It’s so easy to get swept up by the imposter syndrome. I thought I had it under control but all along it’s always been there, whispering in my ear.
Ever since I decided to start art commissions, the imposter has awoken. Look at you, silly girl with a delusional dream. So you really think that no one will notice that you’re a total noob? You can’t even draw without referencing everything. The other day you had to reference how to draw a neck ffs.
Just earlier I watched a video which was awesome as it addressed real, specific points I should be working on, but meanwhile it reinforced imposter syndrome’s “facts” about how amateurish I am. There is still so much to learn.
And then later I landed on a reddit post where someone was so excited about filling in a page in a coloring book and got all sorts of encouraging feedback. And I had to pause for a moment. The contrast of expectation really got me.
One might scoff at a coloring book achievement just the same way my imposter syndrome scoffs at me. I might not be at the level of professional artists I admire, but I’m way beyond coloring books. All levels of art are valid. Moreover, those artists I admire might have an imposter syndrome of their own. It never leaves us, does it?
We wouldn’t be good at what we do if we didn’t see places to improve. The difference is that failure is supposed to teach us something, not be our lord and master.
Oh hell yeah, you’ve put your finger right on it. I think it was Haruki Murakami who wants all of his early work unpublished because it embarrasses him now that he’s world famous and successful, but those early books sell very well so his publishing house won’t do it. I think every artist feels like that. Back when he first wrote them, he thought they were wonderful and so did his publisher, obviously, or they wouldn’t have printed them. But now he feels like that early author was an imposter.
I remember reading a book years ago on how to tell a good Jackson Pollock painting from a bad one (and other artists too) and it was really just about the colors, the composition and how well the paint spatters grouped together to form an attractive whole. And it was true: the well-composed ones sold the best at auction, while the poorly grouped ones sold for less. Then I’d hear someone in a gallery say, “A child could paint better than that!” and I was like, This painting sold for $2M at Christie’s. Can your child do that?
Jackson Pollock must have felt like an imposter at times too, especially with the kind of criticism he must’ve heard all the time. I imagine every artist in every industry is under the same microscope. Doesn’t matter how talented you are: there will be millions who hate your work; and it doesn’t matter how terrible you are: there will be millions who love it. You just have to find your tribe. (*＾-‘) 乃
The most important thing is that YOU are satisfied with your work, at least to the degree that you’re willing to sell it as it is now. Of course you’re going to keep improving, but that doesn’t reduce the work you did long ago. Our earliest works usually have a rawness and purity of their own that we’ll later try to recapture years from now after we’ve found the formula for success. Our later works may be smoother and more professional, but as long as your early work was honest, then it’s still fabulous–just by a different metric. Hope I’m making some kind of sense. In my head I know what I’m saying, but I suspect it’s not making sense to anyone else. (♯ᴖ.ლ)
I always use the reasoning that it needs as long as it takes to tell the story. It’s up to you how long it ends up. But as you’ve just started, I wouldn’t stress over the entire series yet. I’d recommend to finish the first book’s draft first. By the end, you’ll have a clearer idea. And then another, and another. Unless you’re planning an HP-kind of year by year predictable timeline, can you really accurately estimate the length in the beginning?
You know, I was going through my old keepsake the other day, a notebook with songs from my middle school choir. I used it for all 5 years and left a bunch of doodles, decorations and little drawings in it. Most of it is cringe-worthy, like what you’d expect a child to draw (I was no prodigy ), but then I landed on this drawing of a bird and thought, damn, that’s actually nice.
Ha! Only now it occurred to me. I used a reference for that bird! As contrast, the cringe drawings had no references. I still have the same problem now. Drawing without a reference comes out terrible. It took me to adulthood to learn that it’s my weakness and there’s no point in fighting it.
And to think I could have improved my drawings and gained confidence all the way back then if only I had that revelation earlier. Why didn’t they teach THAT in the art class? Instead, I was left forever feeling mediocre because the images in my head are too abstract.
Using references is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it’s essential to all kinds of art; like when you’re painting a portrait or object or vista! It’s okay to use references — the renaissance masters used em
Nice? It’s freaking awesome! And there’s nothing wrong with using references; like Jojo said, the old masters used them. You know how much their paintings sell for at Christie’s? Zillions! (>‿◠)
), but then I landed on this drawing of a bird and thought, damn, that’s actually nice.
