Why Technique Alone Is Not Enough

Wilhelm Bendz - The Life Class at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts

An Insight on My Artistic Path

Ever since I seriously committed to studying art, my primary goal was always to achieve technical perfection. For years, I scoured the internet for artists who demonstrated brilliant technical skill—ideally paired with a course they offered. I was willing to pay almost any price just to glimpse into their sacred grail of technical truth. I absorbed their knowledge like a sponge and was grateful for everything I could learn.

But for about a year now, I’ve been plagued by questions: Am I already good enough? What else do I still need to learn? I feel stuck in my mindset and unable to move forward. I constantly wrestle with myself and see no clear way out. I keep thinking that yet another course might bring me closer to artistic fulfillment. But all the while, I feel a growing sense of inner despair, emptiness, and impatience. I wonder if I’ll ever make it. Yet deep down, I know these are just distractions—keeping me from what truly matters. My higher inner self wants me to move forward, but my ego tries to hold me back, clinging to fear, uncertainty, and the feeling of incompleteness.

Recently, though, I’ve begun to sense a shift within myself. I’m growing tired of hearing for the thousandth time how beautiful my drawings are—when in the end, they’re nothing more than studies. My craving for external validation has faded, and slowly, a quiet confidence in my own abilities is emerging.

I’ve come to realize that there is an imaginary wall in front of me—one that separates structured learning from true artistic expression. That wall needs to come down. Otherwise, I’ll remain trapped in this state of frustration, and that’s not something I can bear in the long run.

What Academic Art Achieves and Where It Ends

In my view, academic art is the best way to seriously learn the craft of art. For my own artistic education—which I pursue through self-study—it remains foundational. Academic art teaches you how to observe, think three-dimensionally, construct, simplify, understand volume through light and shadow, master figurative drawing and painting, and work from nature.

It teaches me discipline, precision, and the constant questioning of what a painting still lacks—and how to bring it to completion. It gives me rules, orientation, and structure in a field of seemingly infinite possibilities.

But academic art doesn’t go further than that. Especially in the age of artificial intelligence, technique alone is no longer a distinguishing factor. Today, there are much more efficient tools—like the camera—that can produce realistic images of people or objects.

“We are feeling beings and that’s what we want to express through our art.”

As I write this, I wonder how many academic artworks—despite their technical brilliance—have faded into obscurity. Some artists devote their entire lives to study and never manage to break away from it. Academic art offers security, stability, and yes, a certain comfort zone.

But the world doesn’t need yet another technically flawless portrait or meticulously rendered nude. It needs artworks that move people from within—and that invite reflection and conversation.

Only those who tell something will be remembered. Technique alone is no legacy.

Artists Who Offer More Than Skill

Personally, I love the art of the late 19th and early 20th century. It was a time when technical mastery was paired with emotional depth. Alongside Ilja Repin and John Singer Sargent, Joaquin Sorolla ranks among the most compelling and celebrated painters of that era. In the following examples, I want to briefly share what I feel when I view his works—and why emotion is so vital to me in visual art. I won’t talk about the technical perfection—it speaks for itself.

In Sorolla’s painting “Walk on the Beach,” we see two women walking by the sea at sunset. What do I feel when I look at this image? I feel a strong wind, offering welcome relief after a hot day. The women lean into the breeze, their dresses pulled back by it. This sensation is amplified by Sorolla’s brushwork in the sea and sand. I can feel the air moving through the sand. One of the women has likely taken off her hat to enjoy the fresh breeze, both of them holding their parasols down, as if no longer needed. They are savoring the moment. The expression of the woman on the right is thoughtful, her gaze distant, melancholic—as if she’s reflecting on the day that is slowly fading. These emotions are what make a painting unforgettable and unique to me.

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida - Walk on the Beach

In another painting, we see a group of people sewing a sail. They are shaded from the sun, and the lush green courtyard gives me a distinct sense of cooling down. Looking through the gate into the harsh landscape beyond, I feel the oppressive heat—there is no cloud in the sky, no refuge from the sun. It’s a relief to be in the shade with them. The people seem cheerful; two women are smiling, perhaps sharing a lighthearted moment as they work.

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida - Sewing the Sail

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida - Sewing the Sail (detail)

Sorolla is a master at conveying atmosphere at capturing the sensation of heat, at using color and light. Had he never studied academic principles, he might never have developed the skill. But had he never stepped beyond them, he would not have enriched the world with such profound and evocative works. His paintings remind me that art is not just meant to be seen - it is meant to be felt.

I Must Move Forward

For a long time, I believed I had to perfect every area of artistic craft. I was trapped in the illusion of needing to be flawless—just so others wouldn’t see my weaknesses. For years, insecurity and inner doubt have been my constant companions.

But I didn’t begin making art to learn the craft. I learned the craft so I could one day follow my inner urge for creative expression.

Technical skill is essential in representational art, and I know it will remain a lifelong pursuit. But I now recognize that technique alone doesn’t help me grow—neither as a human being nor as an artist. Perhaps every art student eventually reaches this point. Perhaps this is the very moment when one crosses over—from student to creator.

I know this transformation won’t happen overnight. My ego will resist it with all its strength. But cutting off my studies completely would be a mistake. That’s why I’m looking for tools that will help me overcome this barrier—tools that support me in creating my own works while still allowing space to grow technically. This insight is helping me set the course for the coming years, bringing me closer to my goal: I want to create aesthetically beautiful, sensitive paintings that touch people emotionally and enrich the world.

What becomes of it is not entirely in my hands—but the first step has been taken.