I like art with a sense of humor. I don't have a huge art

In the journey of art and the exploration of the human soul, there exists a delicate tension—a balance between seriousness and lightness. The great Kathleen Hanna, known for her bold voice and unapologetic expression, once said, "I like art with a sense of humor. I don't have a huge art education to understand everything. I don't think that means that art has to be watered down to the lowest common denominator, though. I don't think you have to go to college to be able to appreciate great art, but I like art that doesn't take itself too seriously." In these words, Hanna calls attention to a profound truth—the idea that art should not only be a pursuit of intellectual elites or a space for lofty, inaccessible ideas. It must also be something that resonates with the human spirit, accessible and alive, full of joy, playfulness, and even a touch of irreverence.

The ancients understood well the power of humor in art. Plato, for example, often spoke of the importance of balance in the pursuit of truth and beauty. In his dialogues, he frequently used irony and humor to challenge the contradictions in his interlocutors' thinking. Yet, even he recognized that humor had a place in the great works of art and philosophy—especially when it was used to reveal deeper truths. Just as Hanna embraces humor in art, the ancients understood that while seriousness has its place, it is the playful, lighthearted moments that often illuminate the profound, revealing the complex nature of life. Art that does not take itself too seriously invites us to engage with it as humans, not as scholars, and to discover in it the simple joy of being alive.

The wisdom of Aristotle further underscores this point. In his Poetics, he explored the role of comedy in the theater, asserting that humor, when crafted thoughtfully, holds a mirror to human folly and irrationality. The ancients knew that laughter was not just a distraction, but a form of reflection—a way to understand the human condition with all its contradictions. Hanna’s perspective echoes this ancient wisdom, suggesting that art should not be alienating or elite, but should speak to everyone. It should bring joy, insight, and clarity in ways that invite us to laugh at ourselves and the world around us, rather than making us feel isolated or inadequate for not understanding its complexities.

Consider the example of Leonardo da Vinci, whose works, such as the enigmatic Mona Lisa, carried a depth of mystery, yet also a certain playfulness in her smile. While da Vinci was undoubtedly a genius, he also understood that art could be a space for both intellectual inquiry and lightness. Hanna’s belief that art should not be watered down does not diminish the need for depth or complexity, but instead opens the door to a more inclusive view of creativity—one that balances complexity with approachability. The Mona Lisa, after all, is a work that engages both the learned scholar and the curious observer with its subtle humor and intrigue.

This balance of seriousness and playfulness is reflected in the work of Dadaist artists, who deliberately sought to disrupt the conventions of art and culture. Marcel Duchamp’s famous work, Fountain—a porcelain urinal signed with the name "R. Mutt"—was a deliberate provocation against the establishment’s view of art as something elite and inaccessible. Hanna’s call for art that "doesn’t take itself too seriously" shares this spirit of subversion, urging us to see art as something that exists not only for intellectual contemplation but for joy, for play, and for connection. Art, in this sense, becomes not just a reflection of the world’s seriousness, but a means of engaging with the absurdities of life in a way that is liberating and inclusive.

The deeper lesson we learn from Hanna’s words is that art should serve the human spirit, not create barriers between us. It must be accessible and welcoming, not trapped in an ivory tower, but grounded in the lives we lead. Art is meant to be lived and felt in the moment, not simply observed from a distance. Like the ancients, who recognized that art was a means to understand both the tragic and comic elements of the world, we too must see humor as an essential part of the artistic experience. It is the humor that makes art human, allowing it to speak to us, not as mere spectators, but as active participants in the world of creation.

So, let us embrace the spirit of play and joy in our own lives and in the art we create and appreciate. Let us remember that great art need not be reserved for those with deep knowledge or exclusive education. It is meant to be experienced by all, to inspire and connect us. Like Hanna, let us find beauty in art that speaks to us with a sense of humor, inviting us not to be burdened by its seriousness but to celebrate it as an expression of the full range of human experience—complex, complicated, and full of lightness. In this way, we can all be creators and appreciators of art that both illuminates and entertains, that makes us laugh, think, and, most importantly, feel alive.