Imagine you and a friend are  strolling through an art exhibit and a striking painting catches your eye. The vibrant red appears to you  as a symbol of love, but your friend is convinced  it's a symbol of war. And where you see stars in a romantic sky, your friend interprets global  warming-inducing pollutants. To settle the debate, you turn to the internet, where you read that the painting is a replica of  the artist's first-grade art project: Red was her favorite color  and the silver dots are fairies. You now know the exact intentions  that led to the creation of this work. Are you wrong to have enjoyed it  as something the artist didn’t intend? Do you enjoy it less now  that you know the truth? Just how much should  the artist's intention affect your interpretation  of the painting? It's a question that's been tossed around by philosophers and art critics for  decades, with no consensus in sight. In the mid-20th century, literary critic W.K. Wimsatt and  philosopher Monroe Beardsley argued that artistic  intention was irrelevant. They called this the Intentional Fallacy: the belief that valuing an artist's  intentions was misguided. Their argument was twofold: First, the artists we study are  no longer living, never recorded their intentions, or are simply unavailable to answer  questions about their work. Second, even if there were a bounty  of relevant information, Wimsatt and Beardsley believed it would distract us from the  qualities of the work itself. They compared art to a dessert: When you taste a pudding, the chef's intentions don't affect whether you enjoy its flavor or texture. All that matters, they said,  is that the pudding "works." Of course, what "works" for one person  might not "work" for another. And since different interpretations  appeal to different people, the silver dots in our painting could be  reasonably interpreted as fairies, stars, or pollutants. By Wimsatt and Beardsley's logic, the artist's interpretation of her own work would just be one among many equally acceptable possibilities. If you find this problematic, you might be more in line with Steven  Knapp and Walter Benn Michaels, two literary theorists who rejected the Intentional Fallacy. They argued that an artist's  intended meaning was not just one possible interpretation, but the only possible interpretation. For example, suppose you're  walking along a beach and come across a series of marks in the  sand that spell out a verse of poetry. Knapp and Michaels believed the  poem would lose all meaning if you discovered these marks were not  the work of a human being, but an odd coincidence  produced by the waves. They believed an intentional creator is what makes the poem subject to  understanding at all. Other thinkers advocate for  a middle ground, suggesting that intention is just one  piece in a larger puzzle. Contemporary philosopher Noel Carroll  took this stance, arguing that an artist's intentions are  relevant to their audience the same way a speaker's intentions are relevant to the person they’re  engaging in conversation. To understand how intentions function  in conversation, Carroll said to imagine someone holding a cigarette and asking for a match. You respond by handing them a lighter, gathering that their motivation is to  light their cigarette. The words they used to ask the question  are important, but the intentions behind the question  dictate your understanding and ultimately, your response. So which end of this spectrum  do you lean towards? Do you, like Wimsatt and Beardsley,  believe that when it comes to art, the proof should be in the pudding? Or do you think that an artist's plans  and motivations for their work affect its meaning? Artistic interpretation is a complex web that will probably never offer  a definitive answer.