My oldest daughter came from school:
“Mom, we talked about art in the literature class. The teacher asked why people make art.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that I did not know.”
I was surprised: it is so obvious. But then how should one describe a new color that the viewer has never noticed?
Why do I make art? As Tagore says:
I have had my invitation to this world’s festival, and thus my life has been blessed. My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.
It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument.
(Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali, 16)