Why is obscurity so tantalizing? In art we find that which is not obvious the most compelling. Compelling in this sense is the force that roots something in our mind, something that lingers beyond our immediate experience of that thing. The experience of obscure things forces us to reckon with their existence as something that we must now fit into our understanding of our life. This desire to have a complete picture is a very fundamental desire in us all, reflected in both our pursuit of scientific progress, and in terrifying questions of life's meaning. In both of these regards, we are forced to reckon with an observation and try to explain it because we cannot live without an answer. An artist is one who understands this force to a great extent, one who is able to bend this desire to their will, and force their audience to reckon with what they have created. The greater the art, the more the audience experiencing it will feel destabilized, as their understanding of what a person is, what exists around them, or what can even exist at all, is forcibly altered. The lingering, the obsession, the continuation of this arts existence takes place in the audience because they cannot write off their experience as trivial, and must now seek again to complete their picture of life.
Some may believe that the heart of a compelling work is the ability for one to escape inside of it, and temporarily cease the weight of one's own life. This view says that in order to allow for this escapism, an artist must create a perfect reality, one that is entirely understandable to the audience, one that is not incommensurable with our illusion of a complete understanding. However, it is that which is imperfect which truly compels us, for only then can something truly ascend beyond being temporary. A perfect work, an honest work, may allow you escape yourself, yet art is able to touch us on a much deeper level, one that forces us to be far more in touch with ourselves. In experiencing the obscure, we confront the limitations of our understanding and adapt them to encompass it. The artist must convince their audience that they are experiencing an impossibility, one that soon becomes reality, one that remains forever ingrained in their self.
An artist may be a poet, a painter, a writer, yet it also may be the designer of their identity. One who has constructed themself with style and artistry is certainly seen as obscure, for they present themselves as an exception, a person who is impossible to be. An artist in this sense is not understandable, because by the 'audiences' preconceived standards they should be unable to exist. In the fashion of those who believe great art to be perfect, those who seek to be compelling may present only a small cohesive sliver of who they are in order to be entirely and perfectly understandable. This is a facade that is constructed to enrapture people, and to convince them of something. An artist who not only develops a style, an identity, but also lives it, presents to people not an agreeable facade, but a reimagination of what a person can be, one that is not easy to be understood.
To be compelling is to create imperfection, to be obscure.