There are moments in my studio where I put down the brush, take a step back, and immediately feel that sinking feeling – “ugh, my art sucks.”
And I get in my head about my art more than I’d like to admit. After hours of layering colour, reworking the shapes, adjusting the tone… something still feels off. I can’t even explain what it is.
In those moments, I start hearing the familiar inner critic:
🤍 “You’re not improving.”
🤍 “You should be better by now.”
🤍 “Why do you even try?”
But over time, I’ve learned that those thoughts are not truths. They’re just noise. They show up when I care deeply, when I’m tired, when I’ve poured a little too much of myself into something that didn’t turn out how I imagined.
So yes, sometimes, I think my art sucks, my artistic style sucks and everything I create sucks. But I know that feeling is fleeting. And also something that is experienced by a lot of my fellow artists.
One thing that helps me breathe through the self-doubt is remembering I’m not the only one who’s felt this way. Some of the most brilliant, beloved artists in history struggled just like we do:
🎨 Leonardo da Vinci tinkered endlessly and left many works unfinished. Even the Mona Lisa was reworked for years.
🎨 Van Gogh once called his work “worthless.” He sold only one painting during his lifetime and often felt like a failure.
🎨 Edvard Munch destroyed paintings during emotional lows, overwhelmed by doubt and anxiety.
🎨 Georgia O’Keeffe, someone I deeply admire, battled perfectionism too. But eventually, she said: “Flattery and criticism go down the same drain—and I am quite free.”
They didn’t always love what they made. But they kept creating anyway. That gives me hope.
There’s science behind these feelings, too. And as a provisional psychologist, it helps me to know what’s happening on a neurological level.
🧠 My prefrontal cortex (the planning, analysing part) goes into overdrive after hours of focused effort. It starts scanning for flaws instead of celebrating what worked.
🧠 My default mode network (active when I daydream, reflect, or step away from focused work) kicks in once I stop painting. It’s a powerhouse for creativity and imagination, but it’s also the part of the brain where overthinking, rumination, and self-doubt tend to live. That’s why your inner critic often shows up right after the paintbrush goes down.
🧠 My amygdala (the fear centre) treats emotional disappointment like a threat. It doesn’t know I’m reacting to a painting. It thinks I’m in danger. That’s why my body gets tight, my chest feels heavy, and I want to walk away from it all. Isn’t anxiety fun. If you know, you know…
But none of this means I’ve failed. It just means I need a little kindness and TLC for my nervous system.
I’ve slowly built a little self-care toolkit for these days. Not to fix the art—but to care for the artist (me).
🫶🏽 I step away – even 15 minutes helps. I usually make a tea and water the plants. Sometimes I cry. That’s okay too.
🛼 I do something else – for me that might be some yoga, rollerskating, tending to my plants, cleaning or baking.
✍🏽 I write it out – I journal about what I hoped for, what I learned, what I might try differently next time.
🙃 I make something silly or small – a quick frog sketch, a colour swatch page, a doodle of Alys. Joy in motion.
🌻 I change my self-talk – I ask, “Would I say this to a friend? or to another artist?” If not, I reframe it for myself as I would for someone else.
It’s not about pretending to love the painting. It’s about continuing to show up for myself.
Something I’ve noticed: when I hate my work, I’ve often just been on social media, or had a few days of far too much scrolling. Scroll, scroll, scroll—another beautiful piece, another perfect sketchbook, another sold-out collection, another beautifully decorated studio.
We are not built for this many comparisons.
Our brains are taking in hundreds, even thousands, of tiny signals every day—reminders that someone else is doing more, faster, better. And over time, that erodes self-trust.
According to research, this kind of overload can directly lower self-esteem and lead to creative burnout (Vogel et al., 2014). Our nervous systems can’t tell the difference between inspiration and inadequacy if we don’t take space to process it.
So now I ask myself: Do I hate my painting—or am I just overwhelmed by everything I’ve just seen online?
I have an entire article on this topic here, if you’re interested 👩🏽🎨✨
Okay this doesn’t happen anywhere near as often as me just getting all up in my head! But sometimes…I might not like a painting because there is genuinely something off about it.
Maybe the proportions are skewed, the colours muddy, the composition too busy or the subject is just off. It happens—even when I’ve poured hours into a piece.
There are times where kindness means letting go and starting again. I wrote a whole blog post about this recently – you can read it here. Deciding to start a painting again is never easy, but sometimes it’s the only way. You can love your idea, honour the effort, and still say, “this one’s not working. let’s try again.”
It’s not about proving you’re good enough. It’s about giving the painting the space it deserves—and giving yourself the chance to try again until you create something that you love.
Self-compassion isn’t fluff—it’s actually one of the most powerful tools we have as artists. It’s not just emotional support; it’s a complete reset for both the mind and nervous system.
When I catch myself spiralling in self-criticism I try to pause -even just for a moment – to take a breath, soften my tone, or place a hand over my chest, something shifts. My body calms. My thoughts slow down. I start to move out of “threat mode,” where everything feels urgent and wrong, and back into a space of openness, curiosity, and creativity.
That shift is more than just a feeling—it’s neurobiological. Research shows that self-compassion activates brain regions linked to safety, connection, and emotional regulation, rather than shame or fear (Neff, 2011). It’s what allows us to keep going—gently, sustainably, and with less fear of failure.
Artists who practice self-compassion tend to:
🤍 Stay more consistent in their practice
🤍 Feel less creatively burnt out
🤍 Take more risks and grow in their work
So when I speak kindly to myself after a painting I don’t love, it’s not indulgence—it’s strategy. It’s how I stay resilient. It’s how I keep creating.
Not every painting needs to be a masterpiece. And not every piece you dislike today will stay that way.
There are paintings I’ve nearly thrown away—ones that made me question everything. Some of them eventually became favourites, transformed by a few more layers, a new perspective, or simply time. Others have been repurposed into swatch paper, or tucked away quietly to be revisited later – or not at all. And that’s okay too.
Every painting teaches me something, even if the lesson isn’t what I expected. Even if the final piece never sees the light of day.
Let your bad days belong. Let the mess-ups, the misfires, the almosts and maybes be part of your process. They don’t mean you’ve failed – they mean you’re showing up with honesty. They’re just as much a part of your artist story as the pieces you proudly frame.
And sometimes, those discarded paintings are simply stepping stones – quiet beginnings to something you haven’t created yet.
Here’s how I’m moving forward, even when I don’t love what I made:
☕ Take a deep breath – step back, not away.
👩🏽🎨 Remember this is normal – every artist feels this. You’re not broken. And your art is worthy!
🫶🏽 Say one kind thing to myself – even if it’s just “thanks for showing up.”
🎨 Make something small, just for fun – even if no one ever sees it.
So, if you’re feeling glum about your art. Know that, what you’re thinking probably isn’t true. Your art is worthy – and I can confidently say that without even seeing it. Perhaps you’ve been comparing your art too much lately, perhaps you just need to step away for a moment, or perhaps you’re just being unkind to yourself. So, if today’s painting didn’t turn out how you hoped, be kind to the artist who tried anyway—because showing up, again and again, to create with love and authenticity, is what makes you a artist. 🤍
Well that’s all for today friends. I’ve been vibing the artsy psychology articles lately 😍. If you’re in the mood to read more about creativity and artistic practice, you can browse through all my articles here. 👩🏽🎨🌻✨🤍
☼ Neff, K. D. (2011). Self-compassion: The proven power of being kind to yourself. William Morrow.
☼ Vartanian, O., & Skov, M. (2014). Neural correlates of viewing paintings: Evidence from a quantitative meta-analysis of functional magnetic resonance imaging data. Brain and Cognition, 87, 52–56.
☼ Vessel, E. A., Starr, G. G., & Rubin, N. (2012). The brain on art: Intense aesthetic experience activates the default mode network. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 6, 66. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnhum.2012.00066
☼ Vogel, E. A., Rose, J. P., Roberts, L. R., & Eckles, K. (2014). Social comparison, social media, and self-esteem. Psychology of Popular Media Culture, 3(4), 206–222.
☼ What can I do when I hate my own art?
☼ Why does my brain react so strongly to disappointing paintings?
☼ How can I be kind to myself when I’m spiralling in self-criticism?
☼ Did famous artists ever hate their own artwork?
☼ How does self-compassion actually help creative growth?
know someone who might enjoy this article?
♡ share the artsy love right here ♡
a space for artists & art collectors ♡
hi, i’m sarah, an australian artist head-over-heels for watercolour & creative practice- it truely is good for your soul.
& this ↑, is my girl alys.
i am completely self-taught in all the mediums i use & i am here to share everything i know with you!
i write about all things creativity, watercolour, gouache, hand-made ceramics, collecting art, & my own artistic process. I have degrees in human psychology & veterinary medicine- so you might find some sporadic related facts in my writing.
sign up for artsy news, exclusive discounts & member-only offers ♡
disc.- the above article may contain affiliate links. that means that at no extra cost to you, I may receive a small commission from the purchases made through these links. I only recommend products I have bought myself, use, and love!
get 30% off your next print order!
no spam, i promise- just exclusive discounts, member-only commission openings & some other artsy bits.
