The good work is waiting
On being wrong and why it's actually a good thing.
I’ve always been scared to be wrong, whatever the hell that means.
I’m driven to seek what’s considered right, finding the moral high ground in any given situation and scrambling to occupy it as quickly as possible. The binary of good and bad / right and wrong has pervaded my psyche for the entirety of my life; it’s something I struggle with in my relationships and in my interactions with my surroundings, fixating so much on seeing situations through a black and white lens I have a hard time allowing the gray haze of humanity to permeate my perspective.
I’ve allowed my feeling restricted by this ideal to define me in many ways — and I’m ready for a change.
The desire to go about life “correctly” goes hand in hand with the idea of proof of practice I’m exploring in my studio via this Substack.
It’s easy as an artist to be consumed by imposter syndrome, especially as we interact in online spaces that make everyone else’s creative journeys look like they’re constituted of 100% successful experiences and 0% failed attempts. Pair that fictional reality with my raging unmedicated ADHD, and it turns out you get a shit load of mental paralysis in the studio.
End result: I am endlessly inspired and simultaneously have zero work to show for it.
I could dress that up as letting good ideas marinate, but in reality it is a lack of practice due to my fear of doing it “wrong” or creating “bad” work. The scariest part of having new ideas in the studio is the idea of getting them down on paper only to find out they work better in your head.
But you know what?
The only way to create good work is to create a lot of bad work in the process.
In a world that encourages mindless production over the thoughtful application of ideas — a concept only exacerbated by the black hole that is our consumption of content on social media — it can be hard to feel like there is room for play and exploration (read: making a lot of “bad” work) within my creative career. I get so wrapped up in anxiety around wasting time experimenting instead of creating what I know will sell that I completely freeze, consigning what could be brilliant ideas forever to my notes app.
But what even is “wasted time” when it comes to experimenting in my creative practice? It stands to reason that there is no such thing — and this is where I invite you to join me in the experience of being wrong.
The sunk cost fallacy comes to mind at this point in the conversation. In case you don’t know what it is, I looked it up for you because providing a definition in my own words felt daunting. Here’s what Google said:
sunk cost fallacy:
the phenomenon whereby a person is reluctant to abandon a strategy or course of action because they have invested heavily in it, even when it is clear that abandonment would be more beneficial.
I often hesitate to change my way of navigating the world on the pretense that it will be more difficult to adjust to something new than to maintain my current way of doing things, despite any inefficiency or impracticality that’s entailed, simply because it’s how I’ve always done it (Virgo sun / Taurus moon really working hard here in the stubbornness department LOL).
But growth requires evolution regardless of the sunk cost, and evolution requires the formation of a habit or — you called it — practice. And that can be uncomfortable!
Practice demands imperfection as part of the process of improvement. Therefore, sometimes artwork is destined for the trash can. Maybe I’ll buy a paper shredder so the death of bad work can have a little drama to it. A little flair! Perhaps its destruction deserves celebration, as that mark of failure is something to be exalted.
Sometimes you’ve gotta wade through the shit to get to the gold mine.
Work that doesn’t work lays a foundation, like dating a bunch of terrible men and then meeting one who can cook AND knows where the vacuum cleaner is (iykyk). When you know exactly what you don’t want, it makes clarity around what you do want so much easier to access. That clarity is a driving force behind more effective creative decisions, allowing your work a stronger voice and providing better avenues for the viewer’s connection to the soul of the piece.
Sometimes being wrong is the best thing you can be. There’s something freeing about ripping up a scribbled-on page or gesso-ing over an old painting to start fresh, letting go of bad ideas and making room for new and better ones. I learn from every piece of art we make, whether it was a masterpiece of a success or a profound failure. Ultimately, the most I can do to honor my creative journey is to keep making!
I hope this year I have the confidence to embrace my bad ideas in earnest, just as I embrace any stepping stone in my creative journey. After all, the good work is waiting, and it will take all the bad work I can make to get there.
Couldn't relate to this more. I always was told to experiment and create the "bad art" and I always really struggled to understand that. Like, I don't have time to create bad art! I need to sell and create art that people want! But about a year ago, I painted some really bad art. I mean - i liked it? ha but like now looking at it - it has no focal point, it was abstract and I couldn't explain it at all, nor could I get excited to paint on it. I was just going nowhere with these few paintings. But now after coming through that shit hole of bad art, I see why making the shitty art is so important for growth. I had to step away from my studio for 1 whole week and start from the ground up. Once I did that, I really started to paint what was true to me, then it just kinda started flowing. But getting there is. so. hard. And no one tells you this in art school. Or like, in the art world? Like you said all you see is the success of people who sell out immediately or get the podcast interviews or the magazine spreads.
Being an artist is so bizarre sometimes. And it's a lot more mental than I thought when I told myself "this'll be great to go full time!" Little did I know the mental toll it takes on your whole being. Like sometimes I feel on top of the world and sometimes I want to throw in the towel. So all this to say.... I feel you. Don't stop painting. It's about the long journey, not a quick trip.
My art mantra each day when I feel down or I'm not selling fast enough or late to the professional art party: I'm on my own journey, I'm on my own path. Hang in there gal! <3
After many years of working at various things, I've really only just discovered that I'm like this too. I came back to full time painting over 15 years ago and it seems it's taken me this long to see that I'm doing it with painting too, and it's been completely unconscious. I find that I'm a weird mix of being very bullish about just making the way I'd do and not being ashamed of the results of my process and now, recently acknowledged, realising that nothing has ever been good enough for me. Not for anyone else (fuck you, this is what I do etc), but for me. Like I had some unconscious grand plan and everything fell short of that.... Making 'bad' work, by my own standards, has been psychologically almost unbearable... Thanks for your post!