For me, being an artist is also being part philosopher.
Philosophy and art go hand in hand. As artists, we don’t just create images—we wrestle with ideas, emotions, and the world around us. Much of our work reflects our philosophical or political beliefs, our perspectives on life, and the emotional currents we’re riding at the time. When we’re angry, it shows. When we’re joyful, that too leaves a mark. Our art becomes a visual language of the inner world.
I’ve always wanted my work to make people think—ideally, to feel something as well. Sometimes that’s a smile. Sometimes it’s a pang of fear or awe. Recently, I painted a kraken emerging from the ocean, casually dragging a ship full of lost souls down to Davy Jones’ locker. There’s no struggle in the image, no fight—just inevitability. To me, that piece is about the hopelessness of destiny, a quiet meditation on mortality. I’m not sure if viewers will see it that way, but that’s what I poured into it.
Every painting I create carries something like that—if not mortality, then joy. If not joy, then fear, adventure, wonder. I don’t make art just to decorate a wall. I make art because it lets me speak when words fail. It holds my questions, my passions, my grief, and my wonder.
"Kraken" art done for a token card © Bryon Wackwitz 2025, All rights reserved
Artists are often the ones sitting alone in coffee shops, lost in thought, turning over the wrongs and rights of the world. We’re the ones wrestling with justice, with politics, with the ills of society—and sometimes with our own contradictions. Some artists lean fascist. Some are deeply liberal. Some are guided by empathy. Every artist is an individual, and that’s what makes our art so different from one another.
And that, I think, is the beauty of it.