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Creating Shitty Art
Apr. 12th, 2025 09:16 pmMaking shitty art (not really shitty, just low-effort and mindless) is kind of cathartic because it feels like when I was a kid and didn’t have access to the internet, and would just draw or write whatever the hell I wanted in my notebooks. Drawing trippy-looking flowers was a very calming and relaxing process. Writing my daydreams down into stories was a very satisfying experience. I would look back on my drawings and reread my stories because I didn’t have anything else, and I wrote those for me.
And the truth is that I wasn’t in a a good place mentally when I did these pieces of art. I had no friends, was isolated in homeschool, and it was the one comfort I had when my parents took everything else away from me (they did eventually take those too when I was 17.)
When I finally had the freedom in adulthood to start doing this again, I stepped into the online community and was so intimidated by everyone else’s art and writing because they were just so good, and I felt like I would never get to that level of skill so I just quit doing it for a long time, and was overly critical of my work when I did do it.
But I recently came across my old sketchbook from when I was 12-13 years old. And while these did look exactly like a child’s drawings because that’s what they are, I remembered the joy I got out of creating this art at that age, how I put in my headphones and just doodling away was my favorite way to dissociate from the world, from my life. I remember looking at these with pride because while it was clearly nothing but experimental doodles, I was thinking “this is something that’s mine.” And I just decided to do it again last night and it was the most at peace I’ve felt in such a long time. I did another drawing today outside while listening to full albums on my phone, and it was even more soothing doing this out in nature.
And it just feels like being online and comparing my works to others’ really prevented me from releasing my creativity like I did when I was a teenager. I remember by the time I was 14-15 years old, I would write “novels” on notebook paper and would have this huge growing stack in folders, and would read back on them because I truly did write for myself. Of course, it was probably horribly written, but that didn’t matter because again, this was something that was mine and no one else’s.
And rediscovering creating just for the sake of enjoying the process and the experience is such a freeing feeling. “Does it look good? Probably not but you can touch it up after it’s finished.” “Will other people like it? Who cares? Do you like it? Yes? Good, then that’s all that matters.”
And that really is all that matters.
And the truth is that I wasn’t in a a good place mentally when I did these pieces of art. I had no friends, was isolated in homeschool, and it was the one comfort I had when my parents took everything else away from me (they did eventually take those too when I was 17.)
When I finally had the freedom in adulthood to start doing this again, I stepped into the online community and was so intimidated by everyone else’s art and writing because they were just so good, and I felt like I would never get to that level of skill so I just quit doing it for a long time, and was overly critical of my work when I did do it.
But I recently came across my old sketchbook from when I was 12-13 years old. And while these did look exactly like a child’s drawings because that’s what they are, I remembered the joy I got out of creating this art at that age, how I put in my headphones and just doodling away was my favorite way to dissociate from the world, from my life. I remember looking at these with pride because while it was clearly nothing but experimental doodles, I was thinking “this is something that’s mine.” And I just decided to do it again last night and it was the most at peace I’ve felt in such a long time. I did another drawing today outside while listening to full albums on my phone, and it was even more soothing doing this out in nature.
And it just feels like being online and comparing my works to others’ really prevented me from releasing my creativity like I did when I was a teenager. I remember by the time I was 14-15 years old, I would write “novels” on notebook paper and would have this huge growing stack in folders, and would read back on them because I truly did write for myself. Of course, it was probably horribly written, but that didn’t matter because again, this was something that was mine and no one else’s.
And rediscovering creating just for the sake of enjoying the process and the experience is such a freeing feeling. “Does it look good? Probably not but you can touch it up after it’s finished.” “Will other people like it? Who cares? Do you like it? Yes? Good, then that’s all that matters.”
And that really is all that matters.
