What Am I Doing in Art School?

A few weeks ago, I met a good friend for coffee. By then I had been working on a Fine Arts Diploma for nearly three years. As we sipped our drinks, she leaned in with a serious look and asked, “So… what are you doing exactly? This isn’t just a hobby, right? What is it?”

Her question caught me off guard. I had assumed that, given the nature of our friendship, she understood the path I was on. I wasn’t sure how to respond. Why did I need to define it so precisely? And why did I suddenly feel pressure to justify this choice in a way that satisfies the capitalist framework in which we exist, where everything must be productive, profitable, and for sale? Being in art school is none of those things. 

At that moment I didn’t have a clear answer for her and I was flooded with self-doubt. It also felt like a moment of reckoning because I had found myself at times asking myself the same question.  What was I doing at art school at this point in my life?   

Recently a blog post appeared in my inbox that was truly a gift. The writer reflects on how art is a fundamental human impulse, predating language itself. The article had several powerful insights but this one stood out and connected with me deeply. 

“This process of arting is how we unburden ourselves, it is how we tell ourselves that we exist and matter, that we belong, that we have something worthwhile to impart to the world.”

I have been a caregiver for over a decade. It is work that I do out of love but it is also unpaid, invisible, and highly gendered. Caregiving and the women who do it are invisible. I am invisible. 

My commitment to making art and to art school, which is frankly difficult at times, is a space where I have some visibility. It’s how I make sense of my own life and the world rushing past. It’s not a hobby. It’s not a luxury. It’s a reclamation of self.

The blog post helped me articulate why I’m here. But would it have changed how I answered my friend’s question? I’m not sure. I doubt I would have said, “I’m fulfilling my ancestral calling.” But maybe I wouldn’t have felt that flash of self-doubt. Maybe I would have recognized her question as a reflection of a culture that struggles to understand anything that isn’t clearly defined or monetized.

And maybe I would have simply said: “I’m making art because it helps me remember that I exist.”

Thank you to the author for this great blog post. Read it and enjoy.