Let’s go on a little trip, a thought experiment, exploring how you—yes, you, the one reading this right now—might go from a person in the world to a master artist.
You go through life seeing. Your eyes take in the world effortlessly, like breathing—automatic, constant, unexamined.
But sometimes, you stop. You look—at the world, at people, at the things around you. In that moment, you shift from passive seer to active looker.
Maybe that’s where your journey as an artist begins: in the decision to be active where others remain passive.
But that’s only the first step. If you continue, you become something more than a looker—you become an observer. You notice the way the pieces of life fit together, the emotions that flicker across faces, the patterns hidden in the mundane. You start to understand that details make the difference, that the ordinary holds the most beauty—if you’re paying attention.
At this point, you’ve already undergone two transformations. First, from passive seer to active looker. Second, from looker to observer—someone who appreciates the subtle details others overlook.
Still, observation is a conscious effort. It’s like deliberate practice, as K. Anders Ericsson describes it—an active sharpening of your awareness, a bit like Sherlock Holmes noticing details no one else sees. But there’s a step beyond that, a place where true mastery begins.
This is where you become a witness.
Like Picasso, who mastered technique only to step back and paint like a child again, you move beyond observation into something deeper. You no longer just analyze—you feel, you absorb, you let intuition take over. This is where the magic happens, where, as Steven Pressfield says, the “muse” arrives. It’s where flow becomes your natural state.
At this point, you’ve made a full transformation. From seer to looker, from looker to observer, and from observer to witness. And in doing so, you uncover a truth many never realize:
Being an artist is not an identity. It’s not something you are or are not. Thinking of it that way only feeds the ego, invites doubt, and builds unnecessary barriers. Instead, artistry is a state of being, a way of existing in the world, a lens through which you experience everything.
As an artist, you are a witness. You tune in to the waves of beauty around you. You see, you translate, you create. And yet, no matter how skilled you become, the original perception—the pure essence of what you witness—can never be fully captured.
But rather than letting this frustrate you, you embrace it. You understand that imperfection is part of the game of creation. And when you do that—when you let go of the need for perfect translation—you step into the cycle of true artistic freedom.
That, perhaps, is the real journey of an artist: not striving for perfection, but surrendering to the flow—witnessing, creating, and allowing the process to unfold.