Creating Art with Purpose: Finding Meaning Beyond Aesthetics

There’s a difference between making art that looks good and making art that feels necessary. And I’ll be honest, at first I didn’t always think about that difference. In the early days, I was totally fine making work that looked good on a wall or got a few likes or filled out a series. I was working, producing, showing. The cycle kept going. That was enough for a while.

But somewhere along the way, that surface-level satisfaction started to crack. I don’t know if it was life stuff or burnout or just years of repetition, but I hit a point where making pretty things wasn’t enough for me. I’d sit in the studio, go through the motions, and think…so what. Who is this for. What is it saying. What’s the point. That sounds a little bleak but it wasn’t a bad thing. It was a turning point. That was the moment I knew I needed to change how I was approaching my work. I didn’t want to make art just for aesthetic value anymore. I wanted my work to hold meaning. For me first and for whoever else needed it too.

So I started changing how I worked. And not in a total 180 kind of way. It was slower than that. I kept most of the materials the same. My style didn’t shift dramatically overnight. But what did change was how I thought about the process. I stopped starting with “what looks good” and started with “what matters to me right now.” That one change reshaped everything else.

If you’re in that place (feeling disconnected from your own work or craving something with more depth) I want to talk about some ways you can actually shift toward creating with purpose. Not just in theory, but in practice. These are all things I’ve used myself over the years, and they’ve helped me stay present, intentional, and honest in my studio work.

One thing that really helped me was carving out time for what I call private work. Work that no one ever has to see. When your practice is public or tied to income, it can be hard to separate what’s just for you. So I started giving myself studio sessions with no goal beyond reflection. I’d turn off all distractions, pick one material, and just respond to a prompt I wrote that morning. Sometimes it was a memory. Sometimes a feeling. Sometimes just a sentence I couldn’t get out of my head. The result didn’t need to be good. It just needed to be real.

If you’re not sure where to start with that kind of practice, try this: keep a running list of personal phrases, ideas, or experiences that you keep circling in your brain. Could be a dream you remember, something that annoyed you, something you’re grieving, something you’re avoiding. Pick one. Use that as your entry point. Don’t worry about how it looks. Let it be a space for clarity instead of outcome.

Another shift that helped me was writing alongside the work. I used to resist this. I thought it was unnecessary or too academic. But I’ve learned that taking a few minutes after each session to jot down what came up while I worked. I’d take note of what I noticed, what frustrated me, what felt surprisingly good. This has helped me track the emotional and conceptual threads in my work more clearly. If you’ve never tried this, you don’t need to write an essay. Just answer three questions:

What was I feeling when I started
What changed as I worked
What might I want to explore next

Even if you never read the notes again, writing them down helps anchor the process.

I’ve also made a habit of checking in with myself mid-process. Somewhere around the halfway mark in a piece, I stop. I step back. I ask myself why I’m still working on it. Not to be harsh, but to make sure I’m not just finishing it out of habit. That little pause can help me redirect or even decide that the piece isn’t working and needs to be let go. That’s part of purposeful creation too… knowing when to walk away.

If you’re someone who likes structure, you can build a small reflection cycle into your studio routine. Start each month with an intention. Not a goal. Just a focus. Maybe you want to explore themes of rest. Or memory. Or tension. Maybe it’s more personal. Maybe it’s social. Either way, that focus can act as a quiet filter in the background of your creative decisions. It gives you something to return to when you feel lost or scattered.

One thing I tell my students is that meaning doesn’t always show up immediately. You won’t always know what a piece is about when you start it. Sometimes it’s only after a few pieces that you realize…oh. I’ve been working through something. That’s fine. That’s part of it. You don’t need to start with a fully formed concept. But you do need to give yourself enough space to notice the patterns in your work. That’s where the meaning tends to live.

Another practice I’ve leaned on is repetition with variation. I’ll choose a simple form or idea and explore it across a series of pieces. Each one shifts slightly. Each one holds a different part of what I’m trying to work through. This kind of repetition isn’t about perfecting something. It’s about deepening your relationship with an idea. If you’ve been jumping from project to project and feeling like nothing is landing, try making five pieces in a row that all respond to the same prompt. Let it change naturally. Let the meaning build over time.

If you want to bring more intentional meaning into your work, it also helps to get clear on what matters to you outside the studio. What are your values. What do you care about. What experiences have shaped you. What are you still trying to understand. Write that list out. Circle the ones that feel like they might have creative potential. That’s not your artist statement… that’s your personal map. Those are the pieces of your life that might be asking for space in your work.

You can also try working backwards. Start with a finished piece and reflect on what was going on in your life when you made it. What were you carrying into the studio. What did the process feel like. What were you avoiding. What were you hoping for. This kind of reflection can help you recognize where meaning already exists in your work, even if you weren’t conscious of it at the time.

Sometimes the purpose in our work comes from pattern. Sometimes it comes from disruption. Either way, the only way to find it is to pay attention.

Now, if you share your work publicly or sell it, you might wonder how this kind of shift will affect your audience. And here’s the thing, yes, it might change how people respond to your work. But if the work is clearer to you, that clarity usually comes through in the way you talk about it. And people respond to that. You don’t have to give everything away. You don’t have to spill every backstory. But when you make work with depth, people notice. It holds presence. And presence is what keeps people looking.

Creating with purpose also makes it easier to talk about your work on social media, at shows, or in your newsletter. You don’t have to scramble for words. You just speak from what you know. And even if your work is abstract or nonliteral, that meaning can come through in the way you write your captions or titles or statements. So if writing about your work has felt hard or awkward, try shifting the focus from explaining the image to explaining the process. Talk about what moved you to make it. That’s often the most interesting part anyway.

One last thing I’ll say, this is not about making every piece some big emotional project. You don’t need to carry the weight of the world in your studio. Sometimes meaning is small. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it’s about color and quiet and the feeling of letting your hands move after a long week. That counts too. You don’t need to prove anything. You just need to listen to what you need and let that guide the work.

If you’ve been feeling disconnected from your art lately, if you’re tired of chasing visual trends or finishing work just to stay consistent online, it’s ok to give yourself a reset. Pick one of the ideas from this post. Try it for a week. Keep notes. Don’t aim for perfect work. Aim for connected work.

And if you start to notice something shift (even a little!) I hope you’ll keep going. I really believe this is what keeps our work alive.