Failing, sometimes publicly

As an artist, or even just a human trying something new, the pressure to present polished, perfect work is immense. We rarely see the hours of ugly, awkward, and just plain wrong sketches that go into a finished piece. Today, I'm pulling back the curtain and sharing two pieces that I consider complete failures: a quick pencil sketch of a grasping hand and a dramatic, high-contrast painting of a fist in pink and black. By every technical measure, I failed miserably. The angles are wrong, the proportions are off, the fingers are anatomically illogical, and my shadows don’t match any consistent light source. They were executed against the rules, but I completed them anyway.

You’ll notice that one of these pieces is signed and dated. This is actually a big deal for me, as I constantly forget to sign my work. But something about this particular "failed" sketch felt important enough to claim. Signing it wasn't an act of pride, it was an act of acceptance, marking the moment I acknowledged that the lesson learned is more valuable than the technical success. I’ve decided to share these sketches precisely because they are flawed. 

I believe that failing publicly builds essential grit. When you fail quietly, you only answer to yourself. When you fail publicly, you’re choosing to stand up after falling in front of an audience, and this forces endurance. You must own the mistakes, which strips away the ego and focuses you purely on improvement. That feeling of vulnerability cultivates strength; it trains you to value the process over the outcome.

These attempts also highlight a crucial part of my sketching process: completion is non-negotiable. I know artists who erase, tear up, or abandon a piece the moment a mistake is made, but my approach is different. Once I start a sketch, I commit to taking it as far as I can, even if it's fundamentally broken. The initial errors in angle or shape become challenges, and I use the shading, the line work, or the color to try and correct or mask the original mistake, pushing my skills in problem-solving. Ultimately, these pieces weren't created for a portfolio, they were created to stretch my hand, my eye, and my understanding of light and form, and for that purpose, they were an absolute success. 

Devil’s advocate: Why waste time on throwing the good after the bad? My answer is that bad drawings force you to build skill and creativity by increasing the number of constraints you’re under.