Last evening, I was flipping through one of the four art journals I’m currently working in, looking over the pages filled with colors and textures, marks and collage. Some of the pages are wild and colorful, others more subdued and pared back. I notice some repeating motifs and symbols, some color palettes I’ve used multiple times, with varying effects.

I’m over halfway in to my 100 day project, and while flipping through these pages last evening, I suddenly realized that I’ve only shared three, or maybe four, of these art journal spreads on Instagram.

There have been no behind-the-scenes snapshots of my process. No artfully staged photographs of finished art journal spreads, no filming and editing of reels, or witty captions to capture my journey or progress.

Just time spent at the studio, sometimes in silence, sometimes with the music blaring, smooshing paint across the page. Art that is created first and foremost for me, for my gaze and my pleasure. Work that I’ve shared on my blog, which is really only seen by the handful of friends who follow me there or the folks who stumble across it occasionally via Pinterest.

And it has been…freeing!

There’s no performative pressure on my art. It doesn’t have to mean something, say something, teach something; it doesn’t have to offer value or entertain; it doesn’t have to be explained. It simply is — an expression of me, a dialogue with my soul and with the great mystery, a playful experiment, a great cosmic joke!

There’s freedom in not chasing a dopamine rush from likes and comments; from divorcing the worth of my art from arbitrary metrics; from disengaging from the constant feedback loop perpetrated by social media.

What I’ve come to realize is this: social media has weaponized our innate human yearning for validation and belonging, and turned it into a hungry ghost that is never satiated.

So how do we free ourselves from its clutches and learn to cultivate internal validation instead?

Cultivating internal validation

It’s a question that I’ve chewed on for a while, but it wasn’t until recently that I finally cracked the code.

Without the usual external signals — the likes, DMs, comments — I started to notice my own sense of satisfaction and enoughness around my art practice.

I noticed what I enjoyed, moved between subjects and styles without worrying about an arbitrary need to conform to a particular style or “aesthetic”.

I stopped worrying about whether my art was “distinctive” or caring if I was using similar colors or painting “too many” figures or portraits.

I started noticing what I liked and enjoyed instead of wondering about whether a particular piece would be liked…would please the Instagram algorithms...be shown to a vast and faceless audience that would validate it with their likes.

I asked myself questions like:

• What do I feel like experimenting with today?

• What kind of painting do I feel like working on today?

• What would I make if I wasn’t afraid of making mistakes? If I remembered that a failed art journal page is not a personal failing?

• What feels alive in my body today, during this painting session, or when I use these colors?

Internal validation, I’ve learned, begins with noticing. It won’t give you an instant dopamine hit. But it will give you a quieter, deeper sense of confidence in not just your art, but in who you are. It brings you back to the kind of creative life that’s sustainable, one that feeds you from the inside out.

Now, when I paint, I don’t pause to click a photograph to share on Instagram stories or to set up filming gear at multiple points in the painting process to stitch together a reel. I stay present, in the moment, letting my intuition guide my hands. Once a page is finished, I gaze at it, looking over the images and symbols like they were oracular, a message from my soul, a part of my unconscious trying to become conscious.

I used to think internal validation led to an unshakable sense of confidence or belief in one’s talent. Now, I see it as something much simpler: an inner knowing…a moment of stillness…a quiet voice that says this matters, even if no one else sees it…even when it feels scary to do it…even when I feel unsure about the direction my art is going in.

If you’re longing for a deeper sense of groundedness in your creative practice, if you’re tired of performing for the algorithms or an audience, I hope these words and my experience offered some guidance, some comfort, some hope.

Let’s chat

I love chatting with you in the comments or via e-mail. Here are a few questions to help us get the conversation rolling:

• What would it feel like to trust your own creative output, even if no one else ever liked or saw it?

• What would you make if no one was watching?

• What would you make if you realized that a failed piece of art doesn’t mean that you are a failure?

• What did you love to create as a child? How can you reclaim some of that joy now, in your creative practice?