Some artists make a big deal out of being self taught, but truth of the matter is, all artists are self taught.

The difference between the two is encapsulated in two questions:

Are you learning only from yourself, just from what you can dredge up from “the artist within”?

Or are you learning from other people – teachers, writers, other artists both dead and alive -- magazine resources, workshops, books, the successes of others, the mistakes of others, comments and critiques – basically external sources that you read, analyze, review, try out, and experiment with, internalizing what works and shaping it into that “artist within”?

While art is a talent, it does not grow by itself in a vacuum, and for an artist to reach his or her potential, he needs a grasp of the basics, a grounding in fundamentals, and training.

This makes total sense when we’re talking about an engineer or a mathematician, but for some reason, when we talk art, our right brain supersedes the left to the point that instruction gives way to feelings, skill to emotion, proficiency to passion.

One of the key ways of recognizing whether you need work in an area is to determine if you are compensating for your lack of training in it. Ask yourself:

Do I draw noses this way because I want to, or because I don’t know any other way of doing it?

If the answer is the latter, bring your skill level up so that you can draw a nose the way you want it to look.

Passion, emotion, and feelings – yes these are important. But they are not enough without proficiency, skill, and instruction, and the best artists – who are self-motivated, self-disciplined, and truly self-taught, incorporate all six elements, seamlessly, into their work and their being.

I work with knitters, and a student recently told me,

“I don’t like the way my stuff turns out.”

When I asked her what kind of yarn she used, she replied,

“Oh, I just picked up something cheap. I didn’t want to spend money on something that probably wasn’t going to work out.”

Bad idea.

Whether you’re knitting or painting, you’ll get the best results when you use the best materials.

While a novice, or even an intermediate, does not need the most expensive items in the store (interestingly, many professionals do not shop at the tippy top themselves), they also don’t want the two-quart tubes of student grade paint and cheap, cheap brushes, all slathered onto loosely woven, won’t-stay-stretched, canvas.

If the colors are weak and the brushes imprecise, the results will be disappointing.

The Norwegian Artist, Steve Henderson, discovered the major difference between student and professional grade art supplies in one of his early quarters of teaching, when he recommended a starter watercolor kit to his students while he used the materials from his own studio for his demonstrations.

“I know I’m a beginner,” one student said, “but even though I’m following you step by step, nothing I do looks at all like what you’re doing.”

Steve picked up her brush, dabbed it in her paint, and swept it across his canvas.

“Nothing I do looks like what I’m doing with this paint either,” he said.

From that point on, he recommended his own paint choices and brushes to his students, limiting the colors and brush choices to decrease the cost.

Yes, it costs more. No, you don’t have to overhaul your entire studio at once.

But bit by bit, buy up.



Let's talk about this term, luxury, first.

A luxury is something that you don't really need, and by that definition, lots of things fall into this category.

We need shelter; we need protection from the elements; we need food; we need water; we need air.

That being said, the shelter could be a hovel, and as long as it keeps us warm and dry, then anything more is a luxury.

Food? What we need is enough to sustain life -- rice and beans should do the trick, but most of us prefer to go beyond that. Technically, the steak, potatoes and spinach salad, along with the chocolate pie for dessert, that you ate last week is a major, major luxury.

Do you see where I'm going here?

Anything that goes beyond what we truly need to sustain life can be defined as a luxury.

You need a car to get to work; fine. It doesn't have to be a Cadillac, but if it makes you happy when it is, and if you can afford it, why not?

You need a phone to do your job; it doesn't have to be cute and small and smarter than you are, but if it makes you happy when it is, and you can afford it, why not?

You need clothes because you don't live in a nudist colony; they don't have to be form fitting and flattering, but if it makes you happy when it is, and you can afford it, why not?

You want something on your wall that makes you smile and feel happy every time you look at it. That's a painting. You don't eat it, wear it, or live inside it, so it's technically a luxury, but if it makes you happy and you can afford it, why not?