When Art Needs a Translator

I’ve been thinking about the gap that sometimes opens up between what an artwork looks like and what it’s meant to say. When a sculpture needs a wall of text to be understood, I start to wonder—why not just write a poem instead?

For me, the visual language should speak first. It should hit you in the gut, spark a feeling, or raise a question before you ever read a label. I want my work to stand on its own, to communicate through form, material, and presence—not rely on explanation.

It’s like music. You don’t need to read the sheet music or a manifesto to feel what a song is doing to you. The sound reaches you directly. Why should visual art be any different?

Art doesn’t have to be obvious, but it should be alive—meaning it should have energy, intention, and presence. Something you can sense even if you don’t have the words for it yet. It might move you, disturb you, surprise you—but it’s doing something. It’s not silent. It meets you halfway. If the object can’t do that—if it just sits there waiting for a text to explain it—then I question whether it’s truly speaking at all.