writingaboutpaintings

Pablo Picasso once famously said, “Computers are useless. They only give you answers.”

The remark may have sounded provocative when it was first made, but Picasso might have been onto something. In a world where computers place almost every form of knowledge at our fingertips, answers have become easier to obtain than ever before. What has become more valuable instead are the questions we ask.

This idea became particularly relevant to me recently when I read A More Beautiful Question by Warren Berger, a book recommended during a briefing on a major shift in the art syllabus for the National Examinations. As teachers, we are now expected to guide students toward asking thoughtful questions rather than simply providing answers. For someone who grew up in the education system of the 1990s, this shift takes some getting used to.

Berger on the Value of Questions

Berger argues that innovation, insight, and meaningful change begin not with answers, but with better questions. Modern systems tend to reward quick answers and efficiency, which gradually discourages people from asking deeper questions. As a result, curiosity declines even though it remains one of the most powerful drivers of creativity and discovery.

According to Berger, progress occurs when people challenge assumptions through thoughtful questioning. Children naturally ask a multitude of questions each day as they attempt to understand the world around them. However, these questions gradually diminish as people grow older.

Part of the reason lies in the systems we inhabit. Questions are sometimes interpreted as challenges to authority or as signs of ignorance. As a result, people often avoid asking what might appear to be “stupid” questions.

This idea echoes another observation by Picasso, who once said that “every child is an artist.” Perhaps the Spanish painter unknowingly offered two insights that remain especially relevant today. First, answers are not always the most important part of learning. Second, creativity often requires reconnecting with the curiosity we once had as children.

Art as a Historical Container for Questions

Art can be understood as a place where societies hold their most difficult questions visually. Art history is not merely a record of styles and movements. It is also a visual record of the questions societies were struggling to understand at particular moments in time.

When encountering a work of art that reflects the religious, political, or social concerns of its era, we might ask:

• What question was this artwork holding?
• What anxiety or uncertainty produced it?
• Why did that question matter at that particular moment in history?

These questions transform the way we look at art. Instead of seeing artworks merely as aesthetic objects, we begin to understand them as responses to the intellectual and emotional challenges of their time.

The Longevity of Art and Open Questions

When walking through a museum, visitors encounter questions that continue to resonate across centuries: What is suffering? What is beauty? What is power? What defines human identity?

Artworks endure because they continue to hold these questions without closing them. Art remains relevant not because it provides fixed answers, but because it leaves space for interpretation. Each generation returns to the same images with new concerns and perspectives.

The answers change because society changes. The power of these works lies not in providing definitive conclusions, but in remaining open enough to accommodate shifting interpretations. This ongoing exchange keeps museums alive rather than turning them into storerooms of outdated objects.

Museums therefore serve a quiet but important function in modern life. In a world increasingly driven by speed, efficiency, and immediate answers, they create spaces where slower thinking is still possible. Standing in front of an artwork requires a different rhythm of attention. Unlike information on a screen, a painting does not explain itself instantly. It asks the viewer to look longer, to notice details, and to tolerate ambiguity.

In doing so, museums offer something increasingly rare: a place where questions can exist without the pressure of immediate answers.

Art as a Container for Certainty Where There Is None

In a world where certainty is highly valued, art can act as a container for the unpredictable.

During the Counter-Reformation, for example, Baroque art produced monumental works that overwhelmed viewers with dramatic visual experiences. These works were not merely instruments of religious propaganda. They also helped restore emotional certainty during a period of religious upheaval, transforming faith into powerful and tangible images of wonder.

This transformation echoes the Christian promise of Isaiah 61:3, often summarised as “beauty for ashes,” where renewal emerges from destruction.

Art has played similar roles during periods of political upheaval and social change. The paintings of Jacques-Louis David during the French Revolution helped visualise ideas of civic virtue, sacrifice for the state, and revolutionary identity.

Similarly, Surrealism emerged in response to the unsettling psychological theories of Sigmund Freud, who proposed that human behaviour was shaped not only by reason but also by the unconscious mind. Surrealist artists attempted to translate these unsettling ideas into visual form, transforming dreams and irrational associations into imagery that allowed society to grapple with these new psychological insights.

When uncertainty is given a tangible form, it becomes easier to confront—and perhaps even to ask better questions. Perhaps the enduring power of art lies not in the answers it provides, but in the questions it allows us to keep asking.