I’ve started making what I lovingly call “shitty art.”
Not because I don’t care—because I do. Because I care differently now. As someone who didn’t pick up a brush or pencil until after 40, I come to this practice as a true beginner. And that makes it sacred.
It reminds me of when I used to make sigils as an Atheist Occultist. You’d set an intention, distort it into form, then forget it. Let it go. Not to be judged. Not to be improved. Just released.
Shitty art works the same way. It’s a transmission. Vulnerable. Honest. Uncontrolled. My conscious mind can’t interfere—because it has no idea what it’s doing. And that’s the beauty of it.
It trusts the subconscious completely.
It lets absurdity lead the way.
It mirrors without manipulation.
In its lack of refinement, the real self gets a chance to slip through.
I wish I’d started this sooner, but I’m also glad I didn’t. Because now I get to feel the joy of progress in real time. I get to release things that aren't “good” and let them live anyway. I get to be the mirror and the mess. I get to ride the wave of Zen—not by mastering a technique, but by surrendering to mystery.
This painting made me laugh out loud.
It’s shitty. It’s magick.
That’s the point.
And I want to invite you to try it.
Make something shitty. Make something you don’t know how to make.
Fingerpaint. Scribble. Build a song in GarageBand with no clue what you’re doing.
Draw with your non-dominant hand. Rip paper. Glue it wrong. Laugh.
Not because the goal is to fail—but because failure is a doorway to truth.
Because when we allow ourselves to create badly, we create honestly.
And when we feel vulnerable, we become available—to ourselves, to others, to something deeper.
Contemplative and meditative practice isn’t just about sitting still.
It’s about becoming. From the inside outward.
Let your shitty art be a sigil.
Let your mess be the message.
Let your fear be the offering.
Then release it.
Let the magick do what it does.