Training Wheels

August 26, 2025

When an artist is just starting out, the road ahead can feel uncertain, sometimes impossibly so. There’s a quiet tension between what they imagine in their minds and what actually appears on the canvas. Their skills are still developing, their voice hasn’t quite found its volume, and often, no one is watching. It can be disorienting, to want so badly to express something, to create something meaningful, yet feel unsteady in the process, unsure if it’s even worth continuing. This is the moment when many artists falter, not because they lack potential, but because they lack support. What they need isn’t critique or pressure, it’s a little stability. A bit of belief. A set of training wheels.

The idea of training wheels might seem childish to some, as if needing them is a sign of weakness. But really, they’re a tool. They’re not permanent, not meant to stay. They’re simply there to help the artist move forward when standing still feels safer. To help them get used to motion, to trust their own balance, to feel what it’s like to go somewhere, even slowly, even shakily. These supports can take many forms: a mentor’s kind words, a friend’s consistent encouragement, a small audience that shows up, even if it’s only a few people. It could be the quiet discipline of making one thing a day, regardless of whether it’s “good.” In these early stages, the most important thing isn’t mastery, it’s momentum.

Because art takes time. Finding a voice takes time. Believing in that voice takes even longer. No one begins fully formed. Every great painter, every distinctive vision, started with hesitations and half-formed ideas. The difference between those who continue and those who stop isn’t talent, it’s often just the presence of something or someone that kept them going when they wanted to give up. Training wheels don’t do the riding, but they offer just enough steadiness to keep the wheels turning.

Eventually, if the artist keeps going, something shifts. The strokes become more assured. The vision starts to come into focus. The need for approval begins to quiet down. And one day, without realizing it, the artist looks up and sees they’ve been moving freely for some time. The training wheels have fallen away, not because someone removed them, but because they’re no longer needed.

This part of the journey is sacred. It deserves patience, not pressure. Encouragement, not comparison. Every artist at the beginning is balancing uncertainty with a desire to grow. Giving them space to wobble without judgment, and support without condition, is not just kind, it’s essential. Because with just a little help early on, they may go farther than they ever imagined.