Is skill incomplete?

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I haven’t been making art or creating for a while—at least not for my own sake, or from a place of passion.

I think it stems from a fear: the fear of starting something and only having the energy to sustain it for a short while before letting it go. As we say in Chinese—三分鐘熱度—a three-minute passion. No commitment.

I’m not sure when I started letting this mindset hold me back from enjoying creative pursuits for what they are: leisure, expression, and the simple joy of being. But I do remember the strict voices, the social pressures—real and ever-present—that both inhibit my desire to create and simultaneously demand that I produce more.

It’s a contradiction: the weight of expectations, telling me to create freely, to be productive, to be better. This shadow looms over me—whispering that if I begin a craft, I must become good at it. And when I see how much I struggle compared to the many masters out there, I feel obliged to hone my skills. But that effort often doesn’t feel rewarding.

People say: keep improving, keep practising. Make it a point to slog through the process.

“Enjoy the process,” they say.

And I do enjoy making art.

But what if I don’t enjoy the process of getting good at making art?

I think that’s why I drift from medium to medium—telling myself it’s okay to be bad because I’m just a beginner. It’s no wonder I struggle to express myself the way I want to.

And yet—surprisingly—I enjoy making my art in these circumstances.

Because there’s no expectation of skill. Sometimes there’s even positive affirmation when I exceed my own expectations, or those of my peers.

I started with cartoon characters, moved into ink line drawings. When I hit a wall in my expression, I turned to sculpting miniatures. Then to painting. Chinese brushwork. Back to sculpting again.

Like a live fish, jumping from one pan to another pot—desperately searching for water to swim in before it gets too hot.

But from the chef’s point of view…

I’m just a half-cooked fish.

An incomplete meal.

Some might say it’s like a butterfly, fluttering from one flower to the next.

And maybe that’s the point.

I sip some nectar here, then move on—following the joy of discovery.

I want to experience the joy of chasing art forms,

not be shackled by stress and expectation.

1.

So maybe I’m not a masterpiece in progress.

Maybe I’m a living sketch—unfinished, unrefined, but always in motion.

And that’s enough.

Because in this wandering, in this soft refusal to be boxed into mastery,

I am reclaiming joy.

I am creating not to impress, not to prove—

but to feel.

To taste beauty in passing.

To leave behind trails of colour and form

without the burden of permanence.

If I never become “great” at any of it,

so be it.

What matters is that I made something

while I was alive enough to care.

2. 

So no—

I’m not here to perfect, to polish, to fit your frame.

I’m not here to master a medium just to prove I belong.

I belong because I create.

Because I dare.

Because I try,

and try again—

in charcoal, in clay, in colour, in chaos.

Let others chase excellence like a finish line.

I’ll keep leaping from medium to medium,

breaking expectations, ignoring timelines—

because this is my art.

My way.

My life.

And if that makes me a half-cooked fish,

then let the whole damn kitchen burn.

Because I was never meant to be served—

I was meant to be free.

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I haven't been making art or creating for a while. At least not for my own sake or from my own passion. 

I think it comes from the fear of starting something and only have the capacity to maintain it for just a little while before I let it go again. 3分鐘熱度 as how it is said in Chinese. No commitment. I don't know when I started to have this concept to hold me back from enjoying such creative pursuits for what they are. Leisure and enjoyment of life through expression. But I do remember the strict voices and social pressures that are very real pressing on me and inhibiting my desire to create, all the while also pressuring me to create more, create as I like and be more productive. This shadow that holds me back from creating makes me feel like if I begin to explore in a certain craft I have to become good at it. And when I see how much I suck at something in contrast to so many masters in the field, I feel the obligation to hone my skills but that and itself many a time did not seem rewarding. People would say to keep on improving and practicing make it a point of slog through the process. enjoy the process they say. I do find the process of making art fun. But what if I don't find fun in the process of getting good at making art? I suspect this is the reason why I float from one medium to another, justifying my inability to be good by saying oh I'm just a beginner it's no wonder I suck at expressing the way I want to. In these circumstances surprisingly, I enjoy making my art. There was no expectation to the skill level, and there may even be positively affirmation when I exceed expectations, for myself, and even for peers. I started from cartoon characters, found my way to lined ink drawings, and when I thought I hit a wall in my progress to express, my transition to  sculpting miniatures, then to painting, Chinese brush painting, then back to sculpting, hopping like a live fish from one pan to another pot, desperately trying to find water to swim in before it gets too hot. From the point of view of the chef, I am the fish that stays half cooked. A meal incomplete. 

People might say that this is like a butterfly floating fluttering from one flower to another, but maybe that's the point. I sip some nectar from this flower and I set it myself with the joys of exploring other flowers. I want to experience the joy of chasing art forms, and not be shackled by unnecessary stress and expectations.