What is Art?

Art is in the eye of the beholder, or so the saying goes. But does that really mean outsiders get to decide what counts as art – or who qualifies as an artist?
Isn't it more about this: whatever moves you, whatever reaches you, can be art. Should be art.
My understanding of art doesn’t have to be the same as yours – and that’s perfectly fine.

The question “What is art?” isn’t as innocent as it seems. It's political, economic, cultural – and psychological.
It draws lines: between art and non-art, between what’s seen as valuable and what’s (supposedly) worthless, between what gets funding and what’s dismissed.
So why does this question keep coming up? Who benefits from defining what art is?

Who Defines Art?

I’m often asked whether it’s even possible to make a living as an artist – the old “starving artist” cliché.
But has anyone ever wondered whether publishers make a living from their job? Or music producers, agents or gallery owners?

Sure, building your own business from scratch is never easy – no matter the field. And the fact that art as a profession still isn’t taken seriously doesn’t help. But let’s take a closer look:

In 2024, the global art market – through auctions, galleries, art fairs and dealers – generated 57.5 billion USD in sales of drawings, paintings, sculptures, and objects (Art Basel/UBS Art Market Report). And that doesn’t even include direct studio sales, digital art, NFTs, antiques (estimated at 552 billion USD) – let alone music, books, theatre, film, or performance.

The creative industries as a whole are among the world’s largest growth sectors. UNESCO estimates the global value of the cultural and creative sector at around 4.3 trillion USD – that’s about 6.1% of global GDP. In many countries, it even surpasses sectors like agriculture or hospitality – by a long way.
Enough with the numbers. The point is: the question isn’t whether money can be made from art – but who’s making it.

Because secondary players often can make a good living from art. Sometimes a very good one. And to keep it that way, the definition of art has to remain vague enough to allow leeway – but also specific enough to exclude. It has to remain in need of explanation. After all, if buyers could just decide for themselves what counts as art, they wouldn’t need a middleperson.

Who Owns Art?

Art matters to me. As an artist and as someone who's moved by art. Art has comforted me, inspired me, made me think – and in many ways, it has saved me. It plays a special role in my life, and I believe it does in society too. But it doesn’t need a pedestal.

We don’t need to wrap art in the aura of the undefinable or unattainable. It’s more than what hangs in museums, more than admiring skills we don’t have ourselves. Museums shouldn’t be gatekeepers – they should be places that make great works of art accessible to everyone.
Art should be close, tangible – not something that needs defining.

Isn’t it ironic that the legal (German) definition of art – “Art is a free creative expression in which impressions, experiences, and events are made directly perceptible through the use of a specific formal language” (BVerfGE 67, 213) – is meant to protect the diversity of art and the freedom of artistic expression, while the (institutionalised) art world tries to tighten the frame?

A Brief History of the Concept of Art: From Temple Walls to TikTok Art

Ancient cave paintings show that humans have always created art. The rock paintings in the Lascaux Cave in France, for example, date back to the Magdalenian period of the late Paleolithic and are estimated to be around 17,000 to 20,000 years old.
The paintings in the Altamira Cave in Spain are even older – and more varied. Over thousands of years, people added to and continued them. The oldest sections (such as the red handprints) are at least 36,000 years old, while the most recent ones date from around 14,000 to 18,000 years ago.

Many of these paintings show remarkable powers of observation, rhythm, and symbolic force. They are rightly considered art today. But the people who made them probably didn’t have a word for it. Their paintings, carvings, or clay figures were part of rituals, communication, magic, identity – not something separate from function or life. Art was an action, not a theory.

The first concept of art as a conscious understanding of what art is emerged in ancient times. It was called technē and meant skill, craft, or know-how.
It included all forms of creative activity – painting and poetry as well as rhetoric, medicine, shipbuilding, pottery, architecture, or even statecraft. There was no hierarchy between “high” and “low” art. The idea that art was a distinct field with its own kind of “truth” came later.

Even though early thinkers like Heraclitus or Pythagoras may not have explicitly used the term, their ideas of proportion, skill, and worldview significantly influenced later reflections on what we now call art. The concept itself, however, was philosophically developed above all by the Sophists, and later by Plato and Aristotle:

Plato was highly critical of art. In his work Politeia (The Republic), he argued that art was merely an imitation of reality – and thus twice removed from truth: once because reality itself is only a copy of the ideal, and again because art is a copy of that copy. Plato believed that art seduced the soul by appealing to emotions rather than reason.

Aristotle, Plato’s student, saw things quite differently. For him, art was a form of knowledge – especially in relation to poetry and drama. Art, he believed, did not simply imitate reality but condensed and interpreted it. Aristotle saw art as part of the human process of understanding, a meaningful element of experience – not truth in the Platonic sense, but emotional veracity.

In the Middle Ages, art primarily served a communicative and narrative function. The majority of the population could neither read nor write, so stained-glass windows, frescoes, and sculptures were often referred to as the Biblia pauperum – the Bible of the poor. Through them, stories became visible. Art acted as teacher, comforter, moral guide – and as an instrument of power.

Art in this period was firmly tied to religion. It visualised order, hierarchy, sin, and salvation – always in line with official doctrine. The aim was not to raise questions, but to illustrate the answers. The Greek term technē gave way to the Latin ars (meaning “art”), though it still referred to technical or rule-based skill.

A distinction was made between the artes mechanicae – the “mechanical arts,” which included practical, manual trades – and the artes liberales, the “liberal arts.” These were considered intellectually superior and comprised the trivium (grammar, rhetoric, dialectic) and quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy). Visual arts like painting or sculpture were regarded as applied crafts and ranked clearly below the “liberal” arts.

With the Renaissance, the focus began to shift. It marked the beginning of what we now look back on as the emergence of a modern concept of art. Art was no longer merely a craft in service of the Church or the powerful – it began to stand on its own. Artists became individuals with a personal style and vision. The idea of the "genius" entered the stage. Names like Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, or Albrecht Dürer no longer stood only for skill.

Of course, Renaissance art still had to meet certain expectations – ideals of beauty, harmony, religious or political messages – but it gradually broke away from its purely functional role and began to claim its own value. Two developments were key: the renewed interest in classical antiquity and the rise of humanist thought, which placed not God but the human being at the centre. And then: the discovery of linear perspective.

This changed everything – it made paintings appear more realistic. Earlier works had idealised their subjects (popes, apostles, kings) to such a degree that they all looked the same, no longer recognisable as real individuals. Now, the proportions were right, the space had depth, and the people within it were identifiable, real human beings. Viewers could recognise themselves in them, empathise with them. People saw the world differently – and art reflected that. Art was no longer just executed – it was conceived.

And for the first time, a painter’s name began to matter. Yes, there are isolated instances of signatures from the Middle Ages, but they had little to do with artistic self-conception. They were modest inscriptions, along the lines of “Whoever sees this work, please pray for me.” Only in the Renaissance did the signature become a mark of individual authorship.

Over the next two to three hundred years, the concept of art doesn’t change much. Styles shift – from the Renaissance to Baroque, later Rococo, Classicism, Romanticism, and so on – but the understanding of what art is remains very academic. And, it’s worth noting, very male.

It isn’t until modernity that we see the next turning point. With the invention of photography, painting was no longer needed to depict reality. Freed from a fixed function, art became more open, experimental, wild – sometimes radical. Abstraction, conceptual art, Dada: suddenly it was about rupture, about questioning, about inner worlds. Art became something not just to be seen, but to be felt.

Today, anything seems possible. Digital formats, TikTok performances, everyday objects on pedestals – the definition of art is more open than ever. Anything can be art. Maybe that’s exactly why the desire for a clear definition feels stronger than ever. What gives us orientation?

Looking back, it seems as though the differing views of Plato and Aristotle on art formed an almost archetypal blueprint that still echoes today. The question “What is art?” can be approached on a factual level – focusing on technique, skill, tradition, and the credibility of academic training – or on an emotional level that asks: “What does it do to me?”

What is art – to me?

I’m aware that this text is strongly shaped by European art history. In other cultures, entirely different forms, meanings, and functions of art developed—often deeply interwoven with religion, daily life, and identity.

And beyond geographical borders, art is always a matter of perspective. The concept of art can shift over time and from person to person. What is art? This question deserves more than a supposedly universal answer. It’s a deeply personal question. Almost intimate.

To me, art is expression, dedication, exchange, and encounter—with others and with myself. I love seeing art in museums or as street art on walls. Art is everywhere. You just have to look. And of course, it goes far beyond painting. Even those who claim they’re not touched by art have probably been moved to tears - or to dance - by a piece of music.

Creating art myself makes me happy. My soul finds calm when I paint. It feels like something inside me clicks back into place.

Everyone Can Make Art

If you spend any time online these days, it might seem like suddenly everyone’s an artist. Everyone’s painting, making music, writing. And that’s a good thing!

Art was never meant to be reserved for academies or galleries. Creating it isn’t an act of Insolence – it’s a need. A way to connect with the world. A way to meet yourself.

Does it matter whether the result is a masterpiece or a blotchy watercolour experiment? It’s not about perfection. If you paint, dance, write or build, you feel yourself. Our world becomes a better place when there’s more art in it.

Maybe I never would’ve written this text if Dana’s blog challenge hadn’t nudged me to reflect on it out loud. So here’s a thank you for that little push in the right direction.
At the end, may I ask you a very personal question: What is art to you?