Nonrepresentational Art: A Simple Guide to Understanding and Enjoying It

Ever stared at a canvas that looks like a swirl of colour and wondered what on earth the artist was trying to say? That’s nonrepresentational art – a style where the picture doesn’t try to copy any real‑world object. Instead, it plays with shape, line, colour and texture to create a feeling or idea.

Because there’s no recognizable subject, many people assume it’s “just random splashes”. In reality, every brushstroke is a choice, and every colour has a purpose. The goal isn’t to depict a thing, but to let the eye and mind explore pure visual language.

What Nonrepresentational Really Means

The term broke out in the early 1900s when artists like Wassily Kandinsky and Piet Mondrian started ditching the rules of realism. They asked, “What if a painting could talk without showing a tree or a person?” Their work removed all references to the outside world and focused on the internal rhythm of colour and form.

People often mix up nonrepresentational with abstract art. The key difference is that abstract art usually begins with something recognisable – a face, a landscape, a still life – and then distorts it. Nonrepresentational never starts with a recognisable image at all; it’s pure visual invention from the outset.

Because the style is free of narrative, it can feel more honest. There’s no story to tell, only a mood to share. That’s why you’ll see a lot of bold colour fields, geometric grids, and rhythmic patterns in nonrepresentational pieces.

How to Start Appreciating and Creating

The first step is to stop looking for a hidden object. Let your eyes wander across the canvas and notice what catches your attention – a bright red shape, a soft gradient, a sharp line. Ask yourself how those elements make you feel. Does the red feel aggressive? Does a smooth blue wash feel calm?

When you visit a gallery, spend a minute in front of each piece. Close your eyes, take a breath, then open them again. Notice the balance of shapes, the contrast of light and dark, the way colours pulse together. That simple exercise trains your brain to read visual language instead of searching for a story.

If you want to try making your own nonrepresentational work, start with basic supplies – a canvas or thick paper, a set of acrylics or water‑colours, and a few brushes. Pick three colours that speak to you. Instead of painting a scene, experiment with placing those colours in different ways: large blocks, thin lines, overlapping circles.

Don’t worry about “getting it right”. The point is to see what happens when you remove the pressure of realism. You might discover that a certain colour combination energises you, or that a repeated shape creates a soothing rhythm.

Another easy trick is to use music as a prompt. Play a song you love and let its tempo guide your brushstrokes. Fast beats could lead to sharp, jagged marks, while a slow melody might produce soft gradients. This links the visual and auditory worlds, just like the article “What Colour Is Jazz?” shows how sound can be seen.

When you finish, step back and ask: Does this piece feel balanced? Does it hold your eye? If something feels off, adjust the colour balance or add a new shape. Small tweaks can turn a chaotic spread into a harmonious composition.

Finally, share your work or thoughts with others. Talking about why a particular colour feels “warm” or why a line feels “tense” helps solidify your own understanding and opens up new perspectives.

Nonrepresentational art might look odd at first, but once you drop the expectation of a hidden picture, it becomes a playground for pure visual expression. Whether you’re looking at a Mondrian grid or a modern digital splash, you’re experiencing the same language – colour, line, and texture speaking directly to you.

Keep exploring, keep experimenting, and let the canvas become a place where feelings, not objects, take the lead.