Lovely Locks: Painting A Sculpted Mane And Tail

Introduction

Ever since the sculpted mane and tail gained prominence in the early 90s, we’ve been painting away on those lovely locks with a multitude of methods, all successful more or less. And new ways are evolving every year, such as the painterly streaked approach gaining popularity today.

But it’s not easy. In fact, all the different approaches are a testament to how tricky painting hair can be as many different interpretations attempt to make sense out of its very pesky texture and its passive physics. Because if hair is hard to sculpt, it’s even harder to paint convincingly, and it just looks like we’re all still trying to figure it out. I actually hope we never do only because all the different techniques are exciting and cool!

In that spirit then, I’d like to share with you my method. Maybe you’ll pick out aspects that are helpful or maybe get you going along a new route of exploration in your own work. Either which way, let’s get going!…

The Hairy Problem

Yes, hair. Hair hair hair hair hair. Uffdah. This is probably the most difficult texture and feature to sculpt, hands down, and definitely one of the most difficult to paint. All this is due primarily to its passive physics that are chaotic, which is very hard for the human brain to mimic, it's situational, which is prone to contrived regimentation by our pattern-loving brain, and it's highly detailed with all the striations, which are often nitpicky to render. Wrap it all up then, and we have ourselves a bit of a challenging pickle.

As such, some painters simply opt to let the sculpting do the work and paint the mane and tail one flat color, while others use drybrushing or airbrushing to add in soft, generalized striations or color shifts, while still others paint streak-by-streak, heavily shading and highlighting the beautiful folds and forms in a very painterly way…and everything in between all of this.

So to tackle hair, we have to understand exactly what it is, don’t we? To start then, the mane and tail are keratinized strands that are pigmented (with color) or unpigmented (white), depending on the presence of a marking or not. And while color genetics dictate the hair color, some grooming tactics bleach or color it for whatever reasons, so be mindful of that when picking references.

Hair also comes in different textures, often breed-dependent. For instance, Arabians tend to have super-fine, silky hair while drafters can have thicker, coarser hair. As a general tendency, the “hotter the blood,” the finer the hair, which applies to Arabians, Tekes, Marwaris, Kathiawaris, Persian Arabs, and other “thin-skinned” hot bloods. In contrast, the “colder the blood,” the tendency is towards coarser hair. There are exceptions, of course, but just pay attention to texture in field study and in references. What’s more, the tail hair tends to be coarser than the mane, which can be quite fine at times (and some feathers tend to be even finer, depending on the breed. For instance, Shire feathers are rather silky while Brabant feathers are coarser and Friesian feathers are kinda in-between).

Ultimately though, the main goal is to make the hair look like hair: Wispy, striated, complex in tone, shaded and highlighted, layered, and most of all, full of “organic chaos" dictated by passive physics. Always remember that hair has passive movement which can make its configurations truly something to tackle! Movement, posture, wind, and serendipity all have their effects on hair, all of which we have to capture. Zowie! It’s a lot to juggle, and often on rather tricky shapes and textures that have been sculpted in. Ooof. But with certain artistic approaches, this is all doable. For that then, it’s smart to refer to some good references when painting hair if only to jostle loose our brain’s propensity for regimentation caused by its pattern recognition response. Because it’s shockingly easy for our hand to fall too much into a rigid pattern when it comes to painting hair, ultimately reducing the look of organic chaos and leaning more into artificiality. Like the more regimentation kicks in, the more it looks like our hair was painted with a fork, or rather it has evenly spaced striations and tendrils.

For that then, always remember that the mane and tail are comprised of countless tiny strands that all work together to drive home the look of “mane” and “tail.” What’s more, they lay independently, but they also function together as tendrils and clumps, behavior that affects how we have to paint it, too. More still, they can bunch up into twists, "cords," or also “witch’s knots” (also called “fairy knots"), which are happenstance configurations that require special attention. On top of that, the hairs that lay on the top surface tend to be the most sensitive to breezes, but the tips often are as well. 

As for coloration…goodness...the options! Lean into those references big time! Like, we have all the different different colors and tones, then we might have to factor in staining or sun bleaching, then we have the potential colorations of the different layers, then we have to factor in striations plus the interplay of colored hair or white hair if patterns are involved, and finally, we can infuse highlight and shading to punch it all up a notch. Put it altogether and the mane and tail can spin into a lot of complication very quickly. Phew!

We also have to account for volume as different breeds have different degrees of volume in their follicles. For example, Arabians, Tekes, and Marwaris tend towards less volume whereas Friesians, foofy cobs, Shetlands, Dartmoors, some drafters, and even some Morgans tend to have a profuse volume of hair. This affects how a piece is sculpted, and so how we paint it because we’ll have to contend with different textures, but also more or less hair to paint.

On that note, we also need to think in terms of layers much of the time, even if the mane and tail have been brushed out, de-clumping them. In this, different layers can exhibit different tones or coloration which we have to account for, or the different layers can move independently, creating more of an impression of wispiness. If we’re lucky, all this will have been sculpted in to the mane and tail, but if not, we can still fudge it if the formations permit it. For instance, the more generalized and “loose” the sculpting, the more likely we can add in this feature in a painterly way but the more detailed and “tight” the sculpting, the less able we are. In other words, we can allow the sculpting of the mane and tail guide our creative decisions.

But perhaps the biggest takeaway is this: We have to attend to scale as a prime directive, and so it’s important to understand that no brush, pencil, etching, nib, or other tool can actually recreate a single strand of hair even at 1:9 scale. Just think about how teensy tiny that single strand would have to be at that size and, well — we just don’t have the technology to duplicate that (yet). A single hair is just too tiny! So what we actually are painting are strands of hair, clumps of hair, working together to give us the look of wispy hair. This is an important distinction because it'll inform how we paint hair in more effective ways. In this, think instead about painting progressively finer tendrils of hair the more wispy we want to render it, more like this:

• “Micro-tendrils”: A small clump of single strands into a skinny, wispy tendril. In other words, this is the skinniest stroke our brush, nib, or pencil can manage.
• “Macro-tendrils”: Medium-sized clumps of hair that act independently of either the micro or mega tendrils, adding dimension and dynamism. 
• “Mega-tendrils”: The large tendrils that form the basic shapes of the mane and tail as it wisps out towards the ends, or the biggest swatches or "tentacles" of hair.

Of course, those are just generalizations to simplify the ideas as there’s a whole spectrum of everything in-between micro, macro, and mega tendrils. But even so, the main point is that these different types of tendrils behave differently than single strands, which we need to understand. For example, micro-tendrils are heavier than single strands but are the lightest of the three, and so are most prone to being flung round in a breeze. Then macro and mega tendrils are that much heavier and less prone to movement unless physics really warrants it. For another, tendril behavior changes whether brushed out or au naturel. Specifically, they’re more wispy and diffused when washed, de-tangled and brushed out, or they’re “sticker” together the more au naturel they are. That’s to say the more washed and brushed out they are, the more diffused the hues, tones, and white and pigmented hairs tend to be and the more micro-tendrils take over whereas the more “pasture” they are, the more they clump together into macro- and-mega-tendrils. And then there's everything in between due to all the varying circumstances. Pay attention to that in references as that can play into the narrative or movement of the sculpture. On that note, tendrils “stick together” randomly, or that’s to say that hairs of different colors, particularly pigmented hairs and white hairs, don’t segregate, but mix together, an effect we have to account for in our painting if we want to really capture the look of hair, particularly in braided hair. And finally, different degrees of fineness of hair will affect how it clumps and moves. For example, silky Arabian hair can be more prone to wispiness than drafter hair simply due to its finer texture. So overall, think in terms of skinny tendrils rather than skinny hairs, and we have a better chance at nailing the texture.

Now a concern particular to our art form is being adaptive to how the mane and tail are actually sculpted. Each sculptor tackles hair in their own way from either “looser” and more generalized to “tighter," more highly detailed and striated. Or some sculptors sculpt their hair in long continuous strands while others “break them up” more, and everything in between. This is to say, as painters, we're asked to adapt to how the sculpting is actually rendered because our primary job is to flatter the sculpture best, and that often means working with the sculpture rather than against it. This can make our job all the trickier, but this is exactly why having a big toolbox of techniques as options is so important. Indeed, one approach may not work for every sculpture so well, and being able to switch our gears a bit is just the ticket. In that spirit then, let’s get into it!…

Media

I paint my manes and tail in a multi-media approach because I find that each medium has its own bonus that contributes nicely to the overall effect. For that then, I use:

• Acrylic paint: I like Golden Fluid Acrylics and Liquitex Soft Body acrylics.
• Color pencils: I use Primscolor, Derwent, and Faber-Castell. A couple of notes about color pencils though. First, sealants tend to interact with them insofar as pale colors tend to vanish whereas golds, yellows, and ochres tend to become more garish, so color accordingly. Second, the Prismacolors are more waxy and so lay down more intense color but are prone to “bloom,” or cloudiness if applied too thickly. In contrast, the Derwents and Faber-Castells are less waxy and less prone to bloom, but lay down less intense color. So use them accordingly.
• Pastel pencils: Primarily I use The General’s 4414 White Chalk pencil.
• Conté pencils: I mostly use black, rusts, and browns.
• Testor’s Dullcote: As a sealant to reinstill “tooth” and set the pencils before progressing to the next step. Just a light dusting will do, don’t soak the surface.

Tools

Likewise, I use specific tools to apply this media, such as:

• Round brushes: In various sizes, these would have fine points and nice bellies to hold a good reservoir of paint so you don’t have to stop and re-dip your brush to break up a nice, clean continuous line.
• Airbrush: I use the Iwata HPC-BS Eclipse, bottom feeder, my faithful workhorse.
• Pencil sharpener: Use whichever sharpener gives you a fine point because that’s the trick to using the pencils, keeping a pointy point to avoid “chatter” and allow for precision.
• Blender stick: I sometimes use these to burnish the color pencils—gently! If you’re not gentle, you’ll tear up your paintjob.
• Pointed Q-tips: I use these to soften and “set back” the pastel and conté pencils. Just a couple of gentle swipes is enough otherwise you’ll blend all your work away.

Haired Out

So now that we have our media and tools, let’s use them! Now the way I paint my manes and tails is from generalized to detailed in a progression, with some back and forth at the end to make adjustments. Now I'm just going to show you a mane here, but all the ideas and techniques apply to tails and feathers, too. So here we go!…

• First pick the lightest color, or the color of the tips, and paint where your reference indicates, flat and opaque. Be precise and tidy, especially if the tips lay on the body.
• Then pick your darkest color, and paint where your reference suggests, flat and opaque. Again, be tidy and precise, especially if this color lays along the crest. For extra points, don’t paint a straight line along the crest, but paint in tiny spokes, or striations to make it look like it’s growing out naturally.
• Next, pick your medium color and paint that where the reference tells you, again being tidy and blending into both the dark and light colors as streaks rather than blunt chunks. Keep things striated, "spikey," and “hair-like” as possible where the colors meet. Now you have a blank canvas ready for finessing. (Figure 1)
• Now I take the airbrush and carefully paint in blending streaks to marry together the colors better in a softer, diffused manner. I have to be careful not to hit the body and ruin the paintjob though as I work to get in crevices or twists n' turns, so what I sometimes do, if warranted, is to bag the sculpture in a plastic grocery bag or Saran Wrap to mask it out first, or use painter’s tape to create closer masking. I’m pretty precise with the airbrush and I tend to stay away from the tips (which is why we painted our tips the lightest color), especially if they lay on the body, but I may do that masking off just in case if things are really complicated in coloration (then I clean up with acrylic brushwork later). Anyway, so once I’m done, I’m ready for detailing. (Figure 2)
• Dust lightly with Dullcote and let dry.
• Now I use conté (in this case in browns and rusts) and pastel pencils (in this case in white) to make strategic striations if the colors are warranted, softening with a pointed Q-tip in one downward gentle swipe to “set it back” more, so it doesn’t look penciled on. Just be sure to account for the flow and lay of the hair when penciling to stay consistent with the sculpting. You can even add in additional wispy details of micro-tendrils if you wish if the hair is sculpted generalized enough. When done, dust lightly with Dullcote and let dry. (Figure 3)
• It’s color pencil time! I use color pencils a lot for coloring manes and tails and I use different colors for all the variegation, highlighting, and shading. I may augment this with acrylic brushwork if I don’t have the right color for what I need. Again, you need to adapt to the lay of the sculpted mane or tail, but you can add in wispy details of micro-tendrils if the sculpting allows it. As you layer these on, you may need to dust intermittently with Dullcote to reinstate “tooth" to the surface. Use the blender stick to burnish the pencils to set them back into the paintwork more, if you wish. Then once done, dust lightly with Dullcote and let dry. (Figure 4)
• Then I added an airbrushed golden glaze to color the whites more flaxen. (Figure 5)
• Now I make adjustments, using the airbrush to blend and soften and blur, especially the starts and ends of the pencilwork, and add on more painted-on or penciled-on striations to amplify punch, depth, and more detail as the sculpting warrants. Basically what we do here is to diffuse the pencilwork so it "sits back" into the paintwork rather than looking penciled "on top." (Figure 6)
• When done, spray adequately with Dullcote and finito! You should have a beautifully colorized and wispy-looking mane and tail. (Figure 7)

Tips

There’s definitely a knack with this approach but these insights make it easier and produce better outcomes: 

• Practice! This approach definitely is done by "feel," so play around with it on a junker first.
• The airbrush needs a lot of precision and skill to use it without blasting areas of your paintwork on the body. This is where bagging and masking can be helpful if you don’t have this degree of control yet, or if the tendrils lay en masse on the body. Or you could just lean into brushwork or pencilwork more in those areas instead, it’s up to you. 
• Color pencils, and the conté, and pastels in particular, can look artificial and “painted on top” if not set back into the paintwork with blending, especially with blurring their starts and ends. To do that, I lean into the airbrush to blend those portions into the surrounding areas, especially the color pencils, so it all marries together better. But without an airbrush, you can rely more on brushwork and more pencilwork to do that blur for you. Or you could add a layer of oils if you like, if that’s one of your chosen media. Either which way, if that pencilwork isn't "sat back" into the paintwork, it can compromise the illusion of touchable, wispy, silky hair pretty quickly. So don't just lay down the pencilwork and call it a day.
• Pencils don’t always come in the colors you need, right? So just use paint and brushwork to fill that gap. Or another option is to rely on the white pastel pencil to create striations, spray with Dullcote to set it, then use the airbrush to tint the white to the color you need, and that can work like a charm, too. Then just continue with your pencilwork or brushwork as usual. But this is a nifty trick to add a lot of glow to your coloration as the white base really allows a tint to “pop.” 
• Keep those pencils sharp! You want to avoid imprecision, missed areas, or “chatter” and a pointy tip does that for you.
• Work in layers as a lot of back n’ forth work with airbrushing and brushwork and pencilwork lends complexity, glow, and depth. In essence, we don't want to see how the hair was painted per se, just that it's nicely painted.
• The white pastel pencil and white paint can be really helpful for adding wispy blending or detailing to unpigmented portions.
• If there are white unpigmented sections, this is where understanding micro-, macro-, and mega-tendrils really come into play as it blends with the pigmented portions because the blending of the two really highlights striations. We have to recognize brushed-out or pasture-rough textures as well as that will change how we paint the intersections of white and pigmented hairs. In other words, if that hair is really brushed out, that intersection can be more diffused but if it's more au naturel, it can tend to be more sharply defined into tendrils. Either which way, you can use the white pastel pencil to input the white, or you can use paint, or use both, it's up to you. (Figure 8)
• Always go with the flow of the sculpted hair, don’t fight it. However, you can add wispy detailing if you wish, as warranted.
• Think about shading in the deepest crevices and highlight on the highest points, but don’t go too crazy with this as you also have to account for the hair’s actual coloration, too. 
• What’s more, your shade and highlight colors should change as the tones change in the different areas of the hair. In other words, don’t use that dark brown color you used in the rusty portions for the blonde portions. Mix up a new blonde-shading color instead. This will keep the colors clean and clear.
• Paint like you mean it. In other words, your strokes should be bold and confident and not exhibit an imprecise, unsteady hand. Absolute clarity, cleanliness, and precision are key to a well-colorized mane and tail.
• Try to avoid colorizing the mane and tail in “chunks,” but as striations that chunk together, if that makes sense. We don’t want the hair to resemble tentacles, but look like hair.
• You can approach the mane and tail literally in their coloration or painterly with lots of shadings, highlights, and painterly striations. Either way — and everything in-between — works.
• You can paint in a highlighted sheen to the hair if you wish with pencils, conté, pastel pencils, or brushwork.
• If you do brushwork or pencilwork, you have to really commit to it. In other words, don’t just add a few striations and call it a day. That look’s too sparse and unfinished. Really dig in more thoroughly. It looks better and drives home the impression of hair better.
• Brushwork and pencilwork allows you to really play with micro-tendril behavior, so have fun with it if the sculpting allows you to.
• The real trick to this method it getting the pencilwork to not look like pencilwork, and the brushwork not to look like brushwork, and the airbrushwork not to look like airbrushwork. Like if we can immediately see how it was colorized because it’s so simplified in its application, we missed our mark. It should be complex enough to get folks wondering how we did it. That’s how finessed it should look.
• All this works equally well on feathers, mustaches, or long body hair, too.
• If you don't have an airbrush, oils are a good alternative choice for painting and glazing. If you don't use oils, try an acrylic drying retardant to give you more open time.
• If you're working with a black mane and tail, you can still highlight and shade it with grey conté or color pencils, and/or with brushwork incorporating Interference Blue. You can even use the white pastel pencil if you glaze over it with blues or purples as a highlight, or rusts or browns to marry it with the body or for sunburnt coloration.
• If you're painting a white mane and tail, again, you can still shade and highlight it with greys and greiges, and even consider tan or golden tips, especially on the tail, to denote staining.
• The colors you choose for your color pencilwork makes a huge difference...they should be as spot on to your target colors as possible if you can manage it. In other words, don't try to always change the color with glazing (with the exception of the white pencils) unless you can't help it, but pick the right color right off the bat. This allows you to maintain as much of a hint of a striation as possible rather than having to cover it too much with paint trying to change its hue.
• Layer layer layer! That's the secret to this method. So don't expect it to look good in one or two layers. For example, my finished product in Figure 7 was five layers of back and forth work.

Conclusion

Painting a lovely mane and tail does take some doing, but it’s all within our reach with a bit of know-how and practice. And there are many ways to get to a beautiful result, so this is just one of many methods that work equally well. But hopefully this tutorial gave you new ideas to play with, which is one of the benefits of sharing our methods. 

Just be sure to practice a bit with this approach on a junker first as it takes a bit of finessing to get it all married together nicely. But above all, be patient and meticulous. This technique takes time to build up the layers and complexity for it to read well enough, so just work through each step carefully.

So practice, be meticulous and precise, blur and blend, and you’ll be creating gorgeous hair in no time! And this method can be a bit meditative, too, especially the pencilwork. And it’s so cool to see the layers stack on each other so nicely, bringing your hair to life right in front of you eyes! So take what you will from this tutorial and see if you can make it work for you, too. The truth is, this method, while a bit tricky, is also a ton of fun and so applying some of these ideas may help you get really haired out, but in a good way! Indeedy, painting this imposing texture isn't such a hairy proposition as it may first seem! With a bit of practice and know-how, you can be whipping up terrific tresses toot sweet!

“You see things; and you say, ‘Why?’ But I dream things that never were; and I say, ‘Why not’?” – George Bernard Shaw

Lovely Locks: Painting A Sculpted Mane And Tail

The Gift: Bad Art And Why It Matters

 

Introduction

As artists, we get inordinate pressure to create perfectly, both from external pressures and our own internal pressures. This pressure pot compels us to even twist ourselves up in knots, trying to create as perfectly as we possibly can. Which isn’t entirely all bad, of course. Hey, it’s propelled our arts to the pinnacle of achievement that it is today! But it’s not entirely good either, coming with a price, and one we perhaps should rethink paying, at least all the time. Because what if I told you that some of the most important works you’ll ever create are the “bad” ones?

I know, it sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But more times than you think, it’s true! So let’s talk about this curious phenomenon and why it matters for not only our development, but our enjoyment in our arting as well. Let’s go!…

Messy Progress

Our creative progress isn’t a straight line. It has detours, backwards steps, big leaps, loops around, and all manner of skill-building chaos. That’s the nature of learning art. Adding spice to this brew, progress can even come to us completely by accident, through experimentation or even complete failure. How ever it comes to us though, artistic development is a messy business so we need to leave our rigid expectations at the door and stay open to the happenstance lessons each piece presents. 

But here’s the thing: Advancement can only really come if we’re willing to art badly. All breakthroughs come from discovery, intended or not, but that can only happen if we’re courageous enough to to push our skills forward. It’s in the ugly stages, the uncertain, messy phases, and often when we experiment and explore, and especially when we allow ourselves to get it “wrong,” that we stumble upon new possibilities. In short, progress requires risk so we can shove our habits, formulas, expectations, conventions, and perfectionism aside to test the potential of our techniques, media, and aesthetics. As such, we learn far more than method as we come to discover our creative resilience, rekindle our curiosity, and find more confidence in our own Voice. Heck, we may even find our Voice through this process as we lean more into our creative intuition and artistic guts.

So in this role, our bad art is actually the powerhouse that fuels our progress, not the catastrophic flaw that holds us back — but only if we’re paying attention to the lessons. So pay attention! Ask yourself “why?,” “how?,” and “what if?” more often rather than sinking into “I should just quit” despair. Indeed, more times than not, the moment you do quit is the moment you do fail! So unless a piece is a real loss (because sometimes that happens), keep going. Take stock, recalibrate, reassess, and try again. Always try again! Because it’s in the trying again where all our advancements are found so tap into that and you so totally got this!

Unexpected Outcomes

We often set out in our studios to create a piece with the “it” factor, the piece we hope will ignite people’s kudos and sell really well for us. So we may seek to fill empty niches or study market trends, hoping to avoid creating a piece that was a “bad idea” to make. But the funny thing is, the market is the market, collectors are collectors, and everyone is inspired by different things. So the piece that might be a “bad idea” to you may actually be a brilliant one to someone else en masse. That whole beauty and beholder thing. So artist — beware of your predictions! Create instead what original ideas inspire you and then just let the chips fall where they may. That’s more enjoyable for you, and who knows, it may really resonate with a lot of people out there! See, here's the thing: When we create according to our passions rather than a more analytical strategy, we create better and more exciting work that has a better chance at really pinging people's hearts. 

How do I know this? Let me tell you the story of Stormwatch. I created Stormy based on a very powerful inspiration that came to me out of nowhere, complete with narrative backstory to boot. He was fully formed — I just had to make him. But as I sculpted him, I came to believe that he’d never sell. He was just too rugged and rangy, too “out there” in the narrative department. He wasn’t a performance horse and definitely not a conventional halter horse, so I expected people to just consider him ugly and unshowable. But I didn’t care, I created him anyway for my own satisfaction, and I was certainly pleased with how he turned out. However, I wasn’t going to release him as a resin. I was going to keep him as a one-of-a-kind. Why? Because I thought I’d be upside down with his sales and production costs. That I’d just lose too much money even making a mold for him. One thousand dollars for a mold with only a couple sold? Nope! But the Universe spoke through an unexpected conduit: My Mom. Indeed, it was my Mom who advocated for Stormwatch in resin, lobbying hard for his production. She was relentless. She somehow understood what Stormy encapsulated and even offered to pay for his production so I wouldn’t take the loss. I didn’t take her up on that offer, but I did listen to her wisdom, and the rest is history.

So the takeaway is this: Try not to presume what will trigger the community's delight. Not only can you go off-track with what type of work you create — creating for others rather than for yourself — but you can even deny the community of something amazing for little good reason. Don’t think your piece will be popular enough? By what metric do you measure that? So don’t overlook “bad ideas” because there could be a chance that “bad idea” is really a brilliant one! Indeed, many times, that “bad idea” has ended up being a masterpiece for many artists! So dial back those presumptions. Never forget, as Rick Rubin says, “the audience comes last.” Create for yourself first and let the chips fall where they may, without presumption. Who knows what the Universe has in store for your inspirations!

New Growth

If you're going to grow in your skills or bump yourself off an artistic plateau, you have to try new ideas and new ways of doing things. Doubling down on your same old routines, habits, techniques, and formulas won't help you here. They're what got you stuck in the first place, right? So if you don't like what you're producing, you have to change what you're doing. This usually translates into exploring new media, methods, aesthetics, and ideas to jostle your skills loose of the shackles that hold them back. To do that though, you have to be willing to be terrible at something before you get good at it. That's to say, you have to be willing to make very "bad" art before you make new and better art. 

Now granted, this is often easier said than done! It's not so easy to switch our gears, especially when our old modes garnered us a degree of success. It can be really hard to let go of our comfort zones. It can even be intimidating and scary! But if you really want to advance, you have to be willing to shed what's obsolete or outdated, and actively cultivate new artistic growth with fresh new approaches. And — yes — you're probably going to make a lot of "bad" art again with these new methods,  with a lot of mistakes and missteps as you kinda start over. But this is normal and expected, so muscle through it and absorb the lessons because the prize at the end is a whole new horizon for you! 

For instance, after thirty years of steadfastly (stubbornly?) using acrylics to paint, I took some classes and recently switched to oils. Was it daunting? You bet. Was it overwhelming? At times. Did I make bad mistakes? Oh, absolutely! Was it worth it? Monumentally! In fact, I can't believe it took me so long to switch to oils! Because even more, it's been an absolute blast learning as a newb again! Unquestionably, that newb energy is such a wonderful thing, even if you've been at this gig for decades. It imbues a fresh, exciting, wide-eyed energy which you may have forgotten with all your years of experience, so to feel it again is so artistically invigorating! So I took a big gulp and dedicated myself to making "bad" oil paint jobs with the hopeful promise that improvement would surely come with repetition and problem-solving. But had I not been willing to go back to a new starting point to learn something new from scratch — with all the "bad" art that entailed — I would never be in the happy painting place I am now! 

Pressure Release

I frequent a paint n’ sip simply to get out of my head for two hours while still being creative. It’s not my best art, not by a long shot. It’s full of errors, quick brushstrokes, and wonky touches. But that’s not the point. The point is it acts as both a pressure valve and a means to explore another kind of creativity — in this case flatwork — with zero pressure and zero expectations. It’s just fun! Silly, irreverent, low-key fun! Perfection? Not today! And all that's immensely freeing and recalibrating, which swings back to inform my regular work. Honestly, I’ve gotten better at my equine art because of these paint n’ sip sessions by loosening up my sensibilities, pushing the expectations of myself, appreciating happy accidents and serendipities more, and asking for a greater economy of action and decision. Curiously, my newly found oil painting mania has been particularly benefitted from these sessions because oil paints work very differently than my familiar acrylics, and in ways that are more aligned to the paint ’n sip methods. You have to ping value, color, and brushwork, for example, things absolutely critical for oil paintwork. Honestly, you just never know how one artform will inform another!

In other words, the "bad" art of my paint n’ sip work has improved my work across the board, so again, dial back those presumptions! Arting is arting. So that also means that just about any art class could be an unexpected boon for your equine art. Flatwork, beading, glass blowing, watercolors, knitting, quilting, basketweaving…whatevs! Who knows? Really, you just never know what lessons you'll learn that you can apply in your studio! The important bit then is to follow your curiosities and inspirations — no matter where they lead — and see what pans out. So maybe give it a try just to see what could happen! "Bad" art can improve your good art into great art! 

Perfection

This is the truth of things: Perfection doesn't exist. It's an illusion, a delusion, a myth, and a lie. Nothing ever made ever is perfect because we live in an imperfect reality. No one ever has created perfect work nor will perfect work ever be made. It's impossible. Why is that? Because even if something looks perfect to you, someone else will perceive errors in it, and visa versa. So by this measure of ardent perfectionism, all art is "bad" art, right? All of it's a failure because it's all intrinsically imperfect. "Inevitability, Mr. Anderson," said Agent Smith. But that's a dangerous, destructive, and delusional headspace to create from. Why? Because it'll compel you to spin your wheels and veer into overworking, two ways that'll ruin your work faster than anything else. It'll also stunt your growth so effectively because you're too busy perfecting a piece when you should be finishing it and moving onto new lessons. Indeed, when we quit with the perfectionism to instead adopt the Japanese concept of wabi-sabi, not only does our creative journey become a lot more wonderful, but somehow so does our work. This is largely because in doing so, we open our process up to the happy accident more, we create more with our artistic intuition and guts, and we allow that mysterious channel to remain open to allow our inspiration to truly manifest through our hands unimpeded by our egos, mania, fears, negative self-talk, and wonky ideas about what is "perfect" and what isn't as we go. As such, wabi-sabi is the surest path to our best work and our Voice, and it's through our pure Voice where actual, gleaming perfection is to be found, not in the "perfect" line, contour, tone, or toolstrike. That is to say when we create honestly and authentically, that makes our work perfect by definition as it turns out exactly as it was meant to turn out. But when we muddy that up with perfectionism, we poison our process and compromise our Voice, which is why the work of self-proclaimed perfectionists is so often "dead" and overworked, lacking the liveliness and boldness that only comes with Voiceful work. And, likewise, if we truly want to advance our growth exponentially, we've got to dump perfectionism to become more focused on open-minded intent, risk-taking, problem-solving, perseverance, and a willingness to make mistakes. None of that can come though when perfectionism rules the day. You see, perfectionism is simply too rooted in fear and insecurity. In other words, it's not a position of power or empowerment — it's a position of weakness. And when fear intermixes with our creative efforts, there goes our true potential out the window.

So if you call yourself a perfectionist, what you're really telling the world is that you truly don't have a handle on things, that you really don't understand arting. Be careful with that. What you can do instead is to improve your work by creating the best you can at that moment, stretching your sensibilities and skills for that brass ring and persevering through the setbacks, yet know when to call "done" and move on. Because you'll never create perfectly, that's a sure thing. Don't become a Don Quixote chasing those windmills! "Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence," said Vince Lombardi. Bingo. "Have no fear of perfection, you'll never reach it," said Salvador Dali. Spot on. So the point isn't to create perfectly, the point is to stretch yourself to create more boldly and openly than you did before. Start asking "what if" with each new piece rather than beating yourself up with "I must create this perfectly or I will have failed." Great work is the product of devotion, not delusion.

Our Humanity

Here’s the beautiful thing about art: Every piece of art is a miracle, “good” or “bad.” It showcases a moment when a frail, flawed, inspired human being was courageous enough to become vulnerable to the entire world by pulling out of the ether something that’s never existed before. It’s also a very human need to make a connection with others and to seek expression of the self. As Brené Brown observes, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of creativity. To create is to make something that has never existed before. There's nothing more vulnerable than that.” This is always a marvel, a pure representation of our humanity whether or not the art is “good.” In fact, in some ways, it’s in the “bad” art where our humanity is most potent because our drives are so strong, they override our fears to try something new or scary. How wonderful is that? Indeed, “bad” art is a noble pursuit! It builds our gumption and character, revealing moments of enlightenment not only in technique but within ourselves as well. Indeed, it’s in the “bad” art where our progress is to be found, personally and artistically, and this is always something to celebrate!

So don’t knock your "bad" art! Don’t trash talk your mistakes! And definitely don’t indulge negative self-talk because of them. These oopsies are exactly the pathways for improvement, so follow them to their kernel of truth. And above all, always remember how human making art actually is, what a beautiful calling! You are doing something miraculous so always hold that close to your heart, giving yourself grace no matter how your art pans out.

Conclusion

Is there really such a thing as “bad art”? Perhaps not. I believe if it was made with love and emotion, our humanity that yearns for connection, there’s just art…it’s neither good nor bad. Art is art. Why? Because everyone interprets any given piece on their own terms so what may be awful to one person may be brilliant to another. Who’s to say? That’s the wondrous thing about art — it’s everything to everyone, all the time! Indeed, as Andy Warhol advised, “Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.” Right on!

The point though is this: The first person who should love your piece is you. If we fall in love with what we’re working on, even in small part, we’re doing it right. So even if it’s “bad,” we love it all the same. For example, many of my old Vintage Customs could make me cringe, but they don’t. Instead, I recognize them as milestones in my development, made with love and devotion, necessary stepping stones to where I am today. Truly, I love each and every one of them, no matter how wonky some may be. Even better, I know that each of them is loved by someone who enjoys them, that they’ve pinged someone’s heart, and what better reward is there than that? And like the maquettes I make for my oil painting adventures — they’re far from the meticulous customs I made years ago, full of deliberate oversights and little errors. But I don’t care, I love them all the same because I enjoyed their making, their lessons, and the overall result. I created them for myself, for my own enjoyable learning adventures so even though they’re “bad” in comparison to say Orinocco, Trillium, or Sorcha, they’re still good because of what they mean to me. Really, it’s like the macaroni necklace your child made for you — is that not the best thing ever?!

Wrap it all up, and making “bad” art can be very good for you and wholly productive for your ultimate goals. See, the thing is, everything creative you undertake informs you in some way, so the more creative you are — in any direction — the more informed you become and that bodes great things in your studio! But the important bit is to embrace your art — all of it — because each piece is a pure expression of your humanity and deserving of your self-congratulations, even if its a faceplant — especially if it’s a faceplant. Yes, you made that, but that’s just the point — you made something that’s brand new, practicing all the great stuff to make it real in the process. That's such a beautiful, noble endeavor! So just get up, dust yourself off, learn the lesson, and try again, and maybe delightfully surprise yourself along the way! “Bad” art is actually really good magic so don’t knock it! 

So reframe your "bad" art in these new ways and you begin to recognize what a gift it is from the Universe. That being the case, learning to love your “bad” art imbues you with a true freedom and agency available to you no other way, and there are few things that’ll not only bump up your art a notch better than that, but primes you for sustained growth to boot! Truly, you gain a fresh new confidence and courage to pivot, adapt, and stretch that only your “bad” art teaches and that spells one thing in your studio: Better work, increased motivation, and broader horizons! In this way then, your “bad” art is the pathway to great art and greater creative adventures so follow it wherever it leads. Do that and who knows what you’ll find on your journey of discovery, what unexpected gem of insight waits for you! But the only way to find it is through your “bad” art, your surprising gift meant only for you! Open it!

"Art is not made to be received. It is made to be made. There is no bad art, it just is." 

— Unknown

The Gift: Bad Art And Why It Matters