Eric Sahlsten shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Hi Eric, thank you for taking the time to reflect back on your journey with us. I think our readers are in for a real treat. There is so much we can all learn from each other and so thank you again for opening up with us. Let’s get into it: What do you think others are secretly struggling with—but never say?
Aside from all the old familiar demons…as an artist I think that many, if not most, “creatives” are always secretly or not-so-secretly struggling with imposter syndrome, with self-doubt, with that sinister, silent voice that’s seemingly always seeking to lure you away from the path. I just finished re-reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield for the first time in many years, and he broadly frames this as “Resistance.” Essentially, anything and everything that is subconsciously, or otherwise, distracting you from your true purpose. Everything that gets in the way of the work. Every excuse or justification you employ to deny your craft or calling. And there will always be an excuse if you allow it.
Whether you’re an amateur or a pro, or just started creating or have been at it for many years, I don’t think that voice ever truly quiets down. Not completely. Not as much as we’d imagine it would, or would like it to. After nearly six years freelancing as an illustrator, that voice inevitably creeps in every single time I sit down to draw. Every single time. It’s easy to believe early on that with enough experience under your belt you’ll “arrive,” or you’ll “make it.” That confidence will come pouring in and buoy your every effort. But, in my experience at least, that hasn’t really been the case.
It’s a double-edged sword. In a certain sense, I think a lot of what being an artist really boils down to is this sort of perpetual bookkeeping, an endless self-accounting. Always seeking. Always striving. Always taking stock of yourself, of your experiences, of your emotions, of the world, and then hopefully transmuting all of that via your chosen medium into something that, hopefully, helps you make a bit of sense of the world and yourself, helps order a bit of the chaos inherent to life and living. But this constant seeking and questioning can just as easily serve as an impediment to doing the work itself.
It’s easy, and tempting, to get stuck in the planning phase, the concept phase. You can spread yourself too thin and sort of siphon the wind from your own sails if you’re not careful. When you’re an artist just starting out, it’s very easy—because it has no stakes, and therefore no consequences—to concoct all sorts of ideas and idealized visions and versions of yourself and what you’ll create, trapping yourself in the doldrums of this romanticized dreaming, and never actually begin, never actually make any work. The biggest mistake I made early on was thinking there would be, and then waiting for, some perfect moment to begin, some idealized starting point where the sun and stars would align and I would be adequately prepared or ready to embark on the work.
This is a dangerous myth, and one that was largely rooted in fear. Fear of failure, and the fear of judgement. Going back to Pressfield, this is simply Resistance talking, and it thwarts your work before it’s even begun. The best time to start is now. The preparation comes afterwards through actively failing and learning and growing, forever. The work never ends. There is no arrival. You will never “make it.” You forge yourself every single day through action—repeated forever—like the ouroboros eternally consuming and thus creating itself anew, an endless feedback loop of self-destruction and creation. Simply put: you are what you do, and there is no “being.” There is only endless becoming.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I am an illustrator originally from Florida, and I’ve been living in Denver for almost six years now. My work is almost entirely analog, primarily using pen-and-ink and traditional techniques to render intricate illustrations inspired by nature, mythology, medieval imagery, music, literature, etc.
My first professional role creating art was at Motorworks Brewing in Bradenton, FL, where I handled the illustration, design, and layout for the brewery’s various packaged beers in cans and bottles. These days, I mostly work with bands within the heavy music sphere, illustrating and designing for shirts, gig posters, and album covers. I’ve been commissioned by Alice In Chains, Amenra, Blackbraid, Demon Hunter, Deafheaven, The Dillinger Escape Plan, Filson, Habak, High On Fire, Kvelertak, Revolver Magazine, The Smashing Pumpkins, and more.
It is a massive honor to have been asked to contribute in my own small way to the visual legacies of these bands, and to this rich musical and visual world that I have loved since I was a kid.
Great, so let’s dive into your journey a bit more. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
I am largely who I’ve always been. Mental growth and emotional maturation aside of course, I am, generally speaking, mainly interested in the same things I’ve always been interested in. Obviously my tastes and views about the world and my place in it have shifted over time, but there is an undercurrent of self that is unchanged, undiminished. The same throughlines still hum with resonance.
Like anyone, I have of course struggled with identity, belonging, and purpose. Through life’s trials we all occasionally lose our way, lose sight of ourselves, of our place and direction. The goal, I suppose, is to make sure we don’t get lost forever, or that we don’t grow cold and callous towards ourselves, towards others, towards the world—cold and callous as they often are. That we don’t lose sight of our calling, however desperately or deeply it’s been suppressed, by ourself or others.
Everyone needs an internal compass, a true north, a lodestar that guides you back to yourself, time and time again. I was extremely fortunate to have two wonderful, loving parents that nurtured my growth, exposed me to new and novel things, and supported my endeavors. The older I get, the more I realize how rare that was—rarer than it should be—and that not everyone is so fortunate. I don’t take that for granted, and I am extremely, eternally grateful for them.
But the pressures of this life are vast. Life wounds and warps and breaks us all in ways we can’t possibly foresee or forestall, and everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. I used to think sayings like that were horribly trite and cliché. But the older I get the truer it rings. All we can do is stay true to ourselves, and treat others with basic empathy and respect, not actively contribute to anyone’s pain in a painful world. And despite our personal tragedies and the inequities and injustices of this world, not take that pain and turn it into a weapon that we wield unjustly against others. Take your pain and pour it into art, into creation. And never let this world tell you who you are or who you should be.
To end on a quote by Zen Master Takuan Sōhō: “If you follow the present-day world, you will turn your back on the Way; if you would not turn your back on the Way, do not follow the world.”
Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
Hourly. Daily. Monthly. Year in, year out.
I’d be lying if I said otherwise. Being a full-time artist is extremely difficult. Extremely rewarding too, of course. But there is no easy day, and no day is quite the same. There’s a tremendous amount of “not art” that goes into being an artist.
But if you feel called to do a thing, whether that’s drawing, or painting, or playing guitar, or writing poetry, or dancing, or cooking meals, or making cocktails—whatever it may be—then you don’t really have a say in the matter.
You can’t deny the thing you feel called to do. It will only build regret, and from there foster resentment. For yourself and for others doing the thing you should be doing. To deny yourself is to deny the world by proxy. I think any true artist knows that they cannot quit. I want to all the time. And I may, in a way, via procrastination, self-distraction, or otherwise. But I always come back to it, because it’s a compulsion. And you can only run from yourself for so long.
Starting was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Quitting was never an option.
Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. Whom do you admire for their character, not their power?
I only admire people for their character.
Power doesn’t mean much to me, unless that power is used in the service of others. For enrichment. For enlightenment. For collective advancement or wellbeing. So much power in this world is unearned, undeserved, and poorly—or disgracefully, often violently—wielded.
“I only know that every act which has no heart will be found out in the end. Every gesture.”
– Cormac McCarthy, Cities of the Plain
Okay, so before we go, let’s tackle one more area. What will you regret not doing?
The older I get, the more of my regrets I’ve realized stem from inaction. A lot of hard lessons inherent in that realization. A lot of unlived life. The older I get, the more I realize the greater sin is often in the not-doing, than the doing.
My deepest, most painful regrets lie in things undone, words unsaid, feelings stifled, thoughts suppressed, aspects of self denied. The world will not become more bearable through avoidance. It must be faced and engaged, with the full knowledge that it will wound you, scar you, change you, but also forge you, invigorate you, enrich you.
I rather sear my hand in the flame, than to have never felt its heat.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.ericwsahlsten.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ericwsahlsten/
