What to Do When You Feel Like Giving Up on Your Art

I received this message from a fellow artist:

I’ve been illustrating for 10 years and am struggling with some pretty big creative road blocks right now. Your site popped up on a business side of illustration search because I feel like even if I have no motivation to pick up a pencil - apple of course - I can still be studying which makes me feel like I’m not completely wasting my efforts. Your story and posts are very helpful. Still not sure where I belong in the creative world but reading that I’m not the only one going through the struggle at different points helps a lot.

Gosh, that message hit me like a ton of bricks, because I hear myself in their words. I immediately wanted to give this artist a hug. I’m not going to reveal their name, because this is all of us. If any of you feel this way too, you are not alone.

I truly believe art cures depression. The lowest points of my life have been when I’ve stopped making things. I also believe art can cause depression. There’s a dark side to creating, and art can become a great source of pain if we let it. The tortured artist stereotype exists for a reason. Sometimes, art can literally feel like torture.

I’ve worked my entire adult life to get off the roller coaster of highs and lows that plague artists. One second you’re making the best art ever. You’re in a flow state, and the world seems full of possibility. Then, out of the blue, you’ve lost it. You’re disgusted with everything you’re making. Was your art ever good in the first place? In times like these, life gets tougher. Unfortunately, these emotions never stay in your studio. You take them with you into the world. It can change how you experience life. What I’m describing sounds manic, right? Well, with art, it’s just part of the deal.

What no one tells you is that the highs are often short lived, but the lows can last for years - especially if you don’t deal with them right away. You can’t stop the ups and downs, but you can hope for a smoother ride. That’s what I aim for these days, and it works for me. I’ve been making art regularly for 7 years, and I’ve developed my own tactics for dealing with these struggles. By sharing my methods, I hope you get through dark times quicker and that you feel less alone.

First off, when I’m riding an art high, I’m always skeptical. I lean into these times by making a lot of work, but I’m careful what I tell myself. Phrases like “I’m finally onto something” or “I’ve finally gotten good” are dangerous. These imply that you were bad before, or that you will never hit a low again. There will always be another low, no matter how good you get. Instead, what I tell myself is, “I feel like making art right now, so I’m going to take advantage for however long it lasts.”

The lows are a different story. When I’m feeling low, I try to get to the root of it. Why am I not connected to my work? How can I get out of this low faster than I did last time?

Sometimes, the problem is simply that I don’t know what to paint. In this instance, I experience feelings of boredom and disinterest (rather than deep self-loathing). This is when I need to step away from my work and go out in the world. I need new ideas. Traveling, museums, or even watching a cool documentary usually works. The more new experiences, the better. In this case, I give myself permission to step away from my art. I know I’ll come back swinging soon.

Sometimes, the low is much deeper. When I’m experiencing intense negative feelings, it usually comes from an expected outcome I’m not getting. I should be making more money from my art. I should be famous by now. I should be better by now. I should have more people interested in my work. Usually, several of these hit me at once, ultimately proving I’m a failure. When I asked you all on Instagram what your biggest struggle is, you said “imposter syndrome,” aka feeling like your art should be better by now.

When these deep lows happen, I must remember why I started making art in the first place. For me, art is meditation. It’s the thing I do where hours can go by and I don’t even realize time is passing. I truly enjoy the process of brush to paper. I look forward to making art. It gives me purpose, and makes my life meaningful. My secondary ‘why’ is to inspire others to make things, and find joy in creating. It’s about reconnecting with our inner child. When we were kids, we didn’t care about outcomes. We just lived in the moment. I believe the more connected we are to our inner child, the happier our lives. By that logic, art spreads happiness like wildfire.

Once I reconnect with my purpose for making art, I make an effort to fall in love with the process again. At some point, I forgot art was fun. When this happens, I don’t let myself step away from the work. If I do, it will be impossible to return.

Instead, I get out of the public eye, and don’t let people see what I’m making for a while. I cut off my exposure to other artists’ work, which only enhances my feelings of inadequacy. This is the best way to beat imposter syndrome. I cancel social commitments to hole up in my studio and play. Even if it’s just turning on some music and playing with colors. I don’t make full paintings, and the art doesn’t have to be good. I just play as much as I can. Sometimes, I visit the art store, and spend hours browsing new supplies. I get excited to come home and try what I bought. Sometimes it’s sketching on my iPad while watching a great TV show. Sometimes a class helps. Sometimes a Zoom painting night with a friend helps. Sometimes I just study new techniques, as my fellow artist mentioned above.

Usually one or several of these things work. I just keep trying, until I fall in love with my art again. The point of all these tactics is to realize you have all the time in the world, as some of you wisely pointed out on Instagram. You are on your own timeline, and there is a unique plan for all of us. Art is not a destination, but a practice.

I still get lows these days, but they aren’t as low as they used to be. As artists, we put so much pressure on ourselves to be great. We forget why we started creating in the first place. I’ve had to be careful with how I make money from my art. It’s been a slow, delicate balance of only taking on work that really interests me.

I believe if we truly love something and connect to our purpose, great things will come. They just may not arrive how and when we expect. The only thing we can control is how much we enjoy the ride.