Did Video Kill the Artist In You?

Making art is an odd experience. It's thrilling, annoying, messy, and occasionally it seems like you're simply fumbling aimlessly in the hopes that something amazing would finally come together.

As artists, we must have faith that ideas will come to us, even if they don't appear when or how we want them to. However, things quickly become complex when social media is included. Trying to share that vulnerable, unfiltered moment of creating art with the world by filming your creative process on YouTube, Instagram, or TikTok can put a whole new level of pressure on your work.

The creative process, in theory, sounds so straightforward: inspiration strikes, you create, you finish, you share. In reality, though, it’s stressful. You start with one idea, then it spirals into something completely different, or you hit a roadblock, and you can’t seem to figure out what comes next. That’s where creative paralysis kicks in—when the weight of the work, or the fear of not getting it right, stops you in your tracks. It’s that moment of staring at a blank page (or canvas, or screen) and feeling like you can’t move forward because it all feels too big, too important, or too imperfect. That’s a feeling (almost) every artist knows well.

But what happens when you’re not just working for yourself, but also filming the whole thing? It’s hard to ignore the camera. Once it’s rolling, you start thinking about how you look, how the process might come across, and whether people will think you’re good enough or interesting enough to follow. Suddenly, it’s not just about the art—it’s about performance. And that can lead to a lot of second-guessing. You’re aware that every brushstroke, every mistake, could be judged by a crowd of strangers online. It can make you freeze up, or worse, make you feel like you can’t mess up at all. You’re not just creating for yourself anymore; you’re creating for an audience who expects to see something “good.”

This is where the vulnerability of filming your process really hits. We all want to show our best selves, our cleanest, most polished work, but when you’re sharing the messy in-between moments of your creative journey, you’re showing more than just the finished piece—you’re showingyou. And that’s terrifying. It’s easy to be afraid of what people will think if they see you struggle, or if your work isn’t as perfect as it could be. That vulnerability—putting your messy, imperfect self out there—can feel like a huge risk. What if people don’t like what you’re doing? What if they think you’re not good enough? It can make the fear of creative paralysis even worse.

But, in a weird way, it's also kind of freeing. Filming your process and sharing the real, imperfect parts of it can create a deeper connection with others. Social media, for all its flaws, gives you the chance to reach people who understand your struggles. When you show that it's not always smooth sailing-when you're honest about the messiness of the process-it makes your art more human. And I think that's something we all need more of. The reality is, no one's creative process is perfect. We all go through phases of doubt, frustration, and confusion. If we show that to others, maybe it helps everyone else feel a little less alone in their own creative journeys.

Even as I say this I feel I’m asking a bit too much of myself. Let my mistakes be? How, and what’s more, why? This goes against everything I’ve been taught.

But perhaps I’ve been taught wrong?

In actuality, nobody's creative process is flawless. Everybody experiences periods of uncertainty. Perhaps if we demonstrate that to others, it will make everyone feel a little less isolated in their own artistic endeavors.

Hence, it's not always simple to record yourself when you're creating. It makes you feel more vulnerable and you're constantly afraid that your work isn't good enough for the world to see. However, it can also aid in tearing down the perfectionism that frequently impedes our progress. Sharing the hardship and the victories makes the whole thing more relatable, even though it may not be easy, especially if you’re late in the game.

TBH, I’m not ready to share any glaring mistakes, but they hound you in your sleeping and waking moments. That artwork, you know the one I make three years ago? It could have been better. I don’t like it. I’m embarrassed. I want to rip it to shreds. Ah, yes, the ‘introject’, that in built voice bringing you down, the dregs of your Ma, Pa and perhaps a college teacher, melded into one, ripping the hem of your garment like a pesky, insistent chihuahua from hell.

I have a solution for the faint-hearted such as myself: the Junk Sketchbook.

Draw badly in it, by all means. Don't show it to anyone. Show it when you're ready. Spill coffee on it. Tear out pages if you need to. Add those coffee shop receipts to account for the days. Draw strangers, and if they’re not available, draw empty chairs. Get out of your studio. Ignore the quizzical looks thrown in your direction. You have a right to be in this world.

You’re an artist.

Please checkout my YouTube Channel and my latest art process video https://www.youtube.com/@AtomicRakshasi