Jane Xu
October 18, 2023
I say this because I am in Europe, but I feel the sentiment would be the same when I return to Canada: looking around us, there is art everywhere, from 19th century paintings over 5 meters tall hung up in the Hamburger Kunsthalle to the miniscule graffiti stickers pasted on street signs. But what even is art?
Last Friday, Cihan invited us to have dinner together at her home. When we arrive, we are greeted by her children, both of whom have wholesome curiosity shining in their sentient eyes. I am reminded of my childhood shared with younger siblings. Against the backdrop of her son clanging and banging Temu toys, Cihan shares with us the triumphs and traumas of raising kids; she tells us stories of her son drawing on walls — a classic — while her daughter runs over to ask for help making a braided keychain. “He’s the new Picasso,” someone says and we laugh. But really — it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that most artists have thought about drawing (or have drawn) on the wall at least once. I am no exception.
Sitting at the table in Cihan’s dining room, even the arrangement of dishes and plates is artful. The food itself is brilliant both in taste and presentation. Family photos in small black frames adorn the walls. The lights that hang from the ceiling are like sparkling nebulas (amplified, but still). Two traditional Kurdish sofas add a splash of colour to the otherwise contemporary-esque room. And amongst the chatter, broken into three languages: Kurdish, German, English, and kids laughing and crying and tossing, a visual memory is formed. I can still envision this day vividly, as though it were a Renaissance painting. These are the aesthetics of communal dining. Since coming to Germany, my artist self has never been so fulfilled.
So, who can define art? For many years, these questions have had artists, philosophers, scholars, and other individuals alike in a chokehold. It is such a complex and subjective concept, and there will never really be a single definition of “art”. However, it has become more apparent that there are several common approaches to defining art and its value in our world: for aesthetic expression, imagination and creativity, communication, to provide cultural and historical context, intention, or institutional definition. Based on all of these, art has several purposes: to elicit a response from the viewer (Almut Linde), to critique something (contemporary art), to generate economic value (art is bought, sold, traded, or owned like any other commodity; museums generate income through ticket sales and merchandise), or to have no purpose at all.
As an artist, I will always continue to explore the question of what art is, which is exemplified by the countless pictures of random things in my gallery (and also of Junyi taking photos).
Art is the evening light scattered across viridescent leaves. Art is Annette Kelm’s collection of covers of books banned by the Nazis. Art is the intricate brickwork on buildings along the Böttcherstraße in Bremen. Art is a comic about rocks made by a grade 12 student. Art is the preserved drawing of the brutality of concentration camps made by a prisoner, hidden from the SS under floorboards and mattresses. Art can be the dew drops forming on carefully spun spider webs, yet is is also the poignant sound piece of a nine-year-old prostitute singing children’s songs on the German-Czech border playing in an empty room of the Galerie der Gegenwart. Art is also the combination of textures, shapes, and colours found within the food we eat. It may be an exaggeration or a watering-down of its definition but art is life.
At the end of the day, the definition of art is a matter of perspective. Everyday objects (i.e. Duchamp’s “readymades”) or traditional paintings are all art, and so is my recollection of eating dinner with Cihan and her family. Art is fluid and open to interpretation and it is influenced by individual, cultural, and societal perspectives.