There was a time when I thought being an artist meant striving for perfection. If every brushstroke wasn’t in place, if every sketch didn’t turn out “just right”, then maybe I wasn’t meant to call myself an artist at all. For a while, I carried that burden—the idea that art has to be flawless to be valid.
I remember vividly moments sitting at my desk, paintbrush in hand, staring at half-finished works. Studying my work with an investigative eye, “That wash of color blended too far across the page” I would think… ”the paint pooled where I hadn’t intended." My thoughts raced as I gripped my brush tighter and tighter. But the tighter I held on the less joy I felt.
Art isn’t about chasing perfection—it’s about learning how to simply be present in the unfolding of your unique creative process.
Imperfection is Where the Story Lives
When I look back at my earliest paintings, I don’t see polished compositions. I see uneven lines, colors that bled unintended and other colors that I didn’t mean to mix. I see pieces of thought on paper that sometimes don’t make sense to me now. And yet… those pieces hold something I treasure. They carry the story of who I was at the time—unsure, learning, experimenting, showing up anyway.
Over time, I’ve come to see how my art process mirrors my humanness. Just as my brush has stumbled, so have I. Just as colors have bled in directions I didn’t plan, so too has life taken me on paths I never expected. The imperfections in both have taught me that beauty and honesty don’t come from control, but from being fully engaged in my art journey.
*one of my first paintings*
Every misstep, both in art and in life, has been a part of weaving together the story of an artist—imperfect and all, but still here, quietly showing up to my art table. Still making. Our art carries these echoes of our journeys: the stumbles, the revisions, the unfinished edges. They remind us that we didn’t falter, we didn’t give up. And that persistence, paired with imperfection, is what gives our art—and our lives—their soul.
The Mirror of Art, The Permission of Being
The more I practice art, the more I notice how art mirrors life itself. Life doesn’t unravel in perfect lines or controlled brushstrokes. It spills, it smudges, it surprises us. And just like in art, beauty often comes from unexpected turns.
Imperfection has taught me to soften–to see mistakes not as failures but as openings. Opening my heart space and my artistic lens has given me the greatest permission: the permission to accept my humanness. To understand the parts of my creative practice that feel uncertain. Art doesn’t ask us to prove. It asks us to be present, to stay tender, and to trust that how we show up in our process is enough. And when we make from this place, we may find that art often blooms through the cracks and crevices in the places we once thought were broken.
Embracing Imperfection in Your Practice
The shift happens when we stop treating imperfections as mistakes to correct and start welcoming them in. I know, it’s not easy–our instinct is to tighten our grip, to control every part of the process. But art becomes lighter and freer, when we allow space for what we didn’t plan. Changing how we approach our practice means loosening the expectation that everything we make has to be beautiful or worthy of sharing. Instead, we show up with curiosity. We give ourselves permission to play, to experiment, to follow where the art leads us without knowing the outcome.
Here are a few ways I’ve learned to practice embracing imperfection in my art practice:
- Start with play: Choose one page in your sketchbook that you dedicate to experimenting, Let go of the need for it to “turn out good.”
- Work in Unpredictable Ways: Try water heavy watercolor, ink washes or sketching with your eyes closed. These techniques teach us that art isn’t meant to be tamed.
- Shift your self-talk: Instead of asking, Is this good?, try asking, What did I discover here?
- Honor the “mistakes: Save and revisit old pages, circle parts you once disliked. Come back to them later and see if you feel the same.
When we approach our creative practice in this way, imperfection becomes not a flaw but a guide. It shows us where we're growing, where we're loosening, where our authentic work begins to emerge.
Closing Reflections
Imperfection has become my greatest teacher; even dare I say a friend--in art and life. It reminds me that I don't need to have it all figured out, and that every misstep carries its own kind of wisdom. The brushstrokes I once wanted to cover are now the ones that feel most alive.
When we allow our art to be imperfect, we also allow ourselves to be human. We give ourselves permission to stumble, to grow, and to try again. And in doing so, we stitch together all the parts of our story into something beautiful--not because it is flawless, but because it is true.
So, if you find yourself hesitating at the blank page, waiting for the "perfect" moment or the "perfect" idea", let this be your invitation to begin anyway. Let your art hold your humanness. Let it carry your imperfect, wholehearted story.
Because in the end, imperfection isn't the thing that holds us back from being artists--it's the very thing that make us one.
xo,
