Boosting Confidence as an Artist

I recently made a bold decision that, at first glance, may seem unrelated to my life as an artist.

I cut my hair.

It wasn't a spontaneous decision fueled by a sudden burst of courage; it came after months of dealing with postpartum shedding that refused to resolve itself.

I'll admit, the thought of cutting off my locs made me nervous.

But deep down, I knew it was the right step for me.

I was reading an article on Vogue where a woman said she felt more confident after cutting her hair and learned that comfortable does not necessarily mean confident.

That one line made me think about my life as an artist and how comfortable I've gotten with wearing the same clothes and ignoring the signs that my hair needed help.

I thought I was being or appearing confident by turning on the camera and not caring what other people thought about my appearance because hey, I just had a baby, and this is the norm...and I'm an artist, so who cares.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was avoiding facing parts of myself and using my hair as a security blanket.

And you know what?

Surprisingly, it not only transformed my appearance but also infused me with a newfound sense of confidence.

In hindsight, I wish I had made the decision sooner…

“Becoming”, acrylic on 16x20 canvas, 2024

As an artist, confidence isn't optional.

It's the difference between creating from a place of fear and creating from a place of power. It's what allows us to show up authentically, to push through the inevitable rejections, and to keep going when our inner critic gets loud.

But confidence isn't something you just wake up with one day. I've spent years battling imposter syndrome, scrolling through other artists' work and wondering if I even belong in the same conversation. I've hidden behind excuses, told myself I wasn't ready, and let opportunities pass me by because I was too scared to fail.

What I've come to understand is that confidence isn't about having all the answers or never feeling doubt. It's about moving forward anyway. It's about knowing that your voice matters, even when it shakes.

When I finally cut my hair, I realized I'd been carrying more than just damaged strands. I'd been carrying the weight of who I thought I should be instead of embracing who I actually am. That moment of letting go taught me something profound about my art too.

Every time we pick up our tools, we have a choice. We can create from a place of "I hope this is good enough" or from a place of "This is my truth, and it deserves to be seen." The difference isn't talent or technique.

It's trust.

Trust in our vision, trust in our process, trust in the beautiful journey of becoming who we're meant to be as artists.

Your art is an extension of you.

The more you understand yourself, the more powerful your work becomes. The more you trust your instincts, the more authentic your voice sounds. The more you embrace your story, the more others will connect with what you create.

Here are a few words of wisdom that have guided me on my path to boosting confidence as an artist:

Accept Change

You know that feeling when you're standing at the edge of something new, knowing you need to jump but your feet feel glued to the ground?

That was me staring at my reflection, scissors in hand, knowing my locs had to go but terrified of what I'd look like without them.

I spent months telling myself I was being "authentic" by not addressing my postpartum hair loss, when really, I was just avoiding the mirror. The moment I made that first cut, I realized how much energy I'd been spending on maintaining something that no longer served me.

Change in our art works the same way.

That medium you've been avoiding because it feels too risky? Sometimes the very thing that makes us nervous is exactly what we need to break through to the next level of our work.

The question isn't whether change will be uncomfortable…it will be. The question is: what's the cost of staying where you are?

Cultivate Self-Love

For the longest time, I knew self-love was important, but I had no clue what it actually looked like in practice. I'd hear people talk about it and think, "Okay, great, but how do you actually do that?" It felt abstract, like I was missing some manual everyone else had.

I’ve learned that you can't create powerful art when you're constantly at war with yourself. For years, I'd look at my work and immediately start picking it apart. Too messy, not professional enough, who am I kidding thinking I can call myself an artist?

Self-love isn't about thinking you're perfect. It's about extending yourself the same grace you'd give a friend. When you mess up a piece, instead of spiraling into "I'm terrible at this," try "This didn't work out, but I learned something." When you're feeling stuck, instead of forcing it, try "My creativity needs rest right now."

The shift happens when you start treating your artistic practice as sacred rather than something you have to prove worthy of. Your creativity deserves care, not criticism.

Find Your Inner Strength

There's a moment in every artist's journey when you realize you're stronger than you think. For me, it happened during a particularly brutal creative block. I'd been staring at a blank canvas for weeks, convinced I'd lost whatever talent I thought I had.

But something shifted when I stopped waiting for inspiration to strike and started showing up anyway. I made terrible art. I made art I was embarrassed by. But I kept making it. That's when I understood that strength isn't about never falling down. It's about getting back up and picking up your brush again.

Your inner strength isn't loud or flashy. It's the quiet decision to keep creating when no one's watching. It's remembering that every artist you admire has felt exactly how you feel right now, and they kept going anyway.

Connect with Spirituality

Whether you call it God, the universe, or just that feeling when everything clicks, there's something bigger than us that moves through our art. I've felt it in those moments when I'm painting and time disappears, when the work feels like it's creating itself through me.

This isn't about religion (though it can be). It's about recognizing that creativity is a sacred act. When I take time to be still, to really listen, my art changes. It becomes less about what I think I should make and more about what wants to be made.

Some days, connecting spiritually means meditation. Other days, it's a walk where I let my mind wander. Sometimes it's just putting my hands in clay and trusting the clay to teach me something. The point is creating space for something beyond your own thoughts to enter your work.

Surround Yourself with Support

I used to think I had to figure everything out alone. The struggling artist myth had me convinced that isolation was noble, that asking for help meant I wasn't serious about my craft.

What a load of nonsense that was.

The artists I know who are thriving? They have people. They have mentors who've walked the path before them. They have peers who understand the unique challenges of creative life. They have friends who believe in their vision even when they don't.

Building this support isn't about networking in some calculated way. It's about showing up authentically, celebrating others' wins, and being honest about your struggles. The right people will find you when you stop trying so hard to impress everyone.

Embrace Your Uniqueness

Here's what no one tells you about finding your voice: it's not hidden somewhere waiting to be discovered. It's already there in everything you make. The problem is we're so busy trying to sound like everyone else that we miss what makes us different.

Your weird obsessions, your unusual color choices, the way you see light differently than other people? That's not something to fix. That's your signature. I spent years trying to paint like other artists I admired, wondering why my work felt flat. It wasn't until I stopped fighting my natural tendencies that my art came alive.

Stop asking "Is this good?" and start asking "Is this me?" The world doesn't need another version of someone else. It needs the first version of you.

Practice Gratitude

Gratitude changed everything for me, but not in the way I expected. I thought it would make me more positive and peaceful. Instead, it made me more present. When you're truly grateful for the ability to create, you stop taking it for granted.

I'm grateful for the mess on my hands after a good painting session. I'm grateful for the frustration that pushes me to try new approaches. I'm grateful for the quiet moments when I'm alone with my work and nothing else matters.

Gratitude isn't about pretending everything is perfect. It's about recognizing the gift in the struggle, the beauty in the process, and the privilege of being able to bring something new into the world through your hands.

Building confidence as an artist isn't a destination you arrive at one day and stay forever. It's something you cultivate, lose, and find again. Some days you'll feel unstoppable, and others you'll wonder if you have any business calling yourself creative. Both are part of the process.

The moment I cut my hair, I didn't suddenly become a different person. But I did become someone willing to let go of what wasn't serving me anymore. That's what this journey is about: recognizing what you're holding onto out of fear and having the courage to release it.

Your path won't look like mine or anyone else's. You'll have your own moments of clarity, your own uncomfortable truths to face, your own versions of standing in front of the mirror with scissors in hand. Trust that process. Trust that the very things that make you different are what make your art irreplaceable.

Every time you show up to create, you're making a choice. You're choosing to believe that what you have to say matters. You're choosing to trust your vision over your fear. You're choosing to add your voice to the conversation, even when it feels small or uncertain.

Keep going. Keep creating. Keep trusting yourself, especially when no one else does. The world needs what you have to offer, exactly as you are.

Tarra Lu