If I Can Create Art, So Can You: Breaking the Myth of the ‘Artist’

Michel Foucault once suggested that everyone’s life could be a work of art. That statement has always resonated with me — and not just as an abstract idea, but as something that unfolded in my life in the most unexpected way.

I didn’t set out to be an artist. In fact, I spent most of my life far from anything related to art. My journey into creating was never planned or polished. It started for simple, practical reasons: I needed a break from my own mind. The world, with all its demands and chaos, pushed me to find a space where I could just exist. My bipolarity fractured my sense of the world, giving me different perspectives from most people I knew. Art became that space for exploring the fractures. Documenting them. It wasn’t about making something perfect or aiming for recognition; it was an act of self-preservation. If I could do that — if I could make something that felt good, in my own way — I thought, why can’t anyone?

Picking up a pencil or opening a digital canvas was awkward at first. I was no stranger to the idea that art was supposed to be “expert work,” the kind done by people who wore that label proudly. But the more I sat with it, the more I realised I didn’t need to call myself an artist. The act of creating, messy and unrefined, was enough. And the surprise? It felt right.

Drawing lines, splashing color, and experimenting with forms — none of it followed any specific rulebook. I let myself play. The work that emerged was sometimes jumbled, other times eerily serene, and often somewhere in between. And, of course, mostly crap at the start. But this process was nothing short of liberating. I started to see how Foucault’s idea made sense: living with creativity wasn’t reserved for the chosen few. It was there, waiting, if you let it be.

Art — in whatever form — doesn’t need to be weighed down by conventions. I had spent too much time assuming art required years of training or an unyielding pursuit of mastery. But here I was, piecing together my emotions and thoughts in shapes, colours, and textures without any formal background. And that was the point: it worked because it was mine. It was messy, deeply personal, sometimes freaky, and honest. That’s the sort of authenticity no class or diploma could grant.

I often get asked what makes me stick with it, especailly since sales are extremely rare. The answer is simple: the process healed me in ways that no amount of logical reasoning could. I wasn’t dissecting theories or trying to make sense of the world with structured arguments. I was putting everything I couldn’t say into images. The therapeutic side of this — the private victory of creating something just for the sake of it — was profound. It didn’t matter whether anyone understood or even liked it. This realisation pushed me to keep going, each piece becoming its own little journey.

I think we’re told too often that art is the domain of ‘the artists’ — a special club with invisible gates. But how true is that, really? Art is as much about living with expression as it is about skill. We’re not born knowing how to express ourselves perfectly. We stumble, we make odd combinations, we scrap entire projects — but it’s all part of that process. If we strip away the expectations of perfection, we’re left with something that feels closer to Foucault’s idea: the art of existence itself.

What if more people took to creating, not for galleries or awards, but for themselves? It’s a powerful thought. There’s freedom in acknowledging that art doesn’t have to be revered and untouchable. It can be raw, quick sketches done in the quiet of an evening or digital pieces put together between work calls. We are all capable of making our lives more vivid, more layered.

It’s why I’m keen on sharing my journey, however unconventional it might be. I want others to see that creativity is not a mountaintop reserved for those born with “talent” or with impressive credentials. It’s an open field where anyone can come to play, try, and see what happens. If I, someone with zero formal art training and a history rooted in completely different fields, could find so much in this act, why not you?

Maybe this is just what Foucault meant when he said life could be art. It’s not about displaying perfect works in spotless galleries — it’s about what you do in your small corner of the world, how you shape your day, your mood, your space, your thoughts. Art doesn’t have to be big to matter. It doesn’t even have to be good. It just has to be yours.

So, to anyone out there who’s toyed with the idea of making art but hesitated, thinking they’re not ‘artistic enough’ — I’m here to tell you that’s nonsense. Try it. You don’t need approval or an art degree. You just need that moment where you sit down, pick up whatever medium you’ve got, and see what comes out. And when you do, remember: if I could do it, so can you.