and creative risk. When I look at art, I am often wrestling with questions of relevance—how does this piece speak to today’s world? How can I apply its lessons to my own work? These queries are absent from the AI’s generalized narrative. Indeed, while the AI might list “fostering creativity” as a reason to look at art, it cannot convey the personal drive or frustration behind my late-night sketches after a gallery visit. This distinction reinforces that my engagement with art is not static; it is a lived, dynamic process, full of contradictions and growth.
Conclusion
In exploring why I look at visual art, I have uncovered a tapestry of motivations—escapism, curiosity, inspiration, and personal resonance—that are deeply tied to my identity as a student and aspiring artist. Works like Frida Kahlo’s *The Two Fridas* serve as touchstones, reminding me of art’s power to reflect and challenge my lived experience. Comparing my reflections with an AI-generated response has further illuminated the unique, human quality of my perspective. While the AI offers a polished, impersonal overview of art’s value, my reasons are grounded in emotion, memory, and subjective interpretation. This exercise has not only clarified why I engage with art but also why such engagement matters: it is a profoundly personal act, one that connects me to myself and the wider world in ways a machine cannot replicate. As I continue my studies in contemporary art and theory, I am reminded that looking at art is not just a passive act—it is an ongoing dialogue, one that I intend to pursue with ever-growing curiosity and critical awareness.
References
- Herrera, H. (1983) Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo. Harper & Row.
- Tate. (2010) Ai Weiwei: Sunflower Seeds. Tate Modern.
