How Art Changes You: Reflecting on the Artist You’ve Become
When I first started making art, I thought the biggest changes would happen on the outside. I figured I would eventually have a bigger body of work, maybe a gallery show here or there, and a decent collection of art supplies that finally felt “right.” I thought it was about the visible stuff. What I did not realize was that the biggest shifts would actually happen inside me. Slowly. Quietly. Over years.
And I have a feeling that if you’ve been at this for a while, you know exactly what I mean.
Art has a way of sneaking in and reshaping you. Sometimes in big obvious ways, but often in little ones you only notice when you look back. How you handle frustration. How you think about time. How you see the world around you. It is not always the kind of thing you can measure with a checklist, but it is there all the same.
One of the first ways I noticed this was how my relationship with patience changed. I used to be the kind of person who wanted everything done fast. If it could not be knocked out in an afternoon, I lost interest. But somewhere between the fiftieth and hundredth time of layering a painting or struggling through a stubborn drawing, I realized something had shifted. I could sit with a project for weeks. I could start over if I needed to. I could actually enjoy the slow process instead of just wanting to rush to the finish.
If you are wondering how art has changed you, or how to be a little more aware of it while it is happening, here is something you can try. Sit down sometime soon and write a letter to your younger creative self. Pick a moment. Maybe when you first started painting. Maybe the first art class you ever took. Maybe that first time you thought, “I really want to do this.” Write to that version of you and tell them what they will learn, what they will struggle with, and what they will come to love most about the process. It sounds simple but it is one of the clearest ways to see just how much you have changed without even realizing it.
Another shift that caught me off guard was how art taught me to reframe failure. Early on, every bad drawing felt like a sign that maybe I should not be doing this. Every messed up painting felt like proof that I was not “good enough.” But over time, the failures started to look different. They became part of the rhythm. Part of the necessary mess of figuring things out.
If you are in that place now where the mistakes feel heavy, one thing I recommend is setting up a “failure shelf” in your studio or workspace. This is not a punishment shelf. It is a spot where you keep the work that did not turn out but still taught you something. Keep them where you can see them. Let them remind you that mistakes are not stop signs. They are checkpoints.
Over the years, I also noticed a shift in how I saw the world outside my studio. It is like art rewired the way I notice things. The texture of a sidewalk. The way light bends through a dirty window. The weird color combinations in a pile of trash on the street. The kinds of things you might have walked past a hundred times without a second thought start becoming fascinating.
If you want to build this skill a little more consciously, try this: for one week, set a tiny daily challenge for yourself. Every day, snap a photo of something that catches your eye that you would have normally ignored. At the end of the week, look at the collection. You might be surprised by what stands out to you when you are actually paying attention.
Another big way art changes you is how it redefines what success even means. When you are just starting out, it feels like there are clear markers. Gallery shows. Sales. A certain number of followers. External validation is loud in the beginning. But if you stick with it, you start to notice that the biggest successes are sometimes invisible. Finishing a hard piece even when you wanted to quit. Trying a new technique even if you are not sure it will work. Saying no to a project that does not fit your creative voice even if it means missing out on something flashy.
One thing that helps anchor this shift is keeping a personal success log. This is different from a resume or a portfolio. It is just for you. Every time you have a little internal win, write it down. Not for anyone else. Not to show or prove. Just for your own record. When the noise gets loud, it is grounding to have a place to remind yourself of how far you have actually come.
Another thing that happens over time is you get more comfortable being uncomfortable. There is always that awkward phase at the beginning of something new. Trying a new medium. Showing work in a new space. Learning a new tool. It never really gets easy. But you do get better at surviving it. At trusting that the discomfort is not a signal to stop but a signal that you are stretching.
If you want to strengthen this, you can build a small “comfort zone” challenge into your practice. Once a month, pick something that feels just a little bit intimidating. A new subject matter. A bigger canvas. A different style. Something that is not so scary you will freeze up, but just enough that you feel a little nervous. And then try it. No expectations for the result. Just the act of doing it. Over time, you build up a muscle memory for facing creative risk.
When I look back now, it is so clear that the artist I have become is not just someone who makes different work than before. It is someone who thinks differently, notices differently, feels differently. Art shapes the way you interact with yourself and the world. It teaches you about your own thresholds. Your own rhythms. Your own definitions of meaning and success.
If you are feeling stuck or like you are not growing fast enough, trust me, you are. It is just not always visible in the day-to-day grind. Growth is a slow layering, like brushstrokes that only reveal the full image once you step back a little.
So if you have a moment, I encourage you to reflect on it. Grab a sketchbook or your notes app or a scrap of paper and just jot down: How has my creative practice changed me? How do I think or see or feel differently than when I started? What parts of me has art helped uncover?
It is easy to miss these shifts because they are not loud. They do not come with a trophy or a certificate. But they are the real work. The real art. And I would argue that they are more important than any single piece you will ever make.