The Magic of Just Doing It
I was talking to an artist yesterday about Instagram and she kept saying the same thing: "But what if it's not good enough?"
And I wanted to shake her! (Gently. With love.)
Because here's what I kept trying to tell her - you can delete the post. You can erase the line. You can literally throw the whole painting in the trash and start over. Nothing you make today has to be permanent.
The real magic happens when you stop asking permission and just... do it.
I think about this constantly when I'm working. That moment when you're holding the brush or the pen or your phone camera, and there's this voice that starts cataloging all the ways it could go wrong. What if the composition is off? What if the lighting is terrible? What if people don't understand what I'm trying to say?
But what if it's exactly what needs to happen right now?
I think about those moments when artists do share the real stuff - the messy studio shots, the failed experiments, the work-in-progress chaos. Not because it's pretty or perfectly lit, but because it's true. And people always respond to that honesty. There's something about seeing someone else's creative mess that makes us feel less alone in our own.
This is what play actually looks like. It's messy and experimental and sometimes completely wrong. But it's also where all the good stuff lives.
I learned this from watching kids draw. Have you ever seen a five-year-old worry about whether their purple elephant looks realistic? They just grab the crayon and go. They don't ask if elephants can fly or if grass should be blue today. They just make what wants to be made.
Somewhere along the way, we lose that. We start believing that making things means making them right. That sharing our work means it has to be finished. That experimenting should look like expertise.
But expertise comes from doing the thing badly first. A lot. With enthusiasm.
The artists I admire most? They're the ones still playing. Still trying things that might not work. Louise Bourgeois was experimenting with new materials well into her 90s¹. David Hockney started making iPad paintings in his 70s². They never stopped being curious about what might happen if...
Your Instagram feed doesn't need to be a gallery wall. Your sketchbook doesn't need to be portfolio-ready. Your creative practice doesn't need to justify itself to anyone.
What it needs is permission to exist exactly as it is right now.
So here's what I want you to try: Make something today without knowing how it ends. Post something that feels a little scary. Draw a line just to see where it goes. Take a photo because the light caught your attention, not because it fits your brand.
See what happens when you let yourself play.
The worst case? You learn something. You delete it. You try again tomorrow.
The best case? You remember why you started making things in the first place.
What are you going to make today? I'm genuinely curious - drop a comment and let me know what you're experimenting with.
¹ Louise Bourgeois: Late Works
Out my front door at the Brewery Artists Lofts in Los Angeles. Every morning and evening, the light is so beautiful, I have to document it and see how my camera (phone) captures light. Try it. Play!
I needed this reminder today, thank you!
Love this. Doing it right now.