We’re back with Demon Slaying 101, our exploration of some things that can internally plague an artist on an emotional level to make their arting a really difficult experience. So let’s get back at it with Part III…
We may envy those who seem to have the touch of genius we lack, the innate talent that we feel eludes us, yet the truth is artmarking is a really set of learned skills that even the most seemingly gifted individual still has to spend years honing. Honestly, if we speak with our own creative Voice from our heart and guts, we’re already an artist, just one in the rough and that’s polished with training and experience. And how does that come? By pro-active learning, workshops, retreats, and classes, and with the completion of so so soooo many pieces. Oodles of pieces. Pieces coming out of our ears! And mistakes — so many mistakes! Without a doubt, failing greatly and failing forwards are some of our best pathways for progress. So if we’re afraid of making mistakes, become paralyzed by the prospect or spin our wheels trying to chase perfection, we’ve missed the point. We’ve misinterpreted how the arting process works and how the human brain learns because, absolutely, it’s the artist who finishes herds of pieces — with all the mistakes — who’ll rocket ahead of the one who futzes and fiddles trying to get things perfectly right with just a few. It seems counterintuitive, but that’s how perfecting a skillset works.
Come to understand the dichotomy of realities between the artist’s experience and that of the viewer. In other words, our concerns, priorities, and journey will never be the same. Artists make art for their own deeply personal reasons and have their own struggles doing that, but all the viewer will really be concerned with is the finished product and whether they’re moved by it, intrigued or amused by it, repulsed by it, make a bundle off it, or love it. Our job is to create art and the viewer’s job is to respond to it. Now some may care about our journey and love to hear about the process — which is so awesome — but in the end it’s all about the finished product with most, and that’s okay. Indeed, our journey was for us alone. Know it or not, too, but making art is really a solitary endeavor. Sure, we can create our pieces in a crowded room, but in the end, it’s about us in the isolated moment with our piece, with reality siphoning away except for a singular point of concentration. No one will ever exist in that moment with us — we are alone in there, as it should be. Indeed, this can be one of the most beautiful inner spaces in our lives, so nestle in there content knowing that our experience as we art is just as important as that of the viewer as they oogle.
Understand that a lot of our work is actually training us for the creation of the stellar Blue Moon piece that, for mysterious reasons, simply sings loudest. No matter how exceptional our work is otherwise, there will always be those unexpected pieces that just seem to soar higher than the rest of our portfolio. Maybe the planets aligned, maybe our Muse showed up, maybe the laylines harmonized, maybe we tapped a hidden well of uncommon inspiration, maybe we unwittingly struck a cord with the audience — who knows — but it’s a phenomenon with all artists. Just as each of us will create a failure now and again then, so each of us will create a triumph now and again, and often by surprise. Truly then, our failures and “almost theres” are as essential to our progress as our greatest triumphs. In fact, they’re necessary for our greatest triumphs. One can even go so far as to say there's no failure in art, only insight. Sure, it hurts like hell to stumble, to fall short of where we wanted to land. It seriously sucks. It’s also embarrassing, frustrating, confusing, demoralizing, and depressing. But once we pull that out — and it can take time and distance to lift that off — what we have is a goldmine of insights for that Blue Moon piece to be created. Indeed, if we stop because of our pain, that opportunity is gone forever, right? We have to keep going even when things seem awful — we have to give our talent the opportunity to keep trying and learning, and more importantly, to give it the chance to make unexpected magic happen. We have to gut it out. As my buddy Ed Gonzales would say, “Each horse is practice for the next.”
Because — yes — accept that there will be pieces we create that, no matter how hard we tried, simply won’t live up to expectations, ours or otherwise. Every artist — even the most gifted — will have a “bad art day.” That’s just part and parcel of making art. When this happens, it’s so important to show kindness to ourselves because it will feel like a failure, but remember, if it was, it as a necessary one. Trust that at some point, somehow, it’ll show us its vital lesson that will propel us forwards. And just because this happens doesn’t mean we’re a loser or that we’ve lost our touch or any number of other negatives we can inflict on ourselves. It's normal, natural, expected, and a phenomenon that happens to every single artist periodically in their careers. It just happens to be our day. Work through it, learn from it, accept it, and know that it’s proof we’re actually progressing and evolving. Just as importantly too though, understand that when some in the community latch onto that piece and single it out — for whatever reason — it means they just don’t “get” the process of making art and they aren’t even willing to meet us halfway. Really, it’s a worse reflection on them than it could ever be on us and our work. Don’t sweat it — we’ll have the last laugh later.
In the end though, you know what actually makes us a successful artist? Doing the work. Not waiting around for inspiration — doing the work. Not sitting around daydreaming about it — doing the work. Not sketching out or mocking up concept after concept — doing the work. Not reading up on technique upon technique trying to decide which is best — doing the work. And do a lot of it. Over and over and over again. Yes — we’re going to create errors, probably big ones. Yes — we’re going to have to start all over again sometimes. Yes — we’re going to get stuck and confused at times. Yet each of those conditions is an opportunity, an open door, not a failure, not a dead end. This is because the human brain is designed to learn from repeated doing and from making mistakes, so we need to allow it to do just that. As RuPaul said, “You betta work!”
So let’s talk about stopping making our art. We’ve had it with setbacks and disappointments, with feeling unappreciated and ignored, of failure after failure. Here’s the thing though — from the outside, both those artists who’ve stopped and those who keep going share feelings that are virtually indistinguishable. Yes, it’s true. The feelings, experiences, and struggles of all artists are really quite similar because making art entails similar challenges. So why do some stop while some keep going? Well, in a nutshell, those who keep going have learned how not to quit. How? For starters, they’ve learned how to create within the intrinsic discomfort of the artistic reality, the inherent psychological distress our demons introduce into the experience and not because they deny them, but they’ve learned to manage, mute, or manipulate them. They’ve also learned how to stop — to take breaks to regroup or reflect — without ever quitting outright. Maybe they work on other things to later circle back, sometimes decidedly different things. The trick is to keep the creative momentum going even if that means going sideways for a time. In short, they’ve learned how to always “come home,” to quote Elizabeth Gilbert. They’ve realized that the love of making their art is stronger than the pain associated with its failures, and that becomes the fuel for slogging ahead despite it all. What also seems to distinguish those artists is a willingness to challenge their demons; those who challenge their fears continue whereas those who don’t, quit. And each step in the arting process will test that resolve. In a very real sense then, each piece is truly earned.
“Talent is cheap — you have to be obsessed otherwise you are going to give up.”
~ John Baldessari
When it comes to talent, we think of it as something that makes great work come easily, right? Natural geniuses just seem to pull awesomeness out of the ether gracefully and effortlessly like it was magic. But the truth is making art isn’t easy for anyone, all the time. Those who seem gifted just make the struggle appear more seamless and smooth, that’s all. A lot of it, too, is the memory of experience, the knowledge base earned from finishing a lot of different kinds of work which brings with it more confident tool strokes and stronger concepts. But trust me — even natural talents struggle in their own way. So here’s a secret: Talent is cheap. Dirt cheap. Less than a dime a dozen. Honestly, if talent was a prerequisite for great work, that work would have been a snap to materialize, right? Banged out perfectly first try, yes? But betcha it wasn’t. And every artist goes through productive periods and dry spells, leaps ahead and false starts, changes their mind midway, gets frustrated and lost during the process, re-energizes inspiration or becomes demoralized, finds perfect clarity or frustrating confusion, fighting their own demons every step of the way. Every artist, even those who are tremendously popular and successful. And — yes — sure, natural talent does exist and it does make things a bit easier, but it’s not the pre-determiner of success. If it did, all those child prodigies would have turned into Beethovens, Annie Leibovitzs, Van Goghs, and Georgia O’Keeffes, right? The world is full of those with tremendous natural gifts who still fall short or even achieve nothing with that talent whatsoever. So yeah, plenty of people have natural talent but, well…so what? What’s the game changer here then? It’s working on working, on learning from the work, on improving and growing and practicing the discipline needed to progress in our skills. That’s the determiner of success! And the good news is that anyone can do this, natural talent or not. The idea that great artists are these magical Unicorns imbued with god-like gifts is a romantic one, but incomplete. It’s also destructive because it convinces people they’re not suitable for creativity perfectly within their reach. Anyone can make art, and anyone willing to put in the work can make good art, and anyone willing to put in their heart, soul, and guts can make great art. Just remember that art making is never easy so what’s really the important part is how much hard work, dedication, and passion we pour into it that generates our wonderful leaps in ability and concept. So — yes — talent can make it easier but it’s always a bumpy road getting there, and eventually talent will be matched by experience and moxie. What’s more, natural talent can actually make an artist lazy, blasé, or neglectful in the long run because it can turn too much into a crutch of overconfidence. Yet there are those who are hungrier who’ll go shooting past because they’re more apt to really dig in to refine their skills and excel where natural talent left off. The lesson here is: Don’t rely on natural talent and don’t put too much credence in it either. It’s incidental, not the pre-determiner of success. It also doesn’t mean that those “without natural talent” are inherently inferior either. It just means they just have to work a little bit harder to coax out their gifts which actually sets them up for much better habits and attitudes that help them so much throughout their career.
It’s important to have ever-evolving, moving goals. One doesn’t have to be greater than the previous, but they should be diverse and expanding. See, the thing is, if we establish an end all-be all, all-encompassing goal, that’s great and all, but what happens when we reach it? What then? What will our next measure of achievement be? Having big goals is important for making art, yet we have to be careful in how we cultivate them and to stay open to their evolution as we evolve. Truly, what was meaningful last year may no longer be and that’s okay. Truth be told, too, the best goals are deeply personal ones, those that move us as artists on our journey rather than as validation fests or popularity contests. Yet ask this, too — in the absence of viewership, of commentary, of exhibition, of encouragement, would we still create? How many quit simply because the outlet for their work has shifted or evaporated? How many quit when a support system bottoms out for them? On the other hand, how many keep going despite this? This does imply one thing though — art usually likes to be shared, it likes to be seen and seeks to be understood. It’s an interactive, shared experience for the most part. So find conduits to do just that, like supportive ones on social media and likeminded friends and colleagues who can serve as wonderful reservoirs of sharing and support. The point is there are other forms of validation that don’t come with a prize that are enriching and meaningful, too.
It’s helpful to realize that fear can take many forms…procrastination, avoiding deadlines, distraction by the success of others, complaining about materials or methods, overindulgence of social media, and actually anything that keeps us from giving the piece our most is really an avoidance, a manifestation of fear. Yet the call to our art is a high endeavor. It gives meaning and purpose to our life, enriching it with experience and memory. In this big lofty idea then, aren’t our fears more of an annoying distraction than a reflection of reality? The truth is our fears have more to do with what’s going on in our heads than with our actual artworks, that our art is probably much nicer than we believe only we’re wearing self-stabbing glasses every time we look at it. Try learning to take them off every so often.
Have we ever lamented that the idea in our head looks so much better imagined than realized by our hands? Many beginners already accept this since they’re aware their skills aren’t so highly developed yet, but this can be a real pebble in the shoe of more advanced artists who can be plagued by the cascade of frustrations this disconnection can cause. Here’s a secret though: This is totally normal even when we’ve been at this successfully for years. Truly, no matter how talented and experienced we are, what’s in our head can sometimes just be better than what we’ve created with our hands no matter how hard we tried. As it should be though. Our vision should periodically outpace our abilities, sensibilities, and perceptions because it keeps us stretching and reaching for more. Here uncertainty is a positive then, isn’t it? In the not knowing, we challenge ourselves, imagine bigger ambitions and become bolder in our choices. But the thing is, too, every piece is an edited progression in concept from generality to specificity. As David Bayles in the book Art & Fear observes, from the first stroke that could fit onto many pieces to the very last one which could only fit onto that one piece, a finished work is an amalgam of diminishing possibilities as it’s honed to its final state until it can be honed no further and so it’s done. In kind, our frustration between the concept and reality can be a kind of mourning for all those lost possibilities that got cut out in the editing process of creation. Every other form that piece could have been is gone, right? Along those lines, the concept in our head is always like a perfect dream — things just seem inexplicably better in our vision because they’re idealized by the energy of its inspiration. But holding onto that perfection gets harder and harder as the piece transforms into reality, doesn’t it? Add all this up and, oddly enough, the finished piece will often just be a sideways step from the one we envisioned in our heads as it took on a life of its own in creation. This isn’t a failure, this is an inevitable and natural outcome of arting, just a reality of the process. And it’s not such a bad thing, is it? Letting a piece create itself typically leads to stronger work, and learning to let go during the process is often a healthier attitude. Plus, this effect also leaves the door open for a variation within a series, right? And it keeps our imaginations pliable and yearning which feeds into our inspiration and ambition. It may also explain why artists may return to previous concepts to reimagine them.
Like it or not then, uncertainty is part and parcel to making art. Do we have the skills to make this a go? Are we making sound choices? Will people like this piece at all? Heck, will we ever be satisfied with anything we create? The fact is we literally won’t know the outcome until the piece is finally complete. Yet our clay and our paint will only ever do what our hands make them do — they can do nothing other than that. Our materials are simply potential, nothing more. So uncertainty and unpredictability are normal, expected, part of the process again, not a failure. And it’s okay to change our minds at any time! Heck, maybe it’s that curious moment when the reality ends up being better than the concept — go with it! Leave space for the piece to create itself, and curiously enough, great pieces take control very quickly. Actually, in many ways, we’re obliged to allow that to happen despite our own ideas. Sometimes we just have to let go to grab the tail of that magical Blue Moon piece. But the point is that many brilliant pieces were mere moments away from total failure at any point before they were finished. Had the artist not gutted it out and remained determined and open to the possibilities, who knows what pieces would have been scrapped? The creative process always exists on a razor’s edge of improbability.
Likewise, another handy idea is to understand that, ironically, even in our highly controlled, technical art form, a high degree of control isn’t always the best solution to the challenge at hand. Really, the paradox is that if we apply more rigidity to a problem, things can actually spin out of control even more. Instead, relinquishing control, of remaining open and adaptive to happy accidents, new ideas, or changes, of rolling with mistakes and backtracking to start again at any point, and of letting the piece lead the process is usually the strategy that mediates this. Yes, that’s unpredictable, yet it’s those artists who embrace uncertainty, who learn to let go of the tyrant of rigid expectation — of theirs and that of others — who tend to tumble fastest forwards. The chaos of the unknown within the gap between concept and reality isn’t something to be feared and it’s not something to be locked down in a controlling vise either. It’s to be embraced as the energy source, the nucleus of creative potential our piece will draw from to create itself. And that’s a funny thing with the unexpected — we don’t often see our gifts at work because we could have created so instinctively, our conscious mind still hasn’t caught up yet. You know how it is when you create something amazing on autopilot! Or maybe our perception is skewed away from seeing all the things we got right in our finished piece and all the things we got wrong in our Vision. So stay open. Try to resist rigidity in the process of making art. Hard black and white answers aren't necessarily the right ones.
Learn to accept that fear and making art go hand in hand, even with the most experienced and confident artists. It’s handy to know though that fear usually distills into two categories: Fear about our own experience making our art and fear about how our work will be received by others. Inwards fear usually prevents us from doing our best work whereas outwards fear typically prevents us from making the bold, unique choices only we could make, or said another way, from using our own Voice fully and confidently. We’re going to fight on two fronts — that’s just the way of it. We can tell our selves to ignore the bombs coming from all sides then, but the truth is no artist is fully capable of that. Oh, we can con ourselves into thinking we’re immune for a time, but in the end, it all impacts us on some level to compound deep down. So instead of denying that energy, morph the fear into a challenge and an insight to get ahead of it. For instance, accept that our anxieties in part help us become more thoughtful and conscientious artists by keeping us open to the lessons of experience, emotion, innovation, and inspiration. Indeed, without that sensitivity, our work can stagnate rather quickly out of false confidence. On the other hand, if we worry about how others will react to our piece, try to focus on validations that come from within. What are we enjoying about our process? Are there particular aspects of our piece we really like? What sort of new things are we learning? What kind of triumph did we win on this piece? Is the inspiration fueling this piece especially fun to channel? And every once and awhile, sit back and marvel at the fact that we’re pulling this thing out of the ether that never existed before — we’re doing this — and isn't that wonderful? Don’t forget to leave room for all the amazingness we’re doing because it’s okay — in fact it’s really beneficial — to pat ourselves on the back every so often.
On that note, it’s incredibly important to realize that the concept of perfection is a dangerous trap. The typical idea most folks have is that good work is perfect work, right? But here’s the kicker — all human-made work is imperfect because humans are imperfect. The idea that perfection is achieved by creating a flawless piece then is ignoring the fact that this would disqualify even the most highly esteemed artists and art works. Truly, all work is flawed, even that by exquisitely gifted geniuses. And when we’re talking about our highly technical art form, the chance for error is to be expected — so be it. It is what it is. Yet it’s a nice lofty goal that keeps us stretching and that’s fantastic! An unreachable, pinnacle grail keeps things lively! But that’s just it, right? Keep it as a tool, a mechanism for learning, a means to an end rather than the end-all itself. Indeed, being able to let go of perfection — even in our technical genre — is so critical on so many levels! This is because perfection can stunt our development by compelling us to putter on a piece, never finishing to move onto the next. Perfectionism also generates an inevitable cycle of procrastination because not creating means not making mistakes, right? It’s avoidance. Perfection is also immensely intimidating, isn’t it? It can demoralize or paralyze an artist even before they begin! And there’s only one place to go with all this, isn’t there? Yes — not making art. But setting that heady goal of perfection isn’t the whole problem in itself as it’s also the unforgiveness we show ourselves when we fall short. We gotta stop doing that! It’s important to give ourselves room to be human. In this we should also fully understand this reality: Before we get good at something, we’re going to be awful at it. Isn’t that fantastic?! So much room for growth and discovery! We should also celebrate the fact that — yes — we’re going to make very public mistakes. People are going to see the blunders we create, there’ll be no hiding them. Yet this isn’t something to be horrified over and avoid or hide. It’s to be fully embraced without shame or reservation! Why? Well, it means we’re “showing up,” we’re doing something incredible and creating something that’s never existed before, and we’re trying our best, pouring our love into this wonderful thing. If anyone takes issue with that — hey — the problem is theirs and, boy, does that reflect badly on them! Take pride in our effort and even more in the journey we’ve started — it’s a brilliant thing! Now this isn’t to say we willy-nilly all the technical things in realism because we can’t — we have rules to follow. But even so, we do have to accept our human foibles as a counterbalance to this relentless taskmaster. Because there’s this as well — it’s around our imperfections where our humanity is to be found, too, the very thing we need most to create our work in the first place. In addition to all this, one thing to remind ourselves of often is that errors keep us hungry and evolving, keep our art form innovating and advancing, keep our expectations energized and curious, and push our dreams and inspirations past boundaries. Flaws are really our guides then, aren’t they? They point the way, mark the path, and show us the next horizon. Learn to embrace mistakes and we start to chip away at the paralysis of perfection to find new creative traction. This is difficult to accept — yes — but it’s precisely those who embrace imperfection who evolve, progress, and achieve so much.
Now diving off from that, think about this…our ego. Look, we all have an ego. All of us. It’s just a function of the human psyche. So rather than deny it or try to carve it out, use it. Put it to work! Because here’s the thing, if we lash that ego onto something so ideal it’s a problem, even ultimately unattainable — like always having being to be right or always creating perfection — we’re going to run smack dab into a wall pretty quickly. It’s just going to end our joy in short order, and even paralyze us, make us miss opportunities, distort our thinking, and maybe threaten our relationships and professional ties. It’s just a bad place to be. So instead, tie our ego to something constructive and empowering like being a learner, a perpetual student who literally knows nothing and so stays open to new lessons — all the time. Even if we know tons already, stay a learner. The fact of the matter is that the only one who knows everything about equines and their structure and colors and patterns — and all the possibilities and potentials — is Nature itself, and it always has the last word. So let that need go. Just let it go. It does nothing but shut us off from potential. In contrast, staying a learner keeps pace with Nature though quite a few strides back. But that’s good, right? Otherwise, there’d be nothing new to learn! Staying a learner also accepts that failure is a part of the process and so contains within it the power to make strategic decisions that will clear new paths for us. Anyway, point being what we tie our ego onto will pre-determine our outcome, even our entire life, so try to more consciously direct it to things that serve our goals better than simply blindly following it. On that note, also try not to ego-shame others. We’re all our own journey of self-discovery through our art, and their art hasn’t gotten to that lesson yet. Instead then, try to show compassion as a guide when possible so they can eventually release themselves from the grasping clutches of a misdirected ego. But they have to come to it on their own terms so let them walk that path in their own way.
Also try to embrace this reality: Artistic confidence isn’t an end-all outcome, that once we have it, we’ll be creating amazing work. That’s not how it works. Rather, confidence is a tool, a way, a practice we use to keep us going through our mistakes and detours. It’s our foundation that shores us up when it all comes crashing down. Really, if we have a solid foundation, we just rebuild, right? Confidence is also our foundation for education and exploration because with it, we can let go of old information to make room for the new, we can evolve without fearful reactions. In other words, confidence helps us to manage our fears so much better by not only counterbalancing them outright, but by helping us manage our fear-driven outbursts because despite it all, we’re all going to have periodic outbursts, we’re human. In this, confidence will help us straighten up, take a deep breath, lock our eyes on the prize, and take one more step forwards. Smoosh it all together then, it’s through confidence we build competence and through competence we achieve our goals. How do we build confidence then? We do the work. We work on working. And ruminate on all the points discussed in this blog series because, in all honestly, it’s really about how to build our artistic confidence even in the presence of bitter demons who try to break it apart. So deep breath, now…
With that, think about this: When your brain tells you to give up, when you’ve had enough and want to quit, I want you to do just one thing. Just one. Try one more time. Breakthroughs do happen, miracles can happen, enlightenment will happen…with one more time. I know what it’s like, truly I do. In fact, Stormwatch was almost scrapped for just this reason and had I not tried one more time, he would’t exist. So deep breath and just one more time.
Let’s end Part III here. We’ll come back in Part IV with more coping insights and observations that can help us compartmentalize these struggles in a way that can actually turn the negatives into positives. So until next time…straighten up, breath deep, eyes forward, and happy slaying!
“Creativity takes courage.” ~ Henri Matisse
