11 reasons not to make art.
And 11 reasons to ignore them.
Do you make art? Why not? So many people tell me so many reasons they don’t, won’t, can’t make art. Let me go over a few and see if they’re reason enough.
“I’m no good at art, so what’s the point?” I get it. Art can feel intimidating, particularly if you’ve never done it before. We go to museums and see the work of amazing artists and think, “I could never do anything like that.”
But we’re comparing ourselves to a small handful of the greatest geniuses in the history of humankind — a hundred men and women out of the tens of billions who have walked the earth. It’s just not a fair comparison. Or a necessary one.
The goal of art isn’t to compete with other artists, dead or alive. It’s to find yourself, to find a way to express who you are. Think of art like your signature, the way that you dress, walk, or speak — things that develop over time until they become natural extensions of who you are.
Nobody else can make art like you. Nobody else can tell a joke like you, swim like you, cook like you, kiss like you, or be a friend like you. Being good isn’t the point. Being you is.
“I don’t have time to make art.” When we think about art, we imagine it’s a major undertaking — classes, supplies, a studio, the whole production. But we don’t need any of that. You can make art in five minutes, in three minutes. A doodle, a sketch. A haiku. The more you do it, the more it becomes second nature, as fast and easy and fun as consuming a TikTok video — and considerably better for you. Making art is an investment in your well-being. Even a short creative break, like a little nap, can refresh you and give you a new perspective on your day.
“Art supplies are expensive.” Some are, it’s true. A single tube of cobalt blue oil paint could cost you $100. But you can make beautiful art with a ballpoint pen you picked up for free. Draw on the back of a credit card statement. Collage with old magazines. Paint on a cardboard box. Gather up leaves, press them in a book, and make something gorgeous. You don’t need to spend a lot of money. You just need to look at the world with a fresh eye and think: what can I make from what I already have?
“I’m set in my ways. I’m too old. It’s too late.” It’s never too late to go on a new adventure. The Hobbit opens with Bilbo Baggins sitting by the fire in his cozy hole with his pipe and his cup of tea, until one day Gandalf shows up and says, let’s go. Bilbo is terrified, but then he sets forth and discovers the world for the first time. That’s what art does. It doesn’t matter whether you first look through that lens as a little kid, when you’re graduating from high school, or when you join the AARP. There’s no time like the present to discover what your true passions are.
“I don’t have anybody to make art with.” There are so many communities off- and online filled with like-minded people. You may live in the middle of nowhere, but there are people waiting for you right on this computer. Sketchbook Skool is a great place to meet others embarking on this adventure.
But you can also make art by yourself and use it as an opportunity for introspection. Sit quietly with a pen and paper and draw something on the table in front of you. Dream up some new ideas. Write a little story about when you were a kid. It’s a great way to be with yourself — and comfortable with yourself. Time that’s just yours.
“I don’t have any talent.” I don’t know quite what talent is, but if it exists, it’s just one small piece of the puzzle. A lot of very famous artists didn’t start out with some innate gift. They dedicated time to working and exploring their passion, discovering and improving their skills, struggling to push past each problem they encountered. You might be frustrated at first, sure you can’t do this — but then one day you’ll have a breakthrough that makes you realize you are, in fact, an artist. I’ve seen it happen to thousands of people just like you and me.
“I’ll never make any money from it.” Yup, it’s true. You may not. I don’t make money from my art. I never have. But I’ve never particularly cared about that. There are plenty of other ways to make money in the world — why does art have to be one of them? Life is full of things worth doing even if you’re not paid to do them. Playing with your dog, hiking a beautiful mountain, eating a sundae, floating on a lake watching fluffy clouds pass overhead. Nobody needs to pay you for those things. They’re just wonderful and make life worth living. Art does too.
“It’s just too hard.” Hard doesn’t mean impossible. Every artist — beginners and professionals alike — struggles along the way. But what’s wonderful about art is there’s no one way to do it. The road twists and turns, which makes it a great opportunity to take risks, make mistakes, and discover something brand new — a breakthrough that comes out of struggle. Each time you try, you learn, you grow, you get better. The struggle is part of what makes it great. Like climbing Everest. Running a marathon. Raising a child. All worth doing, even though they’re hard.
“People will judge my work.” It’s natural to be afraid of that, especially when you’re sharing something as personal as art. But it’s all subjective. What one person loves, another might not understand — and that’s okay. Every piece you create is part of your journey. Don’t let the possibility of a stranger’s judgment stop you from having that experience.
“I’m not creative.” Are you sure? Creativity isn’t just something we do on a canvas or on stage. It’s woven into the fabric of everyday life — the innovative solution you come up with at work, the way you put an outfit together, pull together a meal, tell your kids a story at bedtime. It’s a mindset. And once you allow yourself the freedom to explore, to make mistakes and learn from them, you’ll find it starts to bubble up in unexpected ways. Every one of us has a unique perspective, a unique voice. That in itself is creativity.
“I’m not an artist.” Who says? You don’t need a license or a degree or a sprinkling of magical fairy dust. Art isn’t confined to galleries and museums. It’s in the doodles you make during a phone call, the way you arrange flowers in a vase, the way you tell a story, the way you tie your tie, the way you wear your hat. If you create, you’re an artist in your own right. And if you’ve never tried but are curious — why not start now?
Your pal,
Danny
P.S. I just made a new video for you. I’d be so happy if you’d watch it!
Thank you for the reminder. I have made art all my life and in the early years, it was just for me and brought pure joy. In elementary school, kids would beg me to draw things for them. I was presented with a fine arts plaque at my high school graduation Then I started to pursue art in school. I enjoyed being among others who were creative and making beautiful pieces. The inner critic started to taunt me. Then some of my instructors would sometimes have comments that left me feeling like my art wasn't leveling up. Silly girl, you are hear to learn. Don't take things so personally. But I'd look around and see things people were doing, and the inner critic would tease me relentlessly. I got better. Sometimes, i wasn't having any fun, but I learned skills and honed my abilities. And graduated. Its taken me about 30 years to get back to making art for myself. Im finding that child like joy again, and im making art for me again. The rest will come...or it won't.
I was just reading the 11 Cardinal Excuses Not Making Art and how they apply to me.
• I’m no good at art, so what’s the point?
For me, I guess that happens when I’m depressed or when I’m confronted with a new method or technique. It’s so easy for me to want to give up at the get go. S**t happens even to the best of us.
• I don’t have time to make art.
That’s me all the way. Life gets in the way. And if you could see my dining room table, you would be convinced that it’s true. The only thing I can say to myself is, “Don’t beat yourself up.” It only makes things worse. Things I try to do that help me are to sign up for a class or set some other kind of deadline. A bit of art every day doesn’t work well for me – yet, but it’s something I strive for. The blessing of filling a sketchbook and comparing the first page to the last to see my improvement.
• Art supplies are expensive
Yes, good art supplies are expensive, but I remember someone telling me that a friend’s daughter wanted to learn golf. The teacher was shocked at the condition of the clubs she would be using. He insisted she get a good set of clubs. All it takes is one good brush and a handful of colors. You don’t need a box full of 50 colors, 40 of which you’ll never use. And then there’s play. Anything will work. Number 2 yellow pencil, the other side of used printer paper, ball point. Crayola. Just to have fun with nothing too precious.
• I’m set in my ways, I’m too old. It’s too late.
Eee gad! There’s no excuse for this one. I’m 80 years old. Most of the art most people my age do is sitting down. I don’t think most art beginners are up to the task of sculpting Michelangelo’s ‘David’ or painting the Sistine Chapel. I also tap dance. Have been in a troupe for over 10 years since both my hips were replaced.
• I don’t have anybody to make art with.
There are classes and online groups to share your experiences and learnings with. I join a group every month at a local art museum. We have a lecture-ette featuring the current exhibition. Then we have a chance to make art that relates to what we just saw. It’s great fun, and we get to meet other budding artists and make new friends.
• I don’t have any talent.
I just read a story about a woman who did routine needle craft, a 70-year-old who turned her needle work into art. She recently added painting to her craft. She’s doing beautifully. You may think your cake baking for the local social events is pretty good, but imagine where that baking might take you. Or for that matter, what about that wood working? I’ve seen it on display in museums. Found objects are also a great place to start. Beaches anybody?
• I’ll never make any money from it.
If you want money, become a stock broker. Art is first and foremost, something that fills you up, satisfying your soul. Art is something you enjoy doing, at least most of the time. There are challenges, the outcome doesn’t match the plan. Something goes wrong. But when that wrong something is fixable and something better comes from your work, you win. Big time. Or, art could be a job. A drag. That’s something to think about.
•It’s just too hard.
Anything worth doing is worth doing well. That means yes, sometimes some parts of the art process will be more difficult than others. I have a lot of trouble with mounting hardware. I didn’t put on my first pair of tap shoes until I was in my late 60s. One thing I learned was that some steps and phrases came easy, but the reverse was true for other dancers. Some of my hardest steps took a long time for me to grasp, but were easy for the other gals. We all learn at our own rate. It’s not the straight line to the top. It’s that jagged line – some days are good others not so much – that continues to move upward as you get better that counts.
• People will judge my work
They don’t have to if you make art for you. It’s not as though you’re entering it into an auction house like Sotheby’s or Christie’s. I would even dare to do that. Most of my art goes into those big red envelopes for later perusing. Sometimes I even surprise myself when I see a piece that I hated years ago that now looks kind of good.
• I’m not creative.
That’s the biggest line of bull that I’ve ever heard. Some people are amazingly creative with just a wrench and a car when I’m afraid to look under the hood. And oh, what some people can do with a knife and a strawberry or a carrot! There are so many ways to be creative that do not require paints and brushes or clay or stone.
• I’m not an artist.
Artist is just a title. So is Dachshund or ballerina. It took me the first 70 years of my life to admit that I made art therefore I must be an artist. Before that, I was any number of things. Photographer, graphic designer, writer, editor, etc. The list goes on. Every tax return, a different me.
So anyway, that’s my bit. Some are excuses. My excuses. But over the years of many fits and starts, many failures and successes, I found who I really am. Me, the artist. You can be the artist you are too. Just take that ball point and the back side of a used sheet of printer paper and have a go.