A Lesson In Loving Your Art

You just finished your work of art and are satisfied enough to call it “done,” but you still poke and prod at it for a couple of hours, or days, before it’s really “done.” Then, someone sees it, congratulates you on all your hard work, and your gut reaction is to say, “Yes, but there’s so much more to do, just look at all of these mistakes!”

Most artists have done this to some extent, myself included. Creating art is a discipline that requires a consistent ebb and flow of criticism and reflection, which often takes the perspective of a harsh critic that can be self-destructive to our own ego and confidence.

While criticism is the bedrock of improvement to any skill, artists have a lot more at stake when it comes to their own work. Art isn’t a skill that’s built on predictable inputs or fixed outcomes, but one that takes years to cultivate. A skill with an emotional tax applied to it. Cherishing incremental improvements for, more often than not, the love of the game. Of course, we become our harshest critics.

We should expect ourselves to perform to our standards, but we should allow ourselves some grace. Creating any art, regardless of medium, is difficult. There should be room for us to take pride in the work we do. When most people see the end product, they don’t see the process, which could take days, months, and even years to complete.

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To create a new perspective, we have to face the problem: we’re too critical. So critical that sometimes, we get frustrated or burnt out, often to the point of putting off art for an extended period. Eventually, we find ourselves right back at the canvas. This frustration of being too critical has an unofficial name. My friend and I call it “the Hate.” That feeling when you look at something you did, and you want to nitpick it. When you see everything wrong with it and feel disempowered. That’s the Hate.

By giving it a name, we can identify when we are feeling it and can begin to unsee it. When you start feeling the Hate, that’s when you take a step back, relax, and give yourself some rest. When you begin to understand this feeling, you are ready to change the way you view your art. Artistic failures can be damaging to our egos, and when you start to feel the Hate, it’s not about your art; it becomes about you.

By identifying the emotion, we can then sublimate that feeling with another one or a thought. The one that has really helped me is: “mistakes make me better.” By reframing my failures as lessons to be learned, I am allowing my mistakes not to be about impotence or disappointment, but building blocks to becoming a better artist. This is helped by the idea that, even with degrees, I am still a student of art, and will be one for the rest of my life. A student’s role is to learn. This is, of course, much easier said than done, and it took me a long time to find this kind of peace; and your path may look different, but it’s one worth traveling.

There needs to be room for joy when creating art. That’s why most of us started this journey; we found joy in our work. Finding joy is just as important as finding our flaws. When we don’t love what we do, do we get anything out of it?