Questions to Ask Yourself as an Artist
These are questions to ask yourself as an artist, for painters, illustrators, printmakers, photographers and anyone else who makes pictures or objects, whether the work has stalled or you are simply taking stock. They run in six groups: why you make what you make, the piece in front of you, your habits, your influences and the feedback you get, showing and money, and where the practice is heading. Write the answers down and date the page, because the same question answered a year later shows what has moved.
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The questions
Each question, and why to ask it
Why I make it
Why do I make art at all, and what would go missing from my life if I stopped?
Why ask it
Answer the second half first, because it is harder to dress up. If what would go missing is the hours alone with a problem, guard those hours. If it is being known as an artist, that is a different need, and making more work may not be the only way to meet it.
What is my work about, in one sentence a friend outside art would understand?
Why ask it
A sentence that only describes technique, like 'layered oil glazes on panel', means the subject has not shown itself yet, which is worth knowing and worth some weeks in the sketchbook. Ban the words explore, examine and interrogate while you write it.
Who am I making this for?
Why ask it
'Everyone' is not an answer you can work from. An actual person or one kind of viewer is, even if it turns out to be yourself at fifteen, because a piece aimed at a juror, a feed and a friend at once tends to satisfy none of them.
What do I want someone to feel when they look at my work?
Why ask it
Settle on a single feeling, such as unease, calm or homesickness, before you ask anyone else. Then show a piece to someone, say nothing, and listen to the first thing they report. If the two keep missing each other, either the work or your idea of it needs to move.
What do I keep coming back to, whether or not I planned to?
Why ask it
Lay out the last twenty things you made and list what recurs: a subject, a color, a kind of edge, how far you stand from the figure. The repeats you never chose are closer to your real subject than whatever your artist statement says.
Which piece of mine feels most like me, and what does it have that the others lack?
Why ask it
The difference usually fits in a plain word: looser, slower, funnier, less finished. Find it by setting that piece next to your two most recent ones, then treat the word as a brief for the next ten.
Would someone know a piece was mine without the signature, and do I want that yet?
Why ask it
A recognizable style tends to arrive as a by-product of making a lot of work and noticing what stays, so not having one early on is no fault. If you are forcing consistency so a portfolio or a feed looks tidy, you may be closing off the experiments that would have led to a truer one.
What did I love making before anyone told me what was good?
Why ask it
Think back to the horses, the maps, the comic pages drawn on lined paper. Something in that early appetite, whether the scale, the subject or the speed, is usually still usable and worth one afternoon's test.
Do I make this kind of work because I want to, or because it is what I got praised for?
Why ask it
Trace the style back to the first time it earned a compliment, a grade or a sale. Praise is a fair reason to continue only if you would still choose the work with the praise taken away.
What am I avoiding making because it would be embarrassing, too personal or too hard?
Why ask it
Each of the three wants a different response, so sort it first. Too hard calls for studies, and too personal can be made and kept in a drawer. Embarrassing is the one to try in public, because the piece you wince at is sometimes the one people answer to.
Do I call myself an artist, and if not, what am I waiting for?
Why ask it
Listen to what comes out when someone asks what you do. If the word only appears with 'aspiring' or 'sort of' in front of it, write down the condition you have set, whether a sale, a show or a degree, and ask who made that the rule.
This piece
What is this piece for?
Why ask it
A study, a commission, a show piece and an experiment are each allowed a different amount of risk and finish. Say which one this is before you start, so you do not judge a study by gallery standards or play safe on an experiment.
What is the one thing this piece has to get right?
Why ask it
Choose a single thing, like the light on the wall or the look on the face, and let everything else serve it. When you are stuck, check whether you have been polishing a part the main thing does not need.
What made me want to start it, and is that still visible?
Why ask it
Pieces often lose their reason somewhere in the middle. The first sketch, photo or scribbled note still has it, so set that beside the work as it stands and decide whether to push on or to bring back what got painted out.
Where does my eye go first, and is that where I want it?
Why ask it
Turn the work upside down, hold it to a mirror or shrink a photo of it to thumbnail size. If your eye lands on a bright corner or a fussy detail instead of the subject, quiet that area before touching anything else.
What can I take out?
Why ask it
Cover one element at a time with your hand or a scrap of paper and see whether the piece gets weaker. Anything it survives without is a candidate to go, however long it took you.
Which part am I protecting because I like it, even though it is not helping?
Why ask it
It is usually the passage you got right early and have been working around ever since. Photograph it so it is not lost, then picture the whole with that passage redone to match everything around it.
Is this piece stuck, or am I just in the ugly middle stage?
Why ask it
There is often a stretch where the first freshness has gone and the finish has not arrived. If you can name the next three moves, keep going. If you cannot name one, stop and make a small study of the problem area on separate paper.
How will I know it is finished?
Why ask it
Set the test before the last session: nothing that bothers you from across the room, or a point where each new mark makes it worse. If the last hour only changed things nobody else would see, it was done a while ago and something else is being put off.
What did this piece teach me that the next one can use?
Why ask it
Write one line on the back, in the sketchbook or in the file name of the photo: a mix that worked, a format that did not. A failed piece with a line like that attached has paid for its materials.
Habits
How much of my time goes to making, and how much to thinking about making?
Why ask it
Count planning, buying supplies, watching tutorials and reorganizing as the second kind. Some of it is needed, but when it outweighs the making for weeks on end it has become a comfortable way to stay away from the easel.
What time of day do I do my best work, and is that when I am actually working?
Why ask it
Track it for two weeks with a mark on a calendar for each session and one word for how it went. If your good hours are going to a job or to email, moving even thirty minutes of studio time into them is a trade worth making.
What do I do in the first ten minutes in the studio?
Why ask it
Those minutes decide a lot of sessions. If they go to tidying or scrolling for reference, build a start that puts a tool in your hand, such as a timed warm-up drawing or mixing the day's palette.
What does my workspace make easy, and what does it make hard?
Why ask it
If setting up takes twenty minutes, short sessions will never happen. Look for one change, like a board that stays out or a box holding a single project's materials, that lets you begin within two minutes of sitting down.
What do I do on the days I do not feel like working?
Why ask it
Have the answer ready before the day comes: prime surfaces, fill a page with thumbnails, copy a passage from a painting you admire. A low task that keeps your hand moving beats waiting for the mood.
When did I last enjoy a session, and what was I doing?
Why ask it
The answer is often a stage, such as drawing in, mixing color or the last hour of detail, and not a whole project. If deadlines or a format that skips it have squeezed that stage out, plan one piece that is mostly made of it.
Am I practicing what I am weak at, or repeating what I am already good at?
Why ask it
Name the weakness exactly: hands, edges, values, composition at a large size. Then give it a fixed slot, perhaps the first twenty minutes of each session, so it happens before the part you enjoy.
When did I last make something badly on purpose, just to try it?
Why ask it
If every piece has to be good, you will only reach for the moves you already trust. Keep cheap paper or a scrap file where nothing is allowed to be saved, and use it for the material or subject you have been circling.
Do I finish things?
Why ask it
A pile of beginnings points at the stage where you quit, so check where the unfinished ones from the past six months stopped. One remedy is to push three small pieces all the way through quickly, without caring how they look, to learn what the end of the process asks of you.
Influence and feedback
Whose work do I keep looking at, and what exactly am I taking from it?
Why ask it
Get past 'I love it' to the mechanism: the way she crops, his restricted palette, their willingness to leave areas bare. A mechanism you can name can be borrowed and bent to your own subject, where general admiration tends to produce imitation.
Where does influence end and copying begin in my own work?
Why ask it
Hang your piece beside the source. If a stranger would take one for a version of the other, call it a study and label it that way when you share it. Rules on selling work based on someone else's images differ by country, so find out how it works where you live before you price it.
What do I look at that is not art?
Why ask it
Buildings, field guides, old packaging, sports photography, your grandmother's quilts. People in one medium tend to study the same artists, so a source from outside art is one of the surer ways to stop your work resembling theirs.
Is social media helping my work, or making it look like everyone else's?
Why ask it
Notice how you feel when you put the phone down: keen to make something, or behind. If it is mostly the second, take a month off the accounts that cause it, give the time to books, museums or a walk with a sketchbook, and compare what you make.
Whose career do I envy, and what exactly do I want from it?
Why ask it
Envy is specific information. Work out whether it is their freedom, their income, their audience or their studio you want, because each of those implies a different next step for you.
Whose opinion of my work do I trust, and when did I last ask for it?
Why ask it
The person you want can say what is not working without trying to turn your piece into theirs. If nobody comes to mind, finding one through a class, a critique group or a traded studio visit is a real task for this year.
What feedback do I keep hearing and keep dismissing?
Why ask it
One person saying your figures are stiff is an opinion. Three unconnected people saying it is a pattern, and it has earned a few weeks of deliberate work before you decide they are wrong.
Which rules from my training am I still obeying without having chosen them?
Why ask it
List the ones you follow automatically, whether they came from a teacher, a book or a tutorial: never use black, always work from life, resolve every edge. Break each one once in a throwaway piece and keep only those that survive the test.
Showing and money
Is this work ready for other people to see, and what am I waiting for?
Why ask it
If the answer is 'until it is better', put a number on better: ten pieces that belong together, or one you would stand next to at an opening. Without a threshold the waiting has no end.
Do I have a group of pieces that belong together?
Why ask it
Choose your best ten and remove whatever looks as if a different artist made it. What remains is what a gallery, a juror or a visitor to your website can make sense of, and the gaps tell you what to make next.
Where do I want this work to be seen?
Why ask it
A gallery wall, a craft fair table, a book, a phone screen and a client's office each suit different sizes, prices and subjects. Choose the place first and you will see whether your current format fits it.
If someone asked to see my work tomorrow, what could I send them?
Why ask it
The true inventory is often a phone full of crooked snapshots. Photograph each finished piece square-on in even light as you go, and keep its title, size, medium, year and price in one list, so an invitation with a short deadline does not catch you without them.
Do I want to sell this work, or do I want it to stay mine?
Why ask it
Both are legitimate, and they lead to different decisions about subject, size and how many you make. If you want some of each, decide which pieces are which before a buyer asks.
How did I arrive at my prices, and could I explain them to a buyer without apologizing?
Why ask it
A method you can state, such as size, hours plus materials, or what comparable artists near you charge, is easier to stand behind than a number picked by nerve. Whichever you use, subtract materials, framing and any commission and look at what is left for you.
What does my practice cost me each month, and what does it bring in?
Why ask it
Put real figures in two columns: materials, studio, fees and shipping against sales, commissions and teaching. How art income and expenses are taxed differs by country and by situation, so ask an accountant or your tax office how it works for you instead of guessing.
Does art need to pay my bills, and by when?
Why ask it
A day job that leaves energy for the studio can protect the work from having to sell. If you do want the income to come from art, write down the monthly figure and the date, since a goal missing either one cannot be planned toward.
What am I agreeing to when I say yes to this show, commission or gallery?
Why ask it
Get the terms in writing before you deliver anything: who pays for framing and shipping, what share the venue keeps, when you are paid, who may reproduce the images. Arrangements vary from place to place and venue to venue, so ask how each one works and do not assume the last one was typical.
How do I respond when the work is rejected or ignored?
Why ask it
For one season, count applications sent instead of acceptances, and log each no with its date. Then look at what you did the week after each one. If you stopped working, plan the next studio session before the answer arrives so the rejection has nothing to decide.
Direction
Is my work getting better, or is there just more of it?
Why ask it
Pull a piece from a year ago and one from last month and compare them on a single skill you care about. If you cannot see a difference, more of the same will not produce one, and it is time for a class, a new constraint or a harder subject.
What do I mean by success, and whose definition is that?
Why ask it
Check your answer against how you would want to spend an ordinary Tuesday. A definition borrowed from school, family or social media can demand a career whose daily routine you would not enjoy.
What would I like to be making in five years that I cannot make now?
Why ask it
Describe the piece in detail: its size, its material, where it hangs. Then list the skills, money and space that lie between here and there, and pick the one you could start on this month.
What would have to happen this year for me to call it a good one?
Why ask it
Make the answer countable and within your control: forty finished drawings, three applications, one body of work photographed. Sales and acceptances depend on other people, so keep them on a wish list and off the target.
Is this still the right medium for what I want to make, or only the one I know?
Why ask it
Ask it when one frustration keeps returning: the paint is too slow, the screen too clean, the print too small. Borrow the other material and try a single idea in it before buying anything. Even if you go back, you will know what you were asking the old medium to do.
How do I want art to fit with the rest of my life?
Why ask it
Hobby, serious side practice and full-time profession are all honest answers, and each asks for different hours and different sacrifices from the people around you. Say yours aloud to whoever shares your home, since their time is part of the plan.
Who do I need around me that I do not have yet?
Why ask it
Think of peers at your stage, someone a few years ahead, and someone who simply likes what you make. If you work alone at a kitchen table, a monthly meetup, an open studio night or a shared critique thread is the cheapest fix on this page.
What is the smallest thing I could do this week to move the practice where I want it?
Why ask it
Keep it to something that fits in an hour: stretch a canvas, email one venue, photograph three finished pieces. Give it a day in the calendar, because an answer on paper is worth little until it changes what you do.
How to question your own practice and get a usable answer
Practical guidance for the conversation itself
Setting up a session with yourself
Put the answers on paper
An answer that stays in your head gets revised into something flattering. Use the back pages of a sketchbook or a single notes file, date every entry, and write whole sentences so the page still makes sense when you read it next year.
Take one group at a time
Working through all six groups in one sitting leaves you with a page of thin answers. Pick the group that matches the trouble: This piece when a single work will not resolve, Habits when you have not been in the studio, Direction at the turn of the year or the week after a show comes down.
Have the work in the room
Answer with pieces in front of you and not from memory. Lean five recent ones against a wall, or open a folder of photographs, and point at the evidence for each claim you make about your own work.
Keep it to twenty minutes
That is enough for three or four questions answered properly. Past that point the session starts to eat the studio time it was meant to protect, so set a timer and pick up a brush when it goes off.
Which questions for which kind of stall
One piece will not come right
Ask what the piece has to get right, then what you can take out, then which part you are protecting. Before you touch the piece again, make a small study of the trouble spot on a separate sheet, where a wrong guess costs nothing.
You have stopped going in
Begin with the first ten minutes and with what your workspace makes hard. The repair at this stage is mostly mechanical: a shorter session, a setup that stays out, a task chosen the night before so you do not have to decide anything on arrival.
Everything you make looks the same
Go to Influence and feedback, and to the question about making something badly on purpose. A new source from outside art, plus one rule from your training broken on cheap paper, tends to shift the work more than a new set of brushes.
The doubt is about the whole practice
Use the first group and the last, and do not decide anything large on the day a piece failed. Write the answers, leave them for a week, and reread them after a session that went reasonably well.
A show, a sale or an offer is on the table
Work through Showing and money before you reply to anyone. The terms of shows, commissions and gallery arrangements depend on the venue and the country, so treat your answers as a list of things to ask them, not as facts you already hold.
Ways self-questioning goes wrong
Answers written for an audience
If a sentence would sit nicely in an artist statement, be suspicious of it. The useful version is plainer and a little unflattering, like 'I paint small because large ones scare me', and it stays in the notebook.
Reflection standing in for work
Journaling about painting feels productive and leaves the canvas where it was. Close every session by naming one thing to do with your hands in the next studio visit, and judge the questions by whether that thing got done.
Measuring against someone further along
Your third year set beside another artist's twentieth tells you nothing except that time passes. When a question asks you to compare, compare your own piece from last year, which is the only fair match you have.
Treating money answers as settled
What a friend in another city charges, pays in commission or sets against tax may not apply to you. Take pricing, contract and tax questions to the venue itself, an accountant or a local arts organization, and write down what they tell you with the date.
Coming back to the answers
Answer again before you reread
Every six months or so, answer a group fresh and only then look at what you wrote last time. Where the two entries differ, your practice has moved. Where they match word for word, either the answer is solid or you have not tested it.
Turn one answer into a task
Out of each session, pull a single answer and attach a job and a day to it: 'Thursday, lay out the best ten and pull the odd ones'. One completed task does more than a page of insight left to sit.
Read one answer to another artist
Choose the answer you are least sure of and say it to a peer whose eye you trust. They will often tell you what your work already shows, and it may not be what you wrote.