For the last two years, Howard Wang ’26 has snapped photographs of almost every Artist of the Week. Throughout my time at The Phoenix, I’ve noticed his photos become progressively more beautiful. Elijah Santos ’26 became a visual poem among the reeds, Ark Lu ’24 shone through high-contrast foliage, and Elpiniki Tsapatsaris ’24 shimmered like sunshine in front of cascading flowers. Howard’s photos are an integral part of my segment. Without his artistic vision, it’s impossible to fully represent the complexity of our artists.
Despite my admiration for his photography, I was completely unaware of the extent of Howard’s artistic ability. “I’ve been painting ever since I was in elementary school. I had this spark of talent which my teacher recognized, and placed me into a painting competition. I didn’t rank highly, so for a while afterwards I kind of just stopped. But then, when I was eight, I started calligraphy. I continued until I was fourteen, and switched back to painting again when I studied at high school in Utah.”
When asked if his skills stem from natural talent or repetitive practice, Howard continued, “I picked up oil, watercolor, charcoal — all kinds of media. Without much training, I felt I could intuitively paint. So part of it, I do believe, was talent.” Of course, Howard was practicing and fine-tuning his skills through different media, but he did introduce a compelling question: how much of art making is intuitive?
To try to answer this question and also understand Howard’s process, I asked him to detail each facet of his process. He shared that when he starts a painting, he taps into sources of pain for inspiration. He believes he does this because pain is something “we can always reappraise and it never dries out.” He elaborated, “It’s interesting how we have this negativity bias where bad things just keep coming to you and you build a long term memory of it, but good things come and go quickly.” This pain, he clarified, doesn’t necessarily have any relationship with his subject. Rather, it provides an impetus to create.
From there, Howard’s process is relatively straightforward. Once he feels inspired, the mixing of colors becomes a somewhat mechanical process. Howard shared, “That aspect is just a task I need to perform. Implementing the subject that I intend to create is another step. That final step is all about intuition. You’re working with vibes. I choose a color and then kind of smash it onto the canvas.”
Howard clarified that once he finishes a painting, his feelings morph. The painting is not a reminder of pain. Instead, it provides its own emotional quality. “There’s a difference between the painting process and the project itself. The pain is what allows me to continue finishing. Sure, these are more neutral or negative emotions than positive ones, but the result is not necessarily tethered to my initial feelings.”
Howard’s distinction between emotional, mechanical, and intuitive processes is inextricably linked to his understanding of neuroscience. “When I was a sophomore, I wanted to major in neuroscience and engineering. Now I’m doing math and engineering, but I feel that neuroscience has impacted my understanding of art. For example, if you ask a classroom to paint the same object with the same set of tools, you’ll receive twenty different versions of the same subject. That, to me, is interesting, because with no prior knowledge, some paintings are good, others are bad. Then, you wonder, are they seeing things differently, or do they have less motor control when holding the brush … I don’t know. It’s interesting how some people are just naturally good and some are not.”
But is there inherently good or bad art? From my experience in Swarthmore’s art department, I have noticed that most professors try not to impose a binary of good or bad art. Instead, they praise certain aspects of the work and critique other elements that might not convey the subject as potently. Howard corroborated my perception, “To me, Randall has this ability to see beauty in everything. He would show a painting that I’d think isn’t good, but ask us to focus on the color and context. If you look at it that way, it is good. I learned a lot from his humility.”
However, Howard still believes there is a binary between what should be considered art. “We should have a standard way of saying, ‘This is or isn’t good.’ I often hate my art. I despise hearing that I didn’t practice or work hard enough because sometimes I’m just not talented enough to create this piece. People should recognize that. Not everyone can be an artist, and I’m not saying I can be a professional artist. I don’t think I can.”
Interestingly, as I asked Howard more about his perspective, I realized that he’s calling for more artistic humility than anything else. He elaborated, “I’m pretty full of myself sometimes. In terms of starting a project, I’m pretty ambitious. I would like to take on any project, but once it starts, it’s a question of whether or not it’s going the way that I want it to. I’m honest with myself if I don’t have the skill that it takes. But, sometimes it happens that I’m actually good at a specific aspect, and from there I discover new possibilities.”
In a binary world of success and failure, I was curious about how to differentiate between the two. Howard responded, “I think art has a lot to do with its viewers. The compliments, criticism, and reactions I get from the viewers have helped me interpret my art. I have an intuitive sense of what’s good and bad, but the viewer tells a better story because they don’t have a personal connection to the work.” Art is undeniably an experience, molded by the creator and shaped by its audience. The personal connection an artist has with the piece molds with the viewer’s. Both are valid, disparate, and revealing about the successes and limitations of the work.
Ironically, I replicated this experience at the beginning of our interview by complimenting Howard’s Artist of the Week photos. Recently, he’s placed artists into environments that highlight their personalities. He shared that he chooses colorful backgrounds because he puts our artists in higher apertures. I had an interpretation that was emotional and not connected to the material reality of technical limitations.
Our perception of art does not have to be exact to present important questions for the artist. Accurate or not, the viewer is an indispensable part of creation, and a fourth step to Howard’s emotional, mechanical, and intuitive processes. His approach reveals the complex nature of artmaking. It is detailed, taxing, and, at times, frustrating. However, when you create a piece that does feel successful, it is undeniably satisfying. You can only answer the questions of good or bad and talented or inept once you attempt to create something. So, what’s stopping you?
