What’s Really Holding You Back from Making Art? (It’s Not Talent)

Let’s be honest: making art can feel really hard sometimes. And if you’ve been avoiding your creative practice, it’s easy to jump to a painful conclusion: maybe I’m just not talented enough.

But I’m here to offer a different take.

Since moving, rather abruptly, I’ve really struggled to make art. I even planned ahead and packed portable, easy-to-use materials so I could get right back into it.

But I didn’t.

Maybe you can relate. Maybe you’ve gone through a big life transition. Or maybe you got feedback that rattled your confidence. Or you were rejected from a group show you were excited about.

Here’s the thing: maybe none of this has anything to do with your talent.

So what is holding us back?

Hey there! 👋 I’m Carrie. Here on Artist Strong, I help self-taught artists go from unsure to unstoppable, so they can create their first real series of artwork and start building a portfolio they’re proud of. 

If you’re ready to stop the DIY learning and get the support and structure to finally draw and paint whatever you want, I’m here to help. Sign up and watch my workshop, “How to Create Art from Your Imagination.” To date, thousands have joined the community. The workshop is completely free, and the link is in the description below.

Now let’s talk about what’s actually holding us back from making our best art.

I’ve come to accept that discomfort is part of the creative process. Whether I’m trying something new, returning to an old routine in a new environment, or stretching a skill, I’m stepping into discomfort. And that’s exactly where growth happens.

There’s a sweet spot, though. Too much discomfort leads to overwhelm. Too little, and we stagnate. As humans, we’re wired to seek pleasure and avoid discomfort. So of course it’s hard to show up to something that feels awkward, uncertain, or challenging, unless there’s a strong reward waiting on the other side, like the joy of a finished piece or visible progress.

If you’re holding yourself back from making the art you want, or any art at all, it might be because that balance between discomfort and reward is off. And the good news? You can recalibrate it.

Start small. And I mean really small. Don’t pressure yourself to complete some huge, ambitious masterpiece that “proves” you’re an artist. (Spoiler alert: making art is what makes you an artist.) Choose the most comfortable size, medium, and subject matter you can think of. This is not the moment to set wild goals. Showing up regularly is challenge enough. Building a habit in the middle of life’s chaos is plenty uncomfortable on its own.

Still too much? Go even smaller. Just take out your supplies and set them up. Don’t make anything, just prepare to. Build that muscle first. Practice showing up. That’s the gateway.

There is no such thing as too small a start. If you’re doing nothing now, anything is progress.

As you ease into your new rhythm, your comfort zone will grow. You’ll start to know when you’re ready for something more: a new material, a larger canvas, a deeper exploration of your skills.

And we need to talk about the elephant in the room: “But what if I’m just not talented?”

Let me ask you something: what would your life look like if you gave up everything the first time it didn’t go well?

What if you stopped baking the first time you burnt cookies? Stopped playing soccer because some kid teased you in gym class? Never went on another date because one went badly? Gave up at work after a rough performance review?

We’ve bought into a lie that if something doesn’t come naturally, it’s not meant to be. But that’s garbage. I’ve spent years deliberately training my eye, my technique, my voice.

I still remember getting a worse grade than a friend on a poetry assignment in high school. I felt crushed. I stopped writing poetry entirely. Because if I wasn’t naturally good at it, why bother? And honestly, I still feel a pang of grief over that choice. What writing voice could I have developed if I kept going? What poems are still inside me?

Giving up didn’t protect me. It just left a hole.

So let me ask you: does holding back make you happier?

Probably not.

So here we are, face-to-face with discomfort again.

Do you choose the discomfort of giving up, living with the regret, the “what ifs,” and the ache of unexpressed creativity?

Or do you choose the discomfort of trying? Of showing up and maybe doing something badly at first? Of learning, improving, and sometimes, yes, enjoying the process of making the art you feel called to create?

Either way, you’re making a choice.

Either way, you’re uncomfortable.

So, what will you choose?