The Myth of the 'Genius Artist'

Hi team,

There’s a lie...
A beautiful one.
An intoxicating one.

And almost every artist I know has swallowed it, at least once.

The myth goes like this:

“If you were really talented... it would be obvious by now.”
“Genius reveals itself early.”
“If it takes too long... maybe you’re just not it.”

It’s romantic, sure.
The idea of the prodigy.
Of someone born with a divine spark—who simply knows what to do.
No doubt. No drafts. No second-guessing.

Just raw brilliance.

And it makes a good story.

But that’s all it is—
A story.

The truth?

Most great art... doesn’t arrive that way.
It isn’t clean.
It isn’t sudden.
It isn’t blessed into being by some muse you forgot to pray to.

It’s built.
In layers.
In failure.
In the long hours when no one’s watching.

It’s the kind of thing that comes from showing up... even when the work is quiet.
Even when you don’t feel inspired.
Even when the paint dries flat...
and the idea feels thin.

I’ve made things I thought were nothing—
Too slow.
Too simple.
Too underwhelming.

But later... sometimes months later...
I’ll look again and see something I missed.

Not genius.
Not perfection.

Just truth.
Something small... but real.

And real matters more than brilliant ever will.

Because here’s what they don’t tell you:

Genius can burn out.
Grit can’t.

The work that lasts—
—the paintings people come back to,
—the ones that hold them—
They weren’t made in a fit of brilliance.
They were made in the after.

After the ego broke.
After the first draft failed.
After the artist doubted everything and still... kept moving.

The more I paint, the less I care about speed.
The less I care about genius.
And the more I respect repetition.

The brushstroke that doesn’t land right the first time.
The color you mix wrong five times in a row.
The moment you scrape it all off and start again.

That’s not failure.
That’s not a lack of talent.
That’s the process.

And the process is sacred.

We’ve made a culture of urgency.
Of going viral.
Of selling fast.
Of needing to “make it” before you’re thirty... or relevant... or forgotten.

But real work doesn’t care about your timeline.
It grows in its own time.
It arrives when it’s ready.

So if you’re reading this, and you’ve been feeling behind—
Not brilliant enough.
Not fast enough.
Not certain enough.

Let me offer this:

You’re not late.
You’re not lost.
You’re not broken.

You’re just... becoming.

Becoming takes time.
It takes rest.
It takes distance.

And it takes repetition.

Paint.
Step back.
Scrape.
Repaint.
Breathe.
Repeat.

The myth of the genius artist wants you to burn out before you break through.
Don’t let it.

Build something instead.
Brick by brick.
Layer by layer.
Stroke by stroke.

Let the work become wise... because you became patient.

Because the truth is—
some of the best work you’ll ever make
won’t come from a moment of divine inspiration...
...but from the thousand quiet decisions you made
...to keep going
...anyway.

And that’s not lesser.
That’s greater.
That’s art.