You can’t fail as an artist, you can only fail to make art

There’s a fear of failure that lurks in the shadows like a giant spider waiting to pounce on unsuspecting artists. The pressure to churn out groundbreaking, original, and commercially successful work can feel as suffocating as the ninth draft of an artist’s bio. However I believe if you are an artist, you can’t actually fail.- you’re officially unbreakable. 

How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?

Art is a journey, not a destination. It’s a bit like wandering around IKEA; you think you’re heading for the checkout, but suddenly you’re lost in a maze of kitchen displays, carrying a lamp you never intended to buy. Each step—or in the case of art, each creative mark, each doodle, each spontaneous decision to draw at 2 a.m.—is valuable in itself. You’re learning, experimenting, expressing. Who cares if the final product doesn’t end up as a bestselling print? You made something out of nothing, and that’s already better than half the motivational posters hanging in corporate offices.

This concept is especially apparent whenever I work on my op art pieces, like my “Spider’s Eyes” . These swirling optical illusions trick the eye, creating a dance between fascination and discomfort. It’s captivating and confusing, it’s meant to provoke something. And if your art can spark any reaction other than a polite “Oh, that’s nice,” you’re already winning.

Too often, we artists get caught up in the numbers game—sales figures, social media likes, how many people comment “stunning!” under our latest post even though we know it’s probably a bot. It’s easy to measure success with these external metrics, True satisfaction comes from within, from the simple act of bringing an idea to life. When I was creating “Spider’s Eyes”, I wasn’t thinking about selling prints or getting featured in a gallery; I was just curious about how far I could push a pattern and camouflage the eyes within themselves.

Failure, in the traditional sense, implies a lack of achievement. But with art, there’s no such thing as failure—just feedback. You’ll either learn that your experimental piece is a stroke of brilliance or that it belongs in the “What Was I Thinking?” folder. Even when my “Spider’s Eyes” didn’t quite hypnotize the viewer as intended, it was still a stepping stone toward understanding the balance between contrast and distortion.

What one person considers a masterpiece, another may dismiss as garbage. Taste varies as widely as opinions on pineapple on pizza. Some people find hidden faces in the “Spider’s Eyes,” while others see abstract shapes, or nothing at all. The only thing that matters is what you see in it and how it makes you feel—whether that’s proud, uncertain, or a little nauseous from staring too long.

It’s never been easier to share your art with the world—whether that’s a blessing or a curse is still up for debate. On one hand, you can reach people across the globe. On the other, your latest masterpiece is one post away from being buried in a deep grave. It can be discouraging when your work feels like it’s getting lost in the noise. But let’s be real: success rarely happens overnight. You have to keep showing up, putting in the time, and being willing to embrace the setbacks along the way.

So instead of obsessing over likes, shares, and other metrics that are probably controlled by an algorithm designed by someone who has never held a paintbrush, focus on honing your craft. Find your own rhythm, refine your skills, and stay true to your vision—even if that vision happens to be a pattern of black-and-white eyeballs that seem to follow you around the room. Surround yourself with a community of other creators who get it—people who understand that art is more than a hustle or a side gig; it’s a calling, a madness, a kind of magic. Embrace their support, take their criticism with a pinch of salt, and most importantly, don’t be afraid to make mistakes.

You can’t fail as an artist because art is, by nature, beautifully chaotic and endlessly subjective. Your worth isn’t determined by the size of your following or how much someone is willing to pay for your work, but by the passion, authenticity, and creativity you pour into it. So keep creating, keep messing up, and keep experimenting with new ideas, like the “Spider’s Eyes.” After all, the journey is where the real magic happens—even if that journey occasionally leads you down some weird, spider-filled paths.