Art is Meaningless BY GEORGE NASR ‘22 Maybe it’s true. Maybe we’re all painted in the shades of our parents. But I believe that it’s who we are, not who we’re supposed to be, that defines us. All art is essentially meaningless; that’s why it means so much to me. A space to create, explore, make your own, share with others, and immerse yourself into; a space that is yours and everyone else’s. I had always done art, but I had never truly understood it. When I lived in England, art was nothing but a slot on the timetable, a waste of time. However, when I moved to America, I was isolated from what I knew; with a whole life left behind, I had no choice but to paint myself a new one. Art gave me a way to channel my negativity into a positive means of expression. Every medium struck me as a new experience; oil painting, architecture, animation, all merging into a sensation of freedom, of belonging, that I desperately needed at the time. I was proud to call myself an artist. But I never realised how much that really meant. It was only after a lunchtime conversation with my dad that I realised how lucky I was to have that opportunity, that freedom, of calling myself an artist without any familial pressure on my shoulders. Coming from a LebanesePalestinian background, it’s never as simple as just being yourself: for most families, you’re a banker, a lawyer, a businessman, or a failure. That’s how it was in my father’s household, and his father’s, and his father’s; that’s how it probably would’ve been in mine - something that I had
30
never realised. My dad wanted to be a stand-up comedian; he had the talent, the drive, the passion; but he never had the one thing that mattered: a chance. He was mocked openly by his parents and labelled the failure of the family. Shackled, confined by their expectations, overshadowed by his “successful” siblings, he went on to achieve “success” as a hedge-fund associate. Still, he lost the one thing that defined him: passion. After that conversation, we paid the tab, left the restaurant and walked out as if it were a typical day. But my step was slowed by a sense of gravity; did I deserve this freedom? Should I feel shame for having what so many others don’t? Amid this turmoil, I realised what mattered; it’s not what you inherit but what you make of it. My dad made the conscious choice to break the cycle, believe in me, and support my ambitions. He taught me to value the privileges I’ve been given and, more importantly, that a spreadsheet doesn’t measure success. I won’t pretend that my artistic skills are unparalleled; I haven’t won any prizes; I won’t pat myself on the back and dub myself the next Michaelangelo, but therein lies the reason why I love art so much. You aren’t defined by what other people call “success” or “talent”; you aren’t defined at all. You’re free of labels, of constraints; you get a blank slate, and color it in with who you are. All art is essentially meaningless. That’s why it means so much to me.
