We live in a culture that doesn't know what to do with art. Time and again we hear the questions "What is art for?" "What is its purpose?" "What are you trying to say?" These questions presuppose that art has, or needs, a utilitarian purpose, a reason for being, without which it is pointless, offensive even. In short, art needs justification, as if it were merely a roadmap towards something else. Something important.
I don't agree. I don't agree that art needs justification, explanation, or reason, any more than I believe beauty, joy, and love need justification, explanation, or reason. Beauty is its own reason.
I have no idea why I enjoy painting, why I feel compelled towards art. Nor do I care. It isn't relevant. And, although these works mean a great deal to me, it would be extremely arrogant to assume that the subconscious forces that drove me to create them would be of interest to anyone other than my therapist.
The only thing that's "important" is whether or not you like them. How could it be otherwise? Anyone who has ever been in a gallery or museum has found themselves confronted with art that was politically/morally/ethically correct - yet emotionally hollow. Questions of intent are ultimately academic; it may interest one to know that Michelangelo considered painting to be a distraction, one beneath his talents as a sculptor - but still the Sistine Chapel remains.
Art doesn't require footnotes. It isn't a substitution for meaning - it is the meaning. It is whole and complete in itself. To believe otherwise is to believe that emotional states are dependent upon intellectual reasoning - as if a stranger could approach you with a flowchart and explain why you should fall in love with them.
All of this is a roundabout way of saying I hope you enjoy the work. I hope it speaks to you, and I hope you find value in what it says, whatever that may be.