I saw an absolutely insane house on a hike the other day. When I got home, I looked up the address. Bought for 7 million, demoed, rebuilt, and sold for eighty three. I clicked on a real estate video marketing the property. How did they sell homes before drones? It was that kind of video, and stamped in the bottom right corner, visible throughout: MAKE ART NOW. Hmm. Art. Is this art? What is art? I felt kind of sad. Sad someone considers this art. Sad I spent time in nature and my takeaway was this. Sad—but not too sad—for the neighbor whose views are now obstructed by this mega-mansion. As the time ticked and my tour of the property neared its end, I conceded. This is art. Because my simple definition of art is something that makes you feel and I felt sad.

I thought about the time I felt really sad after seeing fine art. At The Broad, I walked into a space exhibiting Kara Walker’s artwork. Kara Walker is a living artist from Stockton, CA, the same city that produced UFC fighter Nate Diaz. There’s no way I can connect him to her work, but as I learn about art, it’s curious how my brain works, how I sift through pieces of info, trying to connect them to prior knowledge, trying to find my footing or balance like an old man with his walking aid, perhaps, a cane.

Kara Walker’s artwork smacks you in the face before settling into your core. She presents topics like race, violence, identity and gender for the viewer to mull over, saying most pieces have to do with exchanges of power, attempts to steal power away from others. I walked alongside the museum’s massive white walls, followed the black silhouettes, and fell under a dark cloud of my own feelings: sadness, confusion, horror. The history of humanity is unsettling and should not be ignored. Kara said, “The interesting thing for me in my work is how easy it is to commit atrocities. That’s actually what the work is about: If a girl like me can think this stuff, then what? I have an uneasy relationship with my own imagination. At the same time, I’d rather make the work then hold it all inside and get strange.”

In nature or at a museum, most of us intend to see and feel beauty, but sometimes, we don’t. Kara has shown me that art doesn’t exist in one place and isn’t defined by one person. Art is where multiples meet. Where feelings, colors, people, emotions converge. See it. Feel it. Talk about it. Wrestle through the discomfort. The outcome of viewing art is the beauty we were intending to find by looking at it: Our brave determination to think, act, or behave differently. We can start by letting our neighbors have their views. Step in to see how things are from their shoes. —Phillip Dillon

HERE are some quotes of kara’s that made me think or smile:

“As a child, I was subjected to a lot of spaghetti Westerns and hated them. I wanted the Indians to win - or just not be so sad!”

“I knew I wanted to be an artist, but I didn't really know what it was I wanted to say.”

“The silhouette says a lot with very little information, but that's also what the stereotype does.”

“I have no interest in making a work that doesn't elicit a feeling.”

“Challenging and highlighting abusive power dynamics in our culture is my goal; replicating them is not.”

“My work is really abject and self-effacing sometimes. I mean, it's big and overwrought, but it's just paper dolls, and it's kind of silly.”

“The promise of any artwork is that it can hold us - viewer and maker - in a conflicted or contestable space, without real-world injury or loss.”

“I trust my hand. If I go into a space with a roll of paper, I can make a work, some kind of work, and feel pretty satisfied.”

“I know that in my family there are histories of violence that are internal family things and that are oftentimes dealt with internally. By internally, I mean inside the family group, but also partly inside ourselves. You know, self-hatred and hostility and rage and this cycle that won't break.”