Have you ever found yourself frozen in front of a blank page or screen, paralysed by the idea that what you make might not be “good enough”? I have. Too many times.
We scroll through perfectly curated posts and polished artwork, often forgetting the process behind what we see. The awkward first sketch, the off-centre line, the test print that came out weirdly orange. We’re surrounded by perfectly designed products, flawless digital content, and endless tutorials promising a polished result. And while there’s nothing wrong with beauty or professionalism — I love beautifully made things — I’ve noticed a quiet cost. We’re slowly losing our willingness to play.
We forget that art — and life — is messy, and imperfect, and delightfully unpredictable. We forget how much magic happens in the making. And slowly, that quiet joy — the pure delight of making something just for the sake of it — begins to fade.
And we believe that unless what we make looks like that right now — flawless, finished, and fit for a frame — it’s not worth making at all. But here’s the truth no one tells you loudly enough:
Creativity was never meant to be perfect. It was meant to be playful.
The act of creating — with your hands, with your heart, with curiosity — is grounding. Healing. Human. It’s a connection that runs deeper that the outcome. Perfection is overrated — and, honestly, a bit boring. What’s interesting are the wobbly lines, the off-centre florals, the unexpected colour palettes. They tell a story. They show the human hand. They invite connection. The wobbles and wonky bits are where the soul shines through.
The world doesn’t need more polished content. It needs more people willing to make things from the heart — imperfect, playful, personal things that reflect real emotions and real moments.
So what can you do when that inner critic pipes up?
Here are a few gentle tools that help me when resistance and perfectionism try to get in the way:
1. Start small and ugly on purpose.
Give yourself permission to make something bad. Really bad. I sometimes tell myself: “Let’s just draw the worst cat today.” It’s strange how freeing that is. Once perfection isn’t the goal, joy sneaks back in.
2. Set a timer and make it playful.
Try a 10-minute art burst. Draw with your non-dominant hand. Use only two colours. Restricting your choices can actually unlock more freedom — and the pressure disappears when the stakes are low.
3. Create a soft, welcoming space.
Light a candle. Put on music. Tidy your desk. The tiniest shift in environment can help your nervous system relax — and that makes creativity easier to access. It’s like setting the stage for a quiet little ritual.
4. Talk to your inner critic like a child.
When you hear, “This isn’t good enough,” try replying, “It doesn’t have to be. It just needs to be real.” Or “Thanks, but I’m busy playing right now.” It sounds silly, but this kind inner dialogue is one of the most healing things we can practice as artists.
5. Focus on the process, not the product.
Some of my favourite ideas have come from the things I made just for fun. No pressure. No audience. Just play. Let creating become a private joy again — a gift you give yourself, not something you owe the world.
The shift that changed everything for me
I, too, used to get so frustrated when something I imagined wouldn’t come out right on the page. The colours felt off. The shapes looked awkward. And I’d start to think those familiar unkind thoughts:
“Why am I not more talented?”
“Why can’t I get this right?”
But going through a pattern design course and being properly coached changed everything. (You can use discount code VERONIKA to get 10% off!) I began to understand that those moments of creative resistance aren’t failures — they’re essential. They’re where the seeds of new ideas are planted. Some ideas just need time to percolate, to marinate, to gently unfold.
Now, when I sit down to draw or paint and the image doesn’t quite come together, I no longer force it. I’ve learned to trust the timing. Like a butterfly still in its cocoon, some ideas simply aren’t ready yet. So I put the piece aside. I work on something else. I give it space. And when I return the next day, or the day after that, something has shifted. I shape it, tweak it, explore again — and eventually, when the time is right, the idea finds its way out. And more often than not, it’s even better than I imagined it in the first place.
The exact thing happened when I created my first pattern collection. It seemed daunting at first but instead of feeling paralysed I choose to start with an open mind. I started with a flower and just played with it. I knew I wanted to paint a zinnia, but I wasn’t sure how it’ll look like when it’s finished. I did however know what it’ll feel like. So I trusted that and let go of any expectations that would only limit me. I gave it space. You can take a peek of the final result, see the design process and meet my grandma, who inspired it all here.
Art is self-discovery
The more I create, the more I realise art isn’t just about making something beautiful — it’s about discovering who you are. How you see the world. What colours call to you. What textures you find comforting. What stories you want to tell. It should feel like coming home. There’s no formula for making meaningful art. No right or wrong colours. If it comes from the soul, I think it’s already enough.
So this is your gentle reminder to let yourself play. Try the weird idea. Use the colour that feels wrong but exciting. Paint with your fingers. Start something knowing it might not “turn out.” Let go of the idea that it has to be “good” to be meaningful. Do it not for an audience. Not for likes. Just for you. Because the truth is, it already is something — the moment you begin.
Let’s not forget the quiet joy of making. Let’s honour the process, the imperfection, the crooked lines and not-quite-right shades. These are not flaws. They’re fingerprints. They’re life.
And magic often lives in the mess.
