Art education is half a lie and your frontal lobe does the rest

Current studio view- paint whatever the fuck you want dude.

"Once I go to art school I will learn to draw such cool art! I will make my comic and will become famous!" That was my naive little thought when I enrolled in my Bachelor of Fine Arts a few years ago. I had this very clear image in my head of what art school would be like: hours spent perfecting anatomy, learning how to mix colors flawlessly, discovering the right brushes and techniques that would somehow unlock my full potential. I imagined a structured path, almost like a formula, that would transform me into the artist I wanted to become.

Reality hit me hard, like a brick. Or a butchered landing.

It hit me the moment I realized that most of my seminars and courses didn’t revolve around technical skill in the way I had expected. Instead, everything centered on the development of an artistic profile. It was less about how to draw and more about why you draw. Less about precision and more about intention. At first, this confused me, even frustrated me. My teachers didnt really help with the situation, telling me to pursue a career in animation rather than fine arts if I wanted to do things more "by the book." I kept waiting for the classes that would finally “teach me how to do it right,” but they never really came in the way I had imagined.

Of course, we did life drawing, and there were moments where technique was addressed. And if you approached the professors with specific questions, they would genuinely try to help. Some of their answers, their ways of seeing and thinking about art, have shaped me deeply and continue to influence the artist I am today. But still, the overall experience felt very different from what I had expected going in. My head was exploding with thoughts and wants and I felt like a racing car on a parking lot.

For a while, I struggled with that gap between expectation and reality. I questioned whether I was missing something, or whether the system itself just wasn’t aligned with what I thought I needed. But over time, something shifted.

I began to realize that the most important parts of my artistic growth weren’t actually happening in the seminars at all.

They happened during the quiet nights in front of the canvas, when it was just me, my thoughts, and the work. They happened in moments of frustration, when nothing seemed to work, and I had to push through anyway, spending nights in my studio fueled by Red Bull and a dream. They happened in long sessions with my dear friends, whether we were painting plein air outside or working side by side in the studio. It was in those moments of exchange, of sharing ideas, giving feedback, inspiring and challenging each other, that something real started to develop.

That’s where the spark was.

Looking back now, I understand that art school didn’t fail to teach me, I was just used to a different approach. It gave me space rather than answers, questions instead of instructions. And while that was difficult at first, it ultimately led me to something far more valuable: the realization that becoming an artist isn’t about following a set path, but about actively shaping your own. You cant really force that growth. It happens with growing older- as cheesy as it sounds- and wiser. Less aggression to become something and more intention for being right in this moment, placing the brush on the canvas with full intention of giving an intimate view into my head. I shall say getting older definetly did the trick. When young we sometimes seem to know so linear who we are supposed to become while with age we realize who we already are and how we can further develop ourselves.

And that process, messy and unpredictable as it is, is where the real learning happens. Art happens where the education ends and looking back I would not have wanted to find that out any other way.