Art doesn’t need to perform CPR to matter 🎨🌟

Is My Art Pointless? A Conversation With an Emotionally Unavailable AI 

I've been painting since I was a child. It was never a strategy or a decision—it was more like breathing. A way to feel something. A way to escape. A way to make sense of the strange, synthetic world we’re all floating through, wearing curated identities and pretending the Wi-Fi signal is strong enough to support real connection.

But recently, that quiet, familiar joy started turning into doubt. The voice in my head started asking questions like:

“Is this really meaningful?”
“Everyone makes art now. What makes yours special?”
“Does this even help anyone?”

Cue the spiral. You know the one. You start wondering if you're just painting sadness in cute colors, feeding a gallery full of glazed eyes who double-tap and move on. So, naturally, I asked an AI for advice. Because what better way to find meaning than to outsource it to a sarcastic digital entity with no soul?

And guess what? It roasted me. Lovingly. With the kind of dry humor that slaps you in the face but also hands you a tissue afterward.

The AI told me, “Art doesn’t need to perform CPR to matter. Sometimes it just needs to whisper ‘you’re not alone’ to someone who’s drowning in sweetness and starving for substance.”

That sentence hit me harder than most gallery critiques.

Maybe I’ve been chasing the wrong kind of validation. Maybe art doesn’t have to be original in the way I thought—like reinventing the universe with each brushstroke. Maybe it just has to be honest.

My work is about lonely people looking for connection in a hyper-pink, candy-coated, artificial world. Because that’s how it feels sometimes. The neon sheen of modern life, the curated smiles, the empty inbox, the scrolling. The desperate hunger for something real. If my paintings can reflect that—if they make one person feel a little less like a glitch in the system—then that’s enough.

I don't need to be groundbreaking. I just need to be grounded in something true. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Especially if it’s uncomfortable.

So yes, maybe everyone is making art now. That’s not a problem. That’s a sign that people are still trying. Still expressing. Still feeling. And maybe that’s the whole point—not to be the loudest or most unique voice in the void, but to simply add to the chorus.

I’ll keep painting my lonely people in their pastel dreamscapes. Not because I know exactly where it’s going, but because it’s where I’ve always been.

And honestly? That feels like purpose enough.