Talent or Practice? Why I Choose to Keep Drawing

 

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been drawing every day—sometimes for five minutes, sometimes fifty. It started as a discipline, inspired by drawing rockstar Wendy MacNaughton of DrawTogether, who challenged her followers to draw for thirty days. I took the challenge—and then kept going.

For me, drawing has become more than a discipline. It’s a lifeline, a daily reminder that I have agency—the ability to grow and expand my capacities, even when the world feels unhinged. More on that in a moment.

The wonderful thing about Wendy Mac’s approach is that it doesn’t rely on talent. She—and other great teachers I’ve known—don’t put much stock in talent. Sure, if I wanted to audition for the Metropolitan Opera or sell paintings to the Guggenheim, it might help to be perceived as talented.

But for the most part, talent is something others say about us. (Right or wrong.) It has little to do with the spark that keeps us creating.

This past January, Wendy challenged us to draw for ten minutes a day for thirty days. She provided a whopping dose of encouragement and daily prompts. And somewhere in there, something shifted for me.

If someone asked me today, “Would you choose talent or practice?” I know my answer.

“Talent” is a label someone else bestows upon us.

“Practice” is a gift we can give ourselves.

The Case for Practice and Four Questions

You could call my preference “sour grapes.” I was never seen as talented in art class. And yet, late in life, I’ve granted myself the right to sketch and paint—by practicing.

After 30 days of drawing with Wendy Mac, I realized something powerful: I was no longer afraid to draw. She gave us full permission to make ugly drawings—and I complied. I didn’t feel the need to share my sketches with the group, but I was ready to keep going.

Now, after 104 days, something new is happening. I still make plenty of sketches that don’t quite work, but I have a four-question mantra that drowns out my inner critic:

• Did I have fun?
• What did I learn?
• What, in this sketch, do I like?
• What can I take from this experience into the next?

It may take years for me to become a competent sketcher—but I see the path ahead. It’s all about continuing to draw. Not worrying about whether or not I’m talented.

The Perils of Talent

In a 2006 video, art educator Michelle Cassou shared a striking observation: children naturally progress in their ability to draw with little instruction. What they don’t need is feedback about talent.

I know what it feels like to believe you have no talent for art. But what surprised me most was what Cassou said about the kids who are praised for being talented.

When they hear, “That duck you drew looks just like a real duck! You’re so talented,” guess what happens?

They keep drawing ducks. And bigger ducks. Like dancing bears, they perform for applause. (This can happen in any field, not just art.)

If they’re really good—like a child who masters complex music on the piano—they may be channeled toward a professional path. That might suit them just fine—unless it doesn’t.

Because without freedom to play, to experiment, to fall flat and make things others don’t like, the juice can drain out of one’s creative expression.

“Talented” can become a trap—a pressure to achieve at a level that matches others’ expectations. And if we fall short, our inner critic pounces. Some of us even stop creating altogether.

The Myth of No Talent

In art class, my ducks never looked like “real ducks.” I didn’t have a talent problem; I had a labeling problem. I stopped drawing when I was ten.

Many of us stopped creating—often for life—after hearing some version of:

• “You can’t carry a tune.”
• “You’re not artistic.”
• “You’re uncoordinated.” (i.e., you can’t dance or do sports.)

These labels can set off a vicious cycle: because we were told we couldn’t do something, we stopped trying. We didn’t draw, sing, dance, or build.

But nobody gets better at drawing by not drawing—or improves their voice by not singing.

The kids who kept drawing got better. The rest of us “proved” the label right.

Truth is, those early judgments were often flat-out wrong. Maybe we couldn’t carry a tune yet. With support and practice, most of us could have learned. Most of us can learn to draw. And as for dancing, I’m with the African saying: if you can walk, you can dance.

Sure, there are moments when extraordinary talent, grit, and skill need to align—like when auditioning for the Metropolitan Opera. But for the other 99.9% of us, what matters is enjoying the process, sticking with it, and finding joy.

The Joy of Practice

There’s deep joy in busting through those old, limiting messages—with steady, committed practice. It feels like reclaiming a part of the self that was hidden but never lost.

It’s fun.

And it feels like an act of agency: a way of saying, “However chaotic the world may be, I can still practice. I can still create. I claim my agency as a human being.”

And talent?

We can just let it go.