The University of Hawai'i-Manoa Art Gallery offers its annual presentation of work by master's degree candidates in art and art history, and as I write about "TheArt" (a play on "TheBus"), I want to make clear that this is not so much a review as a reaction. I'm about to tell you how underwhelmed I was as I walked through the exhibition, but I'm aware that this is just my opinion. Maybe "TheArt" will appeal to others, but for whatever reason, I just didn't get it.

Student work exists in the context of that which is studied. Students are asked to show what they've learned, to take risks, to reveal influence, and it seems safe to assume that in a student show, questions of audience need to be considered. For whom and to what purpose is the art created? Are the students conversing with each other? Are they responding to provocations and assignments offered by their professors? As I look at the work, should I position myself as a consumer, a target viewer, an onlooker?

Some of the work is appealing on its own merits, but as I traveled from small painting to large installation to earthwork sculpture to video projection, I sought a coherency that I couldn't find. In the end I felt like I was listening to just one side of a complicated conversation.

What is the principle or stylistic element that links the work? The references to Honolulu's bus system suggest that the common link might be connection to place, as if "TheArt" were to transport me through local cultural identity. I'm not sure, however, that I gained much insight into identity and culture. I saw a compelling work here and a less-interesting one there. I saw a room full of art by a bunch of art students.

If I was confused by the overall aim or organizing principle of the show, I was also befuddled by questions of intent. Usually I think that artistic intention is overrated as a concern for art viewers. Because I can never really tell what an artist was thinking when she or he created the work, all I can really do is respond on my own terms. I can't answer a question like "what did the artist mean?" so I prefer to ask myself, "what does this mean to me?"

When I viewed certain pieces in "TheArt," I had trouble answering my own question. Take, for example, "Couch No. 2" by Dan Carbone. You know those funky chairs, often made from wicker and padding, that look like satellite dishes? Carbone creates a version of this from metal, all oversized and unsittable. The chair looked fun to make, but when I asked myself what it meant to me, my answer came out, "Nothing much." The sculpture was playful, but merely that.

I wanted to like the painting and print work by Dieter Runge. In "Rock and Roll, Pt. 2" 39 he assembles red-and-black woodblock prints to evoke an urban wall covered by posters announcing some upcoming event. In "Who's Afraid of China, Inc?" Runge uses the same color scheme, this time in oil paint, to depict a portrait of Chinese soldiers enveloped by the flags they carry, all deeply Rothko red. The imagery is lively. The colors and the composition suggest some comment, perhaps, on contrasts between artistic statement, advertisement and political speech. As well-constructed as the work is, however, I never figured out what to make of it.

Jean Pitman offered a more successful presentation on the differences between the language of imagery and the language of speech. Pitman paints ceramic plates with black ink, then suspends the plates in a seemingly random pattern. Lightly etched beneath the plates are words that have been crossed out. The figures on the plates replace the language on the wall, and I found myself thinking about differences between visual imagery and speech, between that which is written and that which is shaped.

In two untitled sculptures made of salt and sand, Jason Lowe creates human-made objects out of earth. "Homecoming," Alan Ness's provocative installation using body bags and mirrors, prompted me to think about dichotomy: life and death, peace and war, object and reflection. To my eye these works seemed more focused, more fully realized, than other objects in the show, and thus I was able to think about questions that went beyond simply wondering what the artists were after.

The highlight of "TheArt" is "Coming Soon to a Neighborhood Near You," a digital print by Na'a Makekau. Creating a map of Honolulu from Punchbowl to the University of Hawai'i, Makekau dots the terrain with symbols resembling the Starbucks logo. On each emblem is the face of a man in shadow, and underneath are the words "Registered Sex Offender." The effect of this print is disturbing and evocative. By using the Starbucks logo, Makekau draws links between market penetration and sexual abuse. At once social commentary, research project, provocation and joke, Makekau's image is one of the few objects in the show that expanded my notion of what artists can do.

Timothy Dyke is a teacher at Punahou School.

So, what's with the mystery toilet?

In the courtyard in front of the University of Hawai'i-Manoa Art Gallery entrance, a lady circled a toilet. It was your average commode on a raised tile floor, and underneath it all stood a series of plungers. The toilet was connected to tubes, which led to intimidating machines.

I assumed this was a work of art, and I looked for a title or the name of its creator. Finding no explanation, I asked for information from the man sitting at the front desk of the gallery, but he was reading "Angels & Demons" and didn't want to be bothered.

The lady walked on her way and I walked mine, and eventually we met on one side of the perimeter.

"Um," I mumbled, "What are we looking at?" She just looked at me and shook her head.

"I don't know," she said, with a wry smile. "I don't get this at all."

Days later, I found out the mixed-media work is by Miles Bohas, and it's called "Ala Wai Reverse Osmosis Swim Raft." Mystery solved. Suddenly it all made sense, proving once again, that art works best when viewers are given a bit of context.