Everything is a work in progress. Honestly, if you look at the Instagram feed of any major illustrator or the Spotify profile of a rising indie musician, you see the polished end product. You don't see the three years they spent working at a Starbucks while their hand cramped from drawing anatomy studies until 2:00 AM. Being able to say "I'm a growing artist" is basically a badge of honor, even if it feels like a struggle most days. It’s a specific, weird stage of life where your ambition is way higher than your actual skill level, and that gap—as Ira Glass famously pointed out—is enough to make most people quit.
But you shouldn't quit.
The landscape for creators has shifted so much lately. We aren't in the era of "getting discovered" by some guy in a suit anymore. Now, it’s about slow-burn sustainability. It’s about being okay with the fact that your first fifty paintings are going to be objectively bad.
Why the label I'm a growing artist actually matters
Labels can be traps, but this one is a shield. When you tell yourself, "I'm a growing artist," you’re giving yourself permission to fail in public. That’s huge. Most people are terrified of looking like a beginner. They want the 100k followers before they’ve even figured out how to use a palette knife or a MIDI controller.
Growth isn't linear. It’s a jagged, ugly line.
One week you feel like a genius because you finally understood how light hits a sphere. The next week? You can’t even draw a stick figure that looks human. This is what James Clear talks about in Atomic Habits when he mentions the "Plateau of Latent Potential." You’re putting in all this work, and nothing is happening. Then, suddenly, everything clicks. If you don't identify as someone who is actively growing, those plateaus will kill your motivation. You'll think you’ve hit your ceiling when you’ve actually just hit a temporary wall.
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The trap of the "hustle" culture
We’ve been sold this lie that if you aren't monetizing your hobby, you’re wasting time. That is total nonsense. If you’re a growing artist, the last thing you should be worrying about is your "brand identity." You don't have a brand yet. You have a curiosity.
Focusing on sales too early kills experimentation. You start making what you think will sell instead of what makes you lose track of time. Look at someone like David Bayles, who wrote Art & Fear. He explores how the obsession with "perfect" results actually stops the work from being done. When you're in the growth phase, quantity leads to quality. Period.
The technical hurdles no one mentions
Let's talk about the actual "how." Most advice is vague, like "just practice." Okay, but practice what?
If you're a visual artist, you’re probably struggling with the jump from traditional to digital, or maybe you're trying to figure out why your colors look like mud. It's usually a value problem, not a color problem. If you're a writer, it's likely a structural issue rather than a vocabulary one. The technical hurdles are the gatekeepers.
- Software Fatigue: Learning Procreate, Blender, or Ableton takes months of frustration.
- The Algorithm Burnout: Trying to post every day while also trying to get better at your craft is a recipe for a breakdown.
- Physical Toll: Carpal tunnel and back pain are real. Invest in a good chair before a new tablet.
I’ve seen so many talented people burn out because they tried to master the business and the craft at the same time. You can't. Pick one to prioritize. If you are truly a growing artist, the craft has to come first. The business side can be automated or learned later, but you can't automate the "soul" of your work.
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Navigating the "Mid-Level" slump
There’s this specific point where you aren't a "beginner" anymore, but you aren't "pro" either. This is the danger zone. You know enough to know why your work sucks, but you don't quite know how to fix it yet.
It's tempting to buy your way out of this. You think a $2,000 camera or a new set of expensive oils will make the difference. It won't. What makes the difference is deliberate practice. This is a term coined by psychologist Anders Ericsson. It means you aren't just doodling while watching Netflix. You are sitting down and saying, "Today, I am only practicing how to draw ears." It’s boring. It’s tedious. It’s also exactly how you get better.
Finding your "tribe" without losing your mind
Community is a double-edged sword. On one hand, you need feedback. On the other hand, places like Reddit or Discord can be toxic if you haven't developed a thick skin.
You need a small group. Not a thousand followers—just three or four people who will tell you the truth. If they say "that looks great" to everything you do, they are useless to your growth. You need the friend who says, "The perspective is off on the left side, and your highlights are too blown out." That's the person who helps you grow.
Practical steps for the evolving creator
Stop looking at "daily" goals and start looking at "weekly" volume. Life happens. If you miss a day, you haven't failed. You just have more to do tomorrow.
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Audit your influences. If you only follow people who are ten years ahead of you, you're going to feel like a failure. Follow people who are just one step ahead. It feels more attainable.
Document the "bad" work. Keep a folder of your mistakes. Seriously. When you feel like you aren't improving, go back and look at what you were making six months ago. The progress will shock you. We are often too close to our own work to see the incremental changes.
Limit your tools. Paradoxically, having too many options kills creativity. Try making something using only two colors. Or write a story using only one-syllable words. Constraints force your brain to find new pathways. This is where real growth happens—in the struggle against a limitation.
Prioritize your "Deep Work." Cal Newport’s philosophy applies heavily here. If you spend four hours "marketing" and thirty minutes "creating," you aren't an artist; you’re a social media manager for a brand that doesn't exist yet. Flip the script.
Get comfortable with being "unseen." There is a massive advantage to being a growing artist who hasn't "blown up" yet. You can experiment. You can change your entire style overnight and no one will complain because no one is watching. Use this time to take risks that a "famous" artist wouldn't dare to take because they're afraid of losing their audience.
Invest in fundamentals. Anatomy, color theory, composition, rhythm, pacing. These things never go out of style. Trends die. Fundamentals are forever. If you master the basics, you can adapt to any new technology or platform that comes along in 2026 and beyond.
The reality is that being a growing artist is a permanent state. Even the masters feel like they're still figuring it out. The moment you think you've "arrived" is the moment your work starts to get stale. Stay hungry. Stay frustrated. Keep making bad art until it starts becoming good art. There's no shortcut, just the long, winding road of actually doing the work.