You might not have a name for it yet, but something’s already stirring inside you.
You can’t quite explain it—but it burns.
It’s like a hunger that won’t quit, a sweet sort of rage, like static electricity beneath your skin.
It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.
It just means you wanna make art.
But indeed, it comes with some shadows.
Three of them.
They may look like answers.
Pretend they’re helping.
But they’re here to shut you up.
Keep you quiet.
Keep you small.
Here they come:
The Paparazzi
👹 This one’s not here to create—just to chase the perfect headline. Wants the applause. Wants the name drop. It hunts fame like a starving dog. Spies on trending artists, hijacks their style, copies their moves… —then flashes it as its own. It seeks what is safe. And if it must, it will dance for it.
🩸 The problem → It would rather betray itself than go unseen. Truth doesn’t matter. Only attention. And this stinks so bad, people run from it.
💊 The fix → What matters most isn’t in what you admire. It’s in what you haven’t even met in yourself. Even if it’s weird. Even if no one gets it. Even if you don’t.
The Hypochondriac
👹 This one’s so scared of messing up, of not being perfect, that it freezes. Fixing before even painting. Never finishing a thing. Asks permission from every brushstroke. Wants a guarantee before taking the leap. Locked up in its own mind. Hesitating. Forever waiting.
🩸 The problem → Art’s a mess. A fight. A wound you open on purpose. It’s a war zone. It’s not supposed to be safe. Nothing’s promised.
💊 The fix → Stop taking yourself so seriously. Let the mistakes show. Let ‘em scream. Use what stings. Paint weird. Paint wrong. That little oddity you hate? That’s the most “you” thing you’ve got. Push it. Show it. Even if you’re trembling.
The Technical Hysteric
👹 This one’s a pro, does everything “right.” Polished. But empty. All form, no soul. Obsessed with the craft—lines, light, finishes—but says nothing. Means nothing. Mistakes technique for soul.
🩸 The problem → It’s obsessed with the how, but forgets the why. It just wants to look good. It wants a medal, not meaning.
💊 The fix → Learn your tools, of course. But not to show off. Use ‘em to tell the story that keeps you up at night. Technique’s like salt—too much ruins the dish, too little’s just bland.
Keep this one close:
“An artist is someone who allows their work to evolve out loud.”
So yeah—give yourself that permission.
To blow it.
To show the sparks without hiding your face.
To be disliked.
To not fit.
Even if it scares you.
Especially if it scares you.
And if you don’t want to walk this path alone—there’s a place.
A kind of purgatory for artists.
A real one.
An island with double walls.
It opens twice a year.
Next time: October, 2025.
They call it “STRANGE HEAVEN”.
BOOK A DATE WITH YOUR DEMONS. ASK WHAT THE HELL THEY WANT. THEN MAKE A DEAL.
P.S. — Look, this isn’t for everyone. It’s not for posers. Would be a crime to let in tourists, voyeurs, or fools. But if you get in, you’ll get it. And you’ll be grateful. Link’s up top.
Something we said lit a spark?
Good. Follow it.
Each week, one sharp idea to cut through the noise.
You’ll get instant access to all our books.
Including the one that’s helped hundreds “Overcoming Impostor Syndrome.”