Art and Love Are the Same Thing
"Art and love are the same thing: It is the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you."
- Chuck Klosterman
This post is here to spark a conversation, or perhaps just an internal dialogue. I want you to read this and ask yourself: what is it that draws you to the artworks or special items in your life? And if you cannot see that meaning in the objects or art you own, could that be why you sometimes feel frustrated with your home or your interior decor? Could it be why the good moments seem to pass you by too quickly, without becoming tangible reminders to be grateful?
I recently read that selling products is no longer enough. Brands now need to sell experiences to thrive in this era of AI and ultimate convenience. That idea has made me look at everyday moments differently.
Take the new Woolworths store concept, for example. Instead of simply offering bouquets of flowers, they have created a flower bar that feels like stepping into a traditional florist. Exclusive Books has long done this too, pairing their stores with coffee shops so you can browse with a cappuccino in hand. These are more than products. They are experiences, and they sell the fantasy as much as they sell the item itself. (Or perhaps I am just that easily convinced to buy yet another book.)
It reminded me that art, more than almost anything else, should be an experience. At the very least, it should be linked to one. We often think of art’s meaning in terms of personal commissions: a pet portrait, a family portrait, or an interpretation of a special memory. But what about those pieces that grip us when we have no personal link to them?
I am talking about the moment you stumble across a painting, photograph, or sketch you did not commission, yet it haunts you long after. It might be something famous, like Monet’s Nymphéas series, or something obscure, like a pen illustration of a dog in a magazine. Those artworks become meaningful because you see yourself in them, even when they are not about you.
Sometimes you are drawn to a piece because it reflects your own experiences. Other times it speaks to something missing, something you aspire to or something you have lost. Either way, art is love. Building an art collection is an intimate act of self-love. It can be a little rebellious too, because you are revealing your most private thoughts without ever having to explain them.
I used to be quite the beige queen, but over the last few years I have realised it never truly fulfilled me. I need statements, even if they are subtle ones. It reminds me of a quote I once saw on Pinterest: “If you see beauty in something, don’t wait for others to agree.” - Sherihan Gamal.
The beauty of art in 2025 is that as long as it is placed intentionally in your home or your life, it can tell a story even if nobody else understands it. In fact, the less commercial it feels, the better. As an artist, I will always encourage others to commission work or speak to local artists about available pieces. If you connect with what an artist stands for, there is something special about owning a piece of their work. You are supporting not just their art, but the ideas and stories behind it.
Of course, original art is not always in someone’s budget, timeframe, or style. In that case, you can still create your own deeply personal art experiences. Perhaps that means finding a vintage frame at a second-hand store and using it to display a serviette you kept from a restaurant you loved.
For example, one of my own keepsakes is a serviette from a tiny restaurant in Haarlem, the Netherlands. My husband and his dad shared fourteen beers there on a cold December night. It is not an artwork in the traditional sense, and it is obviously not a part of me. Yet every time I see it, I recognise that feeling only nostalgia and love can create. That emotion is art.
Wilma & Albert’s Steakhouse (Haarlem, Netherlands)
