Reflections on vulnerability, meaning, and who gets to belong in the art world
There’s a phrase I’ve heard many times in creative circles:“The art should speak for itself.”
It’s often offered as a compliment - or as an ideal of artistic purity that we should strive for. But it’s never fully resonated with me.
Recently, while preparing my solo exhibition and deciding how much of my own stories, creative process, and meaning-making to share, I finally understood why.
It isn’t that I disagree with the sentiment. Art does speak. It speaks in ways words often cannot.
But I’ve come to believe that sharing my stories alongside my art - and inviting viewers to explore their own stories too - is an act of trust and generosity, and an offer of connection, belonging, and hope. And for me, this invitation is very much part of the art itself.
The myth of the self-explaining masterpiece
The idea that art should “speak for itself” carries an assumption - that a strong artwork delivers a clear, universal message. And that if viewers are perceptive enough, they’ll understand it.
But we don’t all stand in front of a painting with the same life experience.
We don’t share the same cultural references, educational backgrounds, identities, or histories. We don’t read symbols in identical ways. Meaning is shaped by lived experience - by memory, belonging, loss, joy, culture, class, religion, language, migration, and so much more.
Because of that, art never lands in a neutral space. It meets each viewer where they are. And I’ve come to feel that sharing where my work comes from doesn’t restrict that meeting - it enriches it.
Vulnerability is harder than mystery
There are many reasons artists might prefer to let the work stand alone, and of course it’s the artist’s prerogative to decide how much they want to share.
But what I’ve realized is that - for me - sharing my creative process, my own stories, and my meaning-making is harder than “letting the work speak for itself”.
It takes time to reflect. It takes even more time to articulate those reflections clearly. And then there’s the work of shaping them into formats that are appropriate, digestible, and complementary to the artworks.
When you share the work behind the work - who you are, how you think, how you feel, how you wrestle with life and creativity - you make much more of yourself visible. Now it’s not just the artwork that can be judged, misunderstood, disagreed with, or rejected. It’s your inner world too!
That’s vulnerable.
And that kind of vulnerability takes courage.
Silence as gatekeeping
Have you ever stood in front of an artwork with nothing more than the standard label (name, title, materials, size) and thought: “I don’t get it. Maybe I’m not smart enough. Maybe I’m not educated enough. Maybe I don’t belong here.”
I sometimes wonder whether silence can function like the Emperor’s New Clothes - creating an illusion of depth, discouraging people from questioning what they’re seeing, making them feel unqualified to participate, let alone critique. This isn’t always intentional. But it can be an effect of withheld stories.
And sometimes it is intentional. The art world has long histories of gatekeeping - where certain institutions, critics, or social groups claim authority over “correct” interpretation. And in some spaces, exclusivity and intimidation are deliberately cultivated as branding strategies. Mystery can be a marketing tactic - one in which not everyone is meant to feel welcome.
An invitation into the conversation
I believe art should feel like an invitation, not a test.
Many people - even many professional artists - already feel that the “art world” is not for them. That it belongs to the educated, the insiders, the initiated. I don’t want my work to reinforce that feeling.
When I talk about where an artwork comes from and what an artwork means to me, I’m opening a door. I’m inviting viewers into a conversation and I’m saying:
You don’t need secret knowledge.
You don’t need the “right” vocabulary.
Your response and life experiences are valid too.
If anything, I hope my openness makes it easier for others to enter the conversation. I want my art to be about relating, not decoding.
Shared meaning-making
One of the gifts artists bring to the world is the ability to see differently. To articulate what others sense but can’t quite name. To re-imagine what’s possible. If we refuse to reveal our inner work, we miss an opportunity to share these gifts more fully.
Sharing my meaning doesn’t close the conversation - it opens it up. It creates more entry point, especially for those who have felt excluded from cultural spaces.
In fact, I’ve found that when I share my stories and process, viewers often feel more confident exploring their own responses. They see how meaning is formed - through lived experience - and recognize that their lived experience matters too.
I love that.
It shifts art from being a test of knowledge to being a space of encounter.
I share my stories, process, and reflective questions because I want conversation, connection, and belonging to be part of the experience of my art. I want someone who has never felt at home in a gallery to feel welcomed into the dialogue. I want viewers to know that their lived experience isn’t a barrier to art or meaning-making - it’s their way into it.
Because I believe art belongs to everyone.
And so does meaning-making.
So I’ll keep sharing
I don’t believe there is one right way to present art. Every artist finds their own balance between silence and storytelling, intuition and articulation.
For me, sharing my stories feels aligned. It feels like generosity. It feels like trust. It feels like an invitation into deeper meaning-making for us all - not a closing down of it.
I take deep joy in the moments when viewers and collectors tell me that the stories and meanings I’ve shared resonated with them - that my stories continue to offer witnessing, courage, belonging, inspiration, or hope each time they look at the artwork.
So I’ll keep sharing where my work comes from and what it means to me - even knowing others could see it very differently.
My art loses nothing when someone interprets it through their own life.
In my experience, something richer happens instead. When we risk sharing what’s personal - and witnessing it in each other - we discover connection across difference.
And that makes the art - and our lives - so much more meaningful.
And I’m wholeheartedly here for that!
I’d love to hear your take.
Come on over to my post about this on Insta and let me know what you feel when you hear, “The art should speak for itself”.