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There comes a moment every artist knows.
You’re working. Time disappears. Your coffee goes cold. You forget to reply to messages. Then you finally look up, and somehow it’s already evening.
Psychologists call this the flow state.
Artists simply call it… Tuesday.
Then you finish.
You lean back, stare at your latest creation, and suddenly your brain is left with just one question:
“So… is it any good?”
Paintings, book covers, novels, music, and photographs all have one thing in common: they’re remarkably bad at answering that question.
So we do what every modern creator does.
We post our work on social media.
Five minutes later, we check.
One like.
Refresh.
Still one.
Refresh.
Two.
Refresh.
Where is everyone? Why is it taking so long? Was it really that bad? Have I only imagined all these years that I’m talented? Should I have become an accountant instead?
Social media is both the best and the cruelest thing that has ever happened to artists.
On the one hand, it’s incredible that we can receive feedback almost instantly. Before the internet, painters waited for exhibitions. Writers waited for publishers. Musicians waited for concerts. Today, we can share our work with thousands of people in just a few seconds.
That truly is amazing.
And I’ll admit it—I’m no different.
I look forward to the likes. The comments. That little notification saying:
“Someone liked what you created.”
It feels wonderful.
The problem is, after a while I noticed that the feeling itself was starting to take over.
I wanted more feedback.
Because that’s how the human mind works. What felt like an incredible achievement yesterday becomes normal today. Then you start wanting just a little more. One more compliment. One more word of praise.
I do three things.
I write novels.
I create digital art.
And I design book covers.
When social media was no longer enough, I started entering my artwork into international art competitions.
I won many awards.
My images were exhibited in several countries and even published in books.
And honestly… at first, it felt incredible.
The recognition was wonderful.
The applause felt wonderful.
But only for a while.
Eventually, that became normal too.
I needed more competitions.
More awards.
That’s when I realized something wasn’t right.
I hadn’t started creating art to collect trophies.
So I simply stopped competing.
The same thing happened with writing.
I’m a Hungarian novelist, and I believe that people can truly write at their best only in their native language.
Many times, I sent my stories to bloggers and even well-known authors.
Whenever they replied with praise for my stories, I felt like I was walking on air.
Of course, criticism was much harder to deal with.
One negative opinion stayed with me far longer than ten positive ones.
Eventually, I stopped doing that as well.
I thought I’d finally figured everything out.
I was wrong.
There was a period in my life that proved to be much harder.
I’ve always been fascinated by the world of film. Since I was already writing novels, I became curious about what it would be like to write screenplays. So I enrolled in a three-month screenwriting course.
I loved every minute of it.
Honestly, I was as excited as a child every time I learned something new.
One day, we were given an assignment: pitch a movie idea in just two sentences. After my third or fourth attempt, the instructor finally approved one of my ideas. Then I was asked to turn it into a short film script.
A horror film.
When I presented the concept, an American guest instructor happened to be in the class as well. They both praised it enthusiastically. They said it was a great idea.
I threw myself into writing it.
But by the end of the course, everything had changed.
The instructor criticized the story very harshly. He asked how I could come up with something like that, said it was far too disturbing, and even warned me that he didn’t want me to destroy my career before it had even begun.
I just sat there.
And said nothing.
Today, I know I should have.
On the way home, I felt as if I were escaping from that school.
But I didn’t give up.
I enrolled in another screenwriting course.
I thought maybe the problem wasn’t me.
Once again, I studied with the same excitement. The instructor liked my stories, and when the course ended, I finally felt I’d found the right place.
About a month later, he called me.
He told me he was working on the screenplay for a musical and wanted my help.
I was thrilled.
I wrote the section he assigned to me and sent it over.
When he called back, something completely different happened.
He was angry.
He harshly tore apart everything I had written.
We hung up.
And I cried.
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Not long afterward, he called again.
But I never answered that call.
After those two screenwriting courses, I spent a long time thinking.
And then I realized something.
I’d actually walked this same path before.
When I was creating artwork, I first waited for social media feedback. Then that wasn’t enough anymore. I moved on to international competitions, awards, exhibitions, and books that featured my work.
For a while, it felt amazing.
Then that wasn’t enough either.
The same thing happened with writing.
I waited for bloggers to reply. I waited to hear what well-known authors thought. Their praise made me incredibly happy, and their criticism hurt far more than it should have.
Eventually, I let that go too.
And in the end, screenwriting taught me something I probably should have learned much earlier.
If I keep waiting for other people to validate me, then I’m handing them the joy of creating as well.
And that’s something I don’t want to give to anyone.
Not to an algorithm.
Not to a judging panel.
Not to a teacher.
Not to a famous author.
To no one.
Many people believe an artist’s greatest enemy is a lack of inspiration.
I don’t.
I think it’s the moment we start believing, over and over again, that our worth is determined by what other people think.
An artist’s life is full of doors being slammed shut.
Sometimes it’s an algorithm that turns its back on you.
Sometimes it’s a competition jury.
Sometimes it’s a teacher.
Sometimes it’s a publisher.
And sometimes… nobody replies at all.
If you believe every one of those moments is a judgment of your value, sooner or later you’ll stop creating.
In the end, I made a decision:
I would no longer let my creativity depend on other people’s opinions.
Not in painting.
Not in writing.
Not in book cover design.
And not in screenwriting.
Of course, I still appreciate a kind comment.
I still smile when someone leaves a like.
I’m grateful when someone buys one of my book covers, reads one of my stories, or simply pauses to look at one of my artworks.
But those things no longer determine whether I sit down to create the next day.
Because I’ve realized that I’m not an artist because other people validate me.
I’m an artist because I love creating.
Because when I enter that state of flow, the rest of the world simply disappears.
And in the end, I discovered that this is the one thing no one can ever take away from me.
Not everyone will like what I create.
Some people will criticize it.
Some will never reply.
Some will scroll past without a second glance.
And that’s exactly how it should be.
Because it’s not their job to decide whether I’m an artist.
That’s my decision.
And I’ve already made it.
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If this story resonated with you, here are three more you might enjoy.
– Why Do Artists Keep Creating? | The Strange Psychology Behind Creative Passion
If you’ve ever wondered why artists keep creating despite rejection, uncertainty, and self-doubt, this article explores the strange psychology behind creative passion—and why giving up often feels harder than continuing.
– When Should You Give Up on Your Dreams? | The Artist’s Greatest Dilemma
How do you know whether persistence is courage or simply refusing to let go? A deeply personal reflection on doubt, hope, and the question every creative person eventually has to face.
– The Soul of an Artist Is Basically an Overexcited Goldfish
What happens after you finally share your work with the world? A humorous look at social media, likes, algorithms, and the emotional roller coaster every artist secretly knows.
If you’re here because you love stories, creativity, and the strange little world artists live in, you might enjoy exploring my collection of exclusive premade book covers. Every design is created with the same passion that inspired this article—not for algorithms, but for the stories waiting to be told.
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