A not so failed attempt on being an artist.

It’s 2020, and I started a YouTube channel. It was the COVID break in March 2020 when everything shut down, and I had a lot of time as I couldn’t go to college or work.

It was really exciting and not so fearful in terms of how I was going to do it, as I literally knew nothing about creating art for any social media platform or how to document each piece of art I made. Like a little kid going to kindergarten for the first time, I thought all the people there were my friends. I used the typical YouTuber term of calling my viewers my friends and a second family. I kept dreaming and working without any direction or clear vision of what I wanted. I just kept drawing every day and posting videos daily for the first 50 days. Then I realized I wasn’t getting any attention from the platform, except for my actual friends from school and college who were in my contacts. So, I switched to posting three videos a week (hoping to increase the quality—it did, but not as significantly as I thought).

During that time, I focused on making this thing work—getting the YouTube channel noticed by more people. I drew celebrities, historical figures, and influencers in response to the demands of the viewers I had at the time (a small group of people who I really liked). I lost sight of why I started this journey in the first place (not that I had much of an idea to begin with). My art became a means to an end rather than a form of self-expression—or at least something I wanted to do, rather than just doing it for the sake of doing something. I was trapped in a cycle of trying to please an algorithm instead of working on my creativity.

This realization hit me hard. I had become a “YouTube artist” without even realizing it, more focused on metrics than meaning. But before I fully understood this, I had already stopped posting art videos (I had posted 280 videos in that time). I finished college and got a job. More than the job, I was stopping myself from making art because I was afraid of doing it wrong. (I’ll try to explain this in a different blog.)

Reflecting on this experience, I’ve learned that art should come from YOU, not from a place of desperation for attention.

Perceive that which cannot be seen with the eye - Miyamoto Mushashi.

While it’s natural to want recognition, it’s important not to lose your true self in the process. Now, I’m trying to refocus on creating art that speaks to me and my audience genuinely, rather than what might simply be popular or trendy. This journey is ongoing, and I’m still finding my way. But I’ve come to understand that the most rewarding art is the kind that stays true to who you are, even if it means growing your audience a little more slowly.