Permission to Make Something Ugly: The Art You’ll Actually Finish

There’s a moment—right before I start making art—when my chest tightens and my brain starts looking for the exit.

It might be the clink of the water glass.

The way the blank page stares back like it’s already disappointed.

Or the memory of the last piece I never finished because I decided—somewhere between the second and third layer—that it wasn’t “good enough.”

It doesn’t matter how many courses I’ve taken, how many sketchbooks I’ve bought, or how deeply I believe in creativity as healing—

I still bump into the same invisible wall:

What if it turns out ugly?

And not quirky-cute ugly.

Not “look how free I am” ugly.

I mean awkward, unbalanced, painful-to-look-at ugly.

The kind that makes me want to close the sketchbook and pretend I never started.

That’s when the voice kicks in.

The one that sounds like the art teacher who frowned.

Or the Instagram reel with perfect lighting and perfect lines.

Or the part of me that still believes if it isn’t impressive, it isn’t worth doing.

“You’re wasting time.”
“You’re not a real artist.”
“Why bother?”

And for a long time, I listened.

I believed that ugly meant I was doing it wrong.

That if I couldn’t make something beautiful on command, I probably shouldn’t bother.

That talent should feel effortless—and if it wasn’t pouring out of me, it must not be mine to claim.

But here’s what I’ve come to get in my bones—slowly, gently, over the past few years:

Ugly art is honest.
Ugly art is brave.
Ugly art is how we come back to ourselves.

Because ugly art means you started.

It means you let go of the polished version of yourself long enough to reach for something real.

It means you risked being seen—by yourself most of all.

We live in a world obsessed with results.

With polish, with proof, with before-and-after stories.

But the most sacred part of the creative process?

It’s what happens between the before and the after.

It’s the messy, un-photogenic middle.

It’s the trembling brushstroke that says, I’m trying anyway.

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In every workshop I lead, and every conversation I have with women coming back to their creativity after years of silence or shame, I hear the same quiet ache:

“I want to create… but I’m scared it won’t be good.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“I used to be creative. I don’t know if I still am.”

We are not alone in this fear.
We are not broken for feeling it.
But we are being invited to choose something kinder.

So this is your permission.
Not to be fearless.
Not to be perfect.
But to be willing.

Willing to make something that makes you cringe a little.
Willing to keep going, even when it looks like a hot mess.
Willing to sit in the discomfort—and call it sacred.

Because when you do that, something beautiful happens:

You stop waiting for perfect circumstances.
You stop abandoning yourself halfway through.
You stop letting the inner critic run the show.

And instead, you begin to build trust—with your hand, your voice, your rhythm.

You make space for art that reflects where you are, not where you wish you were.

You start creating not because it’s perfect—but because it’s yours.

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Try this today:

• Set a 5-minute timer.

• Grab anything—pen, lipstick, a paintbrush.

• Make something “ugly” on purpose. Messy. Loud. Wrong.

• When your critic chimes in, say: Not now. I’m making something sacred.

• Then sign it. Date it. Keep it.

Don’t toss it. Don’t fix it. Don’t apologize.

That piece might just be the doorway back to your practice.

Back to your joy.

Back to yourself.

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Here’s the belief I want you to hold onto:

The art you finish is often the art you don’t judge halfway through.
The art that heals you isn’t always technically “good.”
It’s the one that let you exhale.

Let this be the day you stop waiting for approval and start reclaiming your creative space.

Not when you're more talented.
Not when you're more organized.
Today.

Because we’re not here to impress.
We’re here to express.
And you, my friend, have something to say—even if it’s in scribbles.

With deep love and paint-stained hands,
Lynn

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PS: What’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever made that set you free?

Have you tried making something on purpose that no one else had to like?

Leave a comment and tell me what came up—or post your art and tag me.

I’ll be in the comments cheering you on.

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PSS: Want a gentle journaling prompt to go with this?

I made a printable worksheet just for you. Click below to download it:
👉 Download: The 5-Minute Ugly Art Prompt

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