So Good

A Different Take on Success

family portrait, 2019

A friend of mine sent me a video the other day by an artist responding to how he got so good at painting, and I have thoughts.

To begin with, I seriously doubt that “how did you get so good?” is a question he gets a lot. Lots of compliments on how good he is, questions about where he went to school (if at all), about techniques, materials, tips and tricks—sure. But “how good?” No. No one asks that. Ever. And the few that do—because of course some do—don’t deserve an answer. It’s a lazy question.

The response: he doesn’t do anything else. No life. No socializing. No dating. No family or friends. Apparently, he’s devoted his entire life to the brush. Time to film, edit, and post videos about how good he is—of course—but nothing else.

Work? Pay your bills? Feed, clean, and clothe yourself?

And it wasn’t “work your ass off and you’ll get good at stuff too,” a bit of tough love which can be motivating. No. It came wrapped up in “I know it’s summer, life is beautiful, family and friends are important, and I don’t blame you for being average normal. You’re all out there having a good time. I just don’t do any of this. My priorities are different. And that’s the reason I am so good.” As if avoiding human connection is the key to creative transcendence. Meanwhile, the rest of us are out here wasting our potential on brunch and birthday parties.

The implication being—what exactly? That everybody spending enough time on anything, really, will get really good at it? The 10,000-hour myth? Again? That therefore us not being that good is our fault? Despite of what you say. That being that good is the only way to be? That if you can’t sacrifice for Art with a capital A, you shouldn’t be doing it all? Who defines what’s so good, anyhow? And when do you have to get to that good? At his age (late 30s)? Before? After? Is that still okay? How long after can you become that good—because you kept a friend, visited your family a couple of times a year, answered the phone on occasion—you know, kept being a human being—for it to still count?

I’m exaggerating. But the guy was a real, full-of-himself, look-at-me, I-have-it-all-figured-out dick. So when Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Anything-Else positions himself as the product of pure devotion, I call bullshit. He’s not just committed. He’s also lucky. And talented. And maybe naturally inclined to his medium in a way that others aren’t. Clearly independently wealthy. Which is fine. Good for him. But let’s not pretend that all it takes to reach his level is martyrdom.

And there are plenty of other people out there giving all kinds of unhelpful advice.

Stop claiming you have it all figured out. Stop the Do as I say. Not as I do, of course. Because who knows what it is you’re really doing. As if there is one way to be or do anything that guarantees success. If there was, we’d all be on the same level. We’d all be that good. One-size-fits-all advice rarely fits anyone well. What works depends on personality, timing, access, your mental state, the weather, and luck.

While there are certain habits and some advice that seem to be generally applicable to most everyone, there are plenty of exceptions that prove literally every rule. That’s where the expression comes from. And often, the exceptions are almost as frequent as the things they’re supposedly contradicting.

Something that works for me might not work for you. Something that works for me might work for you—but only in combination with something that would drive me insane. Things that work for me now didn’t ten years ago, and might not work anymore in the future. I’m happy to share advice, but I always qualify it with: This is what works for me, and this is why I think it works for me, or This is how I got to it, so not sure it will help.

For every artist, writer, musician, whatever, who spends all their time in their studio, there are plenty that don’t. For every artist who claims mornings are holy, there is one who works in the middle of the night. For everyone who claims that you need to focus on one thing only, there is someone who excels at many different things. Good for them (even though I have days when those multi-talents annoy me too).

The more time you spend doing something, the better you get at it. That’s not rocket science. But there are also limits to it. At one point, most of us max out. It’s easiest to see when it comes to languages. Some manage to get to native-speaker levels of fluency without a trace of an accent—super rare—but most of us get to a certain level, and despite speaking and living in a language that isn’t ours, meaning doing nothing else, at one point, we no longer improve. That’s me and French. Seems to be a question of innate skill. Talent. Something we’re not necessarily in control of, or should claim credit for.

So yes, aside from the smugness of it all—the attitude, the look at how great I am, but I don’t get laid, ever, so I deserve this—interspersed with examples of his work, with probably a link to his web shop somewhere—I hated the idea that being technically good (because that’s ultimately all he was talking about—how good he had gotten at his particular technique and style of painting) is all that matters.

It doesn’t.

It’s who you are, and how much of it you manage to put into your art, that does. Art is about translating something about yourself into something outside yourself. And it’s about what the act of creating things—whatever it might be—does to and for you.

I’ve met people who are technically brilliant—painters, writers, musicians—who’ve mastered every rule in the book but couldn’t tell you why they’re making anything at all. And I’ve met others whose work is a mess on the surface but hits you in the gut, because it means something. It’s them, on the page or the canvas. Their weird, imperfect, totally unoptimized selves.

Sure, putting in the hours helps. Practice matters. But so does curiosity. So does knowing when to take a break, or when to quit something entirely. The myth of the endlessly grinding, ever-improving artist is just that—a myth. Progress isn’t constant. Passion isn’t reliable. And not everyone wants to make great art. Some people just want to make something. That’s enough.