What if the key to unlocking your creativity is giving yourself permission to make something truly terrible looking?
I’m Ember (they/she) and I created The Bad Art Teacher to explore just this (and more).
[See also: Who’s This Bad Teacher Anyways? for my brief introduction post.]
I’m on a mission to keep the perfectionist voices that live inside of me at bay, while I live my best creative life. Over the last few years, I’ve been able to establish more control over the perfectionist voice’s volume, partially by exposing the systems that drive them.
Both perfectionism and productivity culture stifle our creative expression.
Sidebar: In a radical creative acceptance moment this year, I felt the overwhelming urge to do this inner work “out loud”, so to speak. Bringing to life my exploration of how culture and creativity intersect, as well as the intersection of the artist (all humans) and the system that taught us to doubt. All under this creative project The Bad Art Teacher.
How perfectionism and productivity culture stifle experimentation
We’re told our art needs to look a certain way, there’s a deep perfectionist standard upheld in artistry. And at the same time, we’ve entered this era of hyper-productivity; where there are expectations to produce at large quantity and volume.
So on one hand we need to make it perfect, and the other we need a lot of volume of these perfect creations.
Are both just our feeble human attempts at replicating what machinery can do? It seems we’ve internalized the cultural narratives that are based on an industrialized age of machinery; not human, artist, souls & bodies. And it’s not like we’re discouraged from acting and producing like machines, it’s quite the opposite in the Western-dominant culture. Everyone wants a lot, for a little, and it must be of good (read: “perfect”) quality.
In order to produce like this, there is only time for work. No time for play, no time for experimentation, no time for mistakes. Those are considered costly, frivolous, extra-curricular, or an added bonus, when we’re looking at it from a capitalist-culture view.
From The Bad Art Teacher perspective: play, experimentation, and even mistakes are foundational to a creative practice. These same elements are also helpful tools in creative recovery. I’ve been overjoyed to see so many folks sharing about their return to art across different subreddits; and sometimes some of us need a bit of creative rehab, especially if we once considered ourselves ‘good artists’.
Who gets to decide who is a good artist and who is a bad artist anyways? And who determines what’s good and what’s bad art? I’m going to explore this in more depth in a future post on dispelling the binary beliefs, but for now here’s what I mean when I use the term ‘bad art’:
What Is ‘Bad Art’?
First off: I’m throwing traditional standards out the window. For many reasons. (For some further context, see: Why “Bad Art” Is a Rebellion Against Colonial Standards of Beauty)
So when I use ‘bad art’, I’m not talking about technically poor, or in other words art that is considered "bad" by traditional standards, meaning it has poor composition, execution, or skill. And I’m not talking about the binary of good and bad from an art-critical lens, I mean, art’s largely subjective anyways.
For now, what feels true in this moment (and it’s subject to change) is this:
‘Bad art,’ in the context I’m using it, subverts expectations — the culture’s, other people’s, even your own. Who’s to say there aren’t magical unseen forces expressing their creative ideas through you, and that’s how it’s supposed to look!?
Way to think this song art is about you.Even if it’s messy or hard to read, ‘bad art’ is expressive, and authentic. It acknowledges the non-linear nature of our being, ‘bad art’ accepts the inherent imperfections in being a human-artist. It's about having flaws and personal inconsistencies while still being committed to the practice of art, as opposed to an "essentialist" idea of some perfect piece of art.
Even deeper, ‘bad art’ chooses joy in the experience, the process, and the practice—it was never even about the destination. And we need these avenues of expression, just as much as we yearn to create beautiful works of art.
That’s what makes ‘bad art’ brave art.
Why ‘bad art’ is actually brave art
Anyone who dares to express freely, honestly, and authentically in a world that so desperately wants us to assimilate, and to fit in these perfect boxes, is brave as hell. To be honest, it’s hard to credit myself as brave for the times I show up authentically, even though masking my true self almost drowned the real me underneath it all.
So if you’re reading this and doubting it too, let this be your reminder: authenticity is an act of courage. Every time you let yourself be seen, imperfect and alive, you reclaim a piece of yourself the world tried to take. And that is enough.
Ways to intentionally make ‘bad art‘
The invitation to “make bad art” isn’t about carelessness or mockery— it’s about curiosity. It’s about loosening your grip on what it should look like and letting your hands lead.
Making bad art might mean using the “wrong” materials, or combining things that don’t belong together. It might mean painting with your non-dominant hand, writing with typos on purpose, or refusing to fix the line that bothers you.
The goal isn’t the piece itself, but the release that happens when you stop performing for your inner critic. When you let go of perfectionism, what you’re really making is space: for accidents, for honesty, for joy.
In that sense, ‘bad art’ is less a style and more a spell; one that unbinds you from what you were taught art has to be.
The creative freedom and self-trust that follow
Over time, something subtle, but magical, starts to happen.
You stop asking if what you made is good, and start asking how it felt to make it. You begin to notice that the more you create without judgment, the less permission you need.
That’s the quiet alchemy of bad art: self-trust.
You realize that your worth as an artist, as a human, was never supposed to be measured by output, polish, or praise. The trust grows each time you make something and don’t rush to fix it, explain it, or hide it.
And from that trust comes freedom. The kind that spills out beyond the canvas or page, into how you live and speak and show up. Because once you’ve made peace with being “bad,” there’s nothing left to fear—only more to discover.
Remember, the part of you that judges your art isn’t the part that makes it. Critique is analytical, it lives in the left brain. Creation lives in the right: the space of flow, rhythm, intuition, and play.
So when you sit down to make something today, give the analytical side the day off. Let your messy, wordless, right-brain self take the wheel and see what wants to come through when you finally stop thinking it to death.
An invitation to make something today — and let it be bad
So, go ahead and make something today. Let it wobble. Let it fall apart. Let it be too much or not enough.
And when you feel that little flicker of joy or relief rise up, notice it.
That’s your creativity remembering what freedom feels like.