Creative Beginner's Gap

It is so hard sometimes to be a beginner — especially when you are so NOT a beginner in other versions of yourself, and especially when you are embarking on a totally new and foreign skill or material in the visual arts. It can be really hard and discouraging.

As a self‑declared Encore and Eclectic Artist, however, I have challenged myself to learn new art‑making things — triggered by an inspiring technique I saw, or some art piece that takes my breath away.

A few days ago, I had a complete project flop that caught me off guard but taught me things. This was not a fun experience. I did not want to film myself at the end glowing, with the egg dripping from my forehead.

I’m writing about it nonetheless, because I am committed to sharing an authentic Eclectic Artist journey. It is not easy to “lean in,” be messy, and embrace your imperfectly perfect self. It’s frustrating and demotivating at times. But — Ira Glass knew what he was talking about regarding the Creative Gap.

The Pink Lotus Light

I wanted to learn to make a sculptural lamp. I had purchased the lamp from Target — it was white, cheap, and weird. Perfect. I needed to learn about curving and molding foam, then attaching it to a light fixture. I’ll call it the Pink Lotus. I fantasized.

Down, down, down went my curious mind, watching many YouTube videos (an addictive process I love). I am in my full‑throttle jam — watching, learning, comparing videos, even taking notes in my beloved Art Lessons sketchbook.

I love the foam‑maker prop‑designer YouTube vibe — so different from the fine‑art types or crafters of YouTube. Step‑by‑step instructions guide me. Easy.

I jump in the car and drive to the local Ben Franklin craft store, snag three pieces of thick spongy green and pink foam sheets, and beeline it to the cashier where I proudly recite my membership number to get my 10% discount.

Home, I rummage through my disorganized art supplies in my garage and — voilà — find the heat gun. Just the thing to mold and bend my foam, just like the YouTube tutors had modeled.

The hands‑on part begins: I cut the foam into leaf shapes easily. I turn on my super‑hot heat gun, start melting (sometimes burning) the foam (NOT as easy as the videos promised), I carefully flip each shape over as if I am grilling a burger. I then take the now‑hot foam and wrap my fingers around a dome shape to make my host shape also be curved. It feels oddly satisfying to feel the heat diminish under my fingers. Things are going well. I am deep in the maker flow: the rat‑a‑tat‑tat rhythm of cut, warm, form, glue — repeat, repeat. I can see the end — the Pink Lotus Light.

After things dry, it’s time to assemble the pieces with a glue gun. The larger curved green ones will cradle the smaller pink shapes. Pleased with my almost‑finished sculpture, I shout out and beckon my resident art‑helper husband for feedback (expecting accolades) and maybe a few tiny notes to improve my Pink Lotus light masterpiece.

My husband shockingly says: “It looks like a 10‑year‑old did it. It’s kind of amateur for you.”

My gut sunk.

The sting of his words lingered as I looked down at my pink and green foam creation with new eyes and realized painfully that he was right. The foam material did not look good. It looked fake.

With new resolve, I doubled down and tenaciously tried to remedy the amateur flower mess. Over the next two hours I deftly recut new foam pieces, found new angles and shapes, smoothed out rough patches, experimented with hotter and lower heat levels, and looked at other foam sculpture work to inspire me. No luck. Pink Lotus Light 2.0 looked even worse.

Despite my craft‑maker “fix it” doggedness, I had to fully accept the truth that this foam project wasn’t going to work. Disappointed, mildly pissed off at having spent hours, I walked away feeling defeated with a tinge of embarrassment.

Then I remembered Ira Glass

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners. I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you.

A lot of people never get past this phase. They quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out, or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal — and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work.

It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take a while. It’s normal to take a while. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

— Ira Glass

YES. I am deep in this gap, Ira.

My taste is yes. My skills are not up to my taste yet.

It’s so hard being a beginner again in so many new areas. The cost of my Encore Artist adventure is these uncomfortable, embarrassing moments. I didn’t study sculpture, certainly have zero experience with foam, and I’m impatient and unrealistic sometimes.

But I’m turning up here — and hoping that this level of honesty can help you too. Just keep learning and making, and eventually we’ll be past the gap.