The Truth About Being an Artist (and why I still keep going)

I wake up most mornings with the same feeling: I just want to make something.

Sometimes it’s a photo idea, sometimes it’s flowers, sometimes it’s textures or wax or scraps of paper and ink. I don’t always know what it’s going to be, I just know I need to use my hands and create. It’s not even a decision anymore — it’s more like a pull. It’s just who I am.

And honestly, I still feel incredibly lucky that I get to call this my job.

Being an artist is something I’ve always felt deep down, but actually living it — choosing it as a career, building a business around it — that’s taken time, grit, and a lot of trust in myself. It’s not always graceful. It’s not always glamorous. But it’s mine.

What people see is the final work — the framed print, the piece on the wall, the nice photo on Instagram. But what they don’t see is the process behind it. And to be fair, how could they?

They don’t see the trial and error.
The pieces that don’t work.
The hours spent going down creative rabbit holes that lead to nothing — except learning.
The internal battle of “is this even good?” that most artists face daily.

Nobody’s making me feel this way. No one’s said anything cruel. (Well occasionally but not that I care to remember) This is just the stuff that lives in my own head — the comparison, the pressure, the wondering if people take me seriously. I have to remind myself constantly that this is a real job, even if it doesn’t look like a traditional one.

I’ve learned over the years that making good work means being okay with making a lot of mediocre stuff along the way. You can’t skip it. You have to go through it. That’s how you get to the magic — by showing up, even when it’s messy or uncertain.

I’m always testing, always experimenting — that’s part of what keeps me so invested.
Lately I’ve been playing with gel printing alongside all my usual processes. It’s not a new direction, really — just another thread in the big trunk of techniques I’ve collected over time. I love the layering, the play, and how something unexpected emerges from the chaos. That’s when I feel most alive in the studio.

I don’t always know when a piece is done, but I know when I love it.
That’s when I feel ready to show it to someone else — not because it’s perfect, but because I believe in it.

And yes, it can be hard to get eyes on that work. We live in such a noisy, fast world. Sometimes it feels like a miracle when someone even notices, let alone takes time to connect. But when someone tells me they feel something from what I’ve made — it means so much. That’s really what I want: connection, emotion, energy. A spark.

I honestly don’t think I’ve hit my full stride yet. That’s why I keep going. There’s still so much I want to explore, so many ideas in my head, and so many pieces I haven’t made yet.

And if one of my works ends up in your home, I hope it brings you something real. Joy. Calm. A moment of pause. A sense of presence.
Not just decoration — something that feels like it belongs to you.

If you’ve ever felt unsure about buying art — maybe you’ve thought, “I don’t know what I like” or “I don’t have the budget” — I just want to say this:

You don’t need to walk into a fancy gallery and spend a fortune to start collecting pieces you love.

Start small. Start with someone like me — a working artist who creates from the heart, and who is right here, showing up, making things every day in hopes they’ll find the right home.

💬 I’d love to hear from you:

Have you ever bought a piece of art you really connected with?
Or is there something that’s held you back?

Just hit reply and tell me. I read every single one.

Emily x