On Doubt and Creative Block

I was asked the following by a Patron:

“I suppose a helpful subject you might be able to speak about would be any hacks, tips, practices (or hell even affirmations) you might have employed previously to persevere when self-doubt or uncertainty creeps up.

(I am of course assuming you have, on occasion, dealt with such. Maybe you haven't? But I suspect long-standing professionals such as yourself don't just pop-up without some challenges.)”

Oh I assure you, self-doubt and uncertainty is a constant in any creative person’s life, even a long-standing professional. In fact, in my experience it is a universal truth that the more talented and exceptional the artist, the more intense their battles with self-doubt are. Strangely it is only the artists I’ve known who are not very good at their craft that seem to have the strongest confidence in it.

Weirdly, I find that insecurity can actually be a powerful motivator, and I do think that a certain amount of it is necessary. But it is a delicate balance - too much insecurity and doubt can make you feel like you will never be able to meet the challenge ahead, and increase the likelihood that you will procrastinate, avoid, or quit entirely. An excess of confidence means that you will likely never grow or progress. You have to find that spot in the middle where you know that you are capable, but are not yet satisfied and want to push yourself to improve.

Truthfully I think I’ve spent a long time in the zone of too much insecurity. When I was starting out in my career, I was so paralyzed by the fear of making a mistake or not appearing “good enough” that I would obsessively redraw pages several times, using a light box to trace and correct whatever perceived flaws they contained (flaws that were almost always unseen by anyone else, or deemed unimportant enough to worry about). Friends and colleagues would look at my multiple revisions and tell me that I was crazy, that I should leave the drawings as they were and not try to fix them so much. Looking back on it, I think that they were right - aside from working myself to exhaustion and sacrificing a lot of social life by drawing the same pages over and over while trying to hit a deadline, I was also far too preoccupied with trying to make everything look “perfect” and in the process of drawing multiple revisions, I robbed the work of the energy and spontaneity of the initial versions. I wonder how much further along in my artistic development I would be had I not been so plagued with so much insecurity. But, the process is what it is, and everyone walks the path at a different pace.

I do still get hit with periods of drought, when it feels like nothing I do feels right, no idea is interesting, no drawing is satisfying, the lines feel “off” or even if it’s technically well-executed it’s just lacking the special electricity that I feel when a drawing goes well. And I usually go through the same cycle whenever that happens - at first I am frustrated with myself, and I feel the same way I do when I impatiently watch my elderly mother fumble through using an app on her phone. “Come ON, this should be so simple! Gah!” Then I start to feel the anxiety that whatever ability I once had was a finite resource that is now fully depleted. And then I have the depression, the knowledge that I am suffering, alone and talentless, while other better artists pump out genius at will.

These are of course exaggerations, lies that my anxious brain delivers me. But I have learned from talking to other artists that so many of us experience these same feelings, doubts and frustrations. It’s a normal part of the creative experience, and one can’t be firing on all cylinders all the time. One of the many negative effects of being on social media is seeing a seemingly endless stream of beautiful art produced by others, and assuming that all of it was created effortlessly and without struggle. But of course we only share our best selves and our best work, no one puts up all the failures for everyone to see.

So the first step to overcoming these periods of doubt is by far the most important one, and that is to be kind and forgiving to yourself (it has admittedly taken me years of therapy to deal with this very specific problem and it’s still not fully resolved). Accept that you aren’t perfect; that struggle is universal; that failure is part of the process; that ebb and flow of creative energy happens to everyone; that every artist feels like other artists are better; that even when you feel at your worst creatively, to some people your art is an act of jaw-dropping magic.

And then let yourself off the hook. When I am really struggling, instead of getting frustrated and worked up, I just….stop. I take a moment and remind myself that these periods are cyclical, and that in the past I have known with absolute unwavering certainty that I would never ever do another good drawing again…and a short while later I drew something I was really proud of. I always get past it, even when I think I won’t. But impatiently pushing yourself rarely helps, so I will often take the rest of the day off from drawing (Sometimes I’m on a deadline, and in this case there’s usually two routes - one is that I will simply ask for extra time. If that isn’t possible then I will just try to do my best and remind myself that at the end of the day it’s only a drawing and not a measure of my self-worth). Also - get some rest!

There are several things that I will do in order to get myself motivated again. The first is to look at art - paintings, drawings, movies, photographs, whatever - that excites me, or has excited me in the past. I look for the qualities that inspire, the things that make me feel that need to make something similar. Usually when I look at the work of artists, photographers or filmmakers I love, it stokes the fire. One of the things that I find really illuminating is to look at work that I love by other artists, and notice the “flaws” - sometimes in the work of greats I will see drawing that is far looser and sloppier than I would probably allow myself to be. Recently I went to an art gallery here in Berlin to see an exhibition of Gustav Klimt drawings and paintings, and on close examination I would see how shaky and uneven some of his lines were. Similarly, I will often look through Frank Miller and Klaus Janson’s Dark Knight Returns and look at how many of the drawings in that book, which have been burned into my brain since childhood, are actually quite scribbly and messy. And yet, it remains a favorite work of mine. Seeing these “mistakes” gives me the understanding that they don’t really matter at all, that it’s the bigger picture that matters, and that allows me to remove some of the pressure of perfection from myself.

Another good technique is to try to draw something without trying to make it into something that ever has to be seen by anyone. Usually when we make art, it is with the unspoken assumption that the final result will be shown to others, and usually with the hope that it will be judged well. There is often the need to impress baked into the work. A great number of the drawings that I’ve done, I started with the knowledge that within minutes of completion they would be shared on social media for attention. But what if you tried to draw something and deliberately not show it to anyone? Free from the expectation of anyone ever looking at it, you’re maybe far less critical of yourself, more open to experiment, less worried about whether it’s good enough for others approval. Make a promise that it’s for your eyes only, keep a private sketchbook like a journal. I have often done this with writing, using the “morning pages” technique of writing 3 full pages in longhand without stopping, as quickly and uncritically as possible, and then when finished never looking at them again. Doing that as a habitual practice teaches you that the process does not always need to end with a finished, polished work, and helps get you comfortable with being looser and freer.

Another thing that I will sometimes do is to look at older work of mine. I often cringe looking back at earlier work, I see all of my inexperience laid bare and all the wonky drawings I wish I could go back and fix - but this is actually a good sign. Seeing the mistakes and weaknesses in drawings that I was previously comfortable with is a clear indicator that I have improved. Of course I wish that a lot of it wasn’t in print, ready for someone to discover now, but that’s out of my control. I just try to remind myself that if I can recognize the ways I have improved, then I am on the right path. As long as you are better today than you were yesterday, you’re doing fine. As an exercise I have taken older drawings I am no longer happy with and redrawn them - for one thing this removes the pressure of coming up with something new, and the process of redrawing them with the benefit of several years of new experience helps solidify in my mind the ways I have improved. I’m sure in 5 years I’ll want to redraw them again, but that will show me that I’ve gotten better than I am right now. If you don’t want to redraw something of yours, take an old drawing from another artist and recreate it as an exercise - do a careful study or an interesting re-interpretation, something to get the brain and hand moving.

Finally, experimentation and exploration of a new technique can be energizing. If you find that something isn’t working for you and draining your motivation, try it another way. Reconsider the composition. Try a different rendering style. Try using a different tool, or try painting instead of drawing. Anything that engages the brain in a new way and gives it a new puzzle to solve. There have been times when I have been so frustrated or despondent that a drawing wasn’t working, and as soon as I approached it in a different way it suddenly became fun and stimulating again.

Long ago I made peace with the fact that I will never be a perfect artist - no matter what height I’m at, the bar I am trying to reach will rise proportionately higher, always just above my grasp. This is just how it is. It is both the joy and the pain of being on the creative journey. New accomplishments bring new frustrations and failures. What’s most important is to treat yourself the way you would a friend or loved one - bring kindness and support to yourself to foster the best environment for you to flourish.