Originality is Exhausting. And Maybe That's the Point

There’s a quiet kind of pressure that sits with me. Not the pressure to finish a piece. Not even the pressure to be good. But the pressure to be original.
To be first. To make something so untouched, so uninspired by anything else, that even your brushstrokes feel like a patent.

My god! Pressure can be paralyzing.

You sit down to create.... and the voice in your head already starts:
"This looks like that one episode of The Office."
"This feels like something that already exists on Etsy."
"Someone’s done this before, and they probably did it better."

And just like that, the pencil pauses. The draft stays unfinished. I close the tab before it becomes a canvas.

Lately, I’ve been tired. Not the kind of tired you solve with sleep.
I’m tired of versions.
Of fan art in the style of Studio Ghibli.
Of AI-generated “new” films that feel like recycled visual soup.
Of music that is basically a remix of a remix of a remix — now slower, sadder, and TikTok-ed to death.

With so much access to tools, references, and algorithms, you’d think the golden age of creativity would be now. But instead, we’re drowning in iterations.
Where’s the original?

And even worse... what if there’s no such thing left?

Maybe that’s the real artist’s dilemma today. Not a lack of ideas, but too many copies floating in front of us. Too much comparison. Too much inspiration that starts to feel like infection.

But here's a thought I’m still chewing on: maybe originality isn’t about being first. Maybe it’s about being honest.

Because when I make something that is truly mine... something drawn from my own tangled mess of memories, fears, obsessions, and love — even if it looks like something else… it hits different.
It feels alive.

So, how can an artist be original?

Here are my ways.
Not a blueprint. Not gospel. Just what’s helping me, right now:

• Turn off the algorithm. For an hour. For a day. For as long as you can afford. Let your own thoughts speak louder than your feed.
• Make art for one person. Your best friend. Your child self. A stranger with your exact trauma. Forget the crowd. Make it personal.
• Steal better. Not copy-paste, but Frankenstein. Mix medieval anatomy sketches with street memes. Stitch together what only you could combine.
• Talk to weird people. Not influencers. People in cafes. Neighbors. Your aunt who believes birds are government drones. Original stories live in weird minds.
• Write before you paint. Or talk before you sketch. Say it clumsily first. Get the feeling right before the form.

That’s what I’ve been trying. Some days it works. Some days it doesn’t. But it helps quiet the noise long enough for me to hear myself.

So no, I don’t think humanity is out of ideas.
I think we’re out of permission to be real.
To make imperfect, untrendy, deeply human art that may or may not get picked up by an algorithm.

So let’s carve out the original. Not by force, but by sincerity.

Because maybe originality isn’t something we find.
Maybe it’s something we return to... slowly, awkwardly, but truthfully.