Art and Math to Me

Growing up, I spent the majority of my time drawing and painting. I drew so much that I would get scolded in school for doodling on my desk. Creating art always felt natural to me–I liked the intuitive nature of it. Everything I needed to learn was right in front of me. Just by observing the world more closely, you can pick up techniques the same way the old masters like Michelangelo and Da Vinci did. In fact, Da Vinci spent most of his time studying nature, searching for patterns to elevate his paintings. Being a good artist also means being a keen observer and thinker.

As a kid, if I liked something, I would draw it and put it on my walls. If I wanted to befriend someone, I would draw something and give it to them as a gift. For a long time, I believed that technically challenging and demanding art was what made “good art.” But over time, I realized that the best and most meaningful art comes from benevolence, careful thought, or something that resonates deeply with the artist. Without that, there’s no real reason to create or appreciate art—we might as well just look for more efficient ways to “decorate” things. For example, a simple doodle of a whale shark that my friend gifted me as a farewell present when I moved away is infinitely more valuable to me than any of the technically complex pieces I made to impress judges. As generic as it may sound, approaching art with genuine self-expression doesn’t just make it more fulfilling—it leads to something truly original and unique. Having references is helpful, but the story and theme you want to express shouldn’t come from another artwork. Creating something just because it reminds you of a painting that feels expressive isn’t the same as expressing yourself. I believe the best ideas come from your own experiences and things that aren’t directly related to art. As the filmmaker Martin Scorsese says, “The most personal is the most creative” (though I actually first heard this quote from Bong Joon Ho).

The same idea applies to design. A design that simply copies another without understanding why it works isn’t really design—it’s just replication. Good design is a form of problem-solving—it considers context, user needs, and the small details that make something truly functional and meaningful.

Going back to my story, in high school, I was thinking about my career path and whether I should go to art school and commit to art for the rest of my life. It was a huge decision, and I worried that choosing art school would mean giving up the chance to explore other fields. Around that time, I was building an art portfolio filled with intricate patterns—repetitive lines and curves based on rules I had made up. It was something I had been doodling since childhood, finding the process calming, almost meditative. However, these patterns took forever to make, some pieces taking months to complete.

Then, one day in calculus class, I saw my teacher using Desmos, and I had this realization: What if I could represent these patterns with math? If I could do that, I could test designs way more efficiently and focus on refining them instead of redrawing everything from scratch. That night, I went home and started experimenting, trying to figure out how to make it work. Eventually, I started learning programming and diving into mathematics. Turns out, with just basic trigonometry and coding, I could recreate nearly any design I had been making—within minutes.

But then I hit a wall. There were patterns I couldn’t recreate with what I knew. As I explored hyperbolic surfaces and the work of mathematician Maryam Mirzakhani, I realized I lacked the necessary understanding of differential geometry, topology, Riemann surfaces, and geodesics to fully grasp her research. Without that foundation, I couldn’t translate my intrigue into meaningful creations. I didn’t just want to make art more efficiently—I wanted to see my designs through a new lens. After all, being a good artist isn’t just about creating; it’s about observing, thinking, and understanding the world in deeper ways.

Two years later, I’m studying math and programming in school, and I feel like I’m slowly getting closer to answering the questions that first sparked my curiosity. I struggle sometimes, spending days on a single problem and feeling completely lost. But when that happens, I remind myself why I love art and math in the first place. That motivation keeps me going.