Jerry Saltz is undeniably one of the most outspoken, passionate and influential art critics of our time. With "How to Become an Artist," he ventures from critiquing art to offering a road map for making it – a bold leap from observer to guide. But while his book aims to be a manifesto for aspiring artists, it's worth asking: Does it actually show us how to become one?

Saltz’s advice is, on the surface, practical and accessible. He encourages artists to "start now" and "make a mess" to draw from life and be inspired by everything. This no-nonsense, democratic approach is refreshing, especially in an art world that often feels cloaked in elitism. Saltz’s advice removes the intimidating barriers, seemingly leveling the playing field. He suggests courage and grit are all you need to be an artist, not an MFA, gallery connections or wealthy patrons. But in some ways, this advice, though spirited, feels too simplified.

Becoming an artist in today’s world is rarely as straightforward as Saltz suggests. Talent, dedication and drive are crucial, as are access, funding and privilege. The art world is fiercely competitive, and resource access can often determine an artist’s trajectory. Saltz's advice to "trust yourself" and "work through the pain" may resonate with those who already have the means to pursue art. But what about those who can barely afford the materials, let alone a studio? While his advice may inspire many, it overlooks the socioeconomic barriers that stand in the way of countless aspiring artists.

Additionally, the book’s charm stems largely from Saltz’s magnetic personality. He’s passionate, funny and sometimes irreverent, dispensing tough-love advice that fans of his columns and social media posts will recognize instantly. But while his charisma makes "How to Become an Artist" an engaging read, it occasionally overshadows the message itself. His voice, full of intensity and larger-than-life bravado, often leaves little room for reflection, nuance or the quieter struggles artists endure. In his bid to inspire, he sometimes rushes past the genuine obstacles artists face, turning the journey into more of a pep talk than a reflection of lived experience.

Perhaps Saltare Rez’s biggest blind spot, however, is his emphasis on creation over context. Art doesn’t exist in a vacuum; it’s shaped by history, culture and politics, factors that Saltz touches on only lightly. His advice centers on self-expression, which is crucial, but doesn’t fully prepare for the art world's complexities. Aspiring artists must not only create but navigate a world of critiques, curatorial standards and market forces. In many ways, the art world is still exclusive, and being an artist isn’t just about making work; it’s about finding a way in.

"How to Become an Artist" is a book that may inspire, even embolden, a generation of artists. But its optimism risks glossing over the reality of becoming one. Saltz wants us to believe that everyone can be an artist, and perhaps that’s true, similar to what Picasso uttered decades ago, "Everyone is born as an artist, but few remain so." But a more honest road map would acknowledge the challenges of this path and offer practical strategies for overcoming them. Saltz’s advice is a starting point, not a complete guide; it’s an invitation to dream, but not necessarily a manual for survival in the art world. In the end, maybe it doesn’t matter if artists are born or made. What matters is that art, whether it springs from an innate gift or relentless effort, continues to inspire us, challenge us and reveal new ways of seeing the world. Whether artistically inclined or simply art-curious, we can all cultivate a creative spark. Perhaps it’s in that spark, that willingness to engage, that artistry truly lives.

Is an artist born or made?

Jerry Saltz’s book also brings up the age-old discussion of whether artists are born or made. It has long puzzled philosophers, critics and artists themselves. Is there a special "creative gene," an innate drive that sets artists apart, or is artistry a skill that can be learned, honed and refined over time? As with many age-old debates, the answer is complex and, perhaps, somewhere in the middle.

Those who believe artists are born tend to argue that creativity is something mysterious, ineffable and perhaps even sacred. They point to childhood prodigies who seem naturally drawn to art or artists whose ability to see and interpret the world feels unique. Van Gogh, with his intensity and originality, or Frida Kahlo, with her searing emotional honesty, are often cited as examples. Such artists seem to possess a rare, almost otherworldly ability to channel their inner visions into something profound. This line of thought suggests that artistry is somehow "in the blood," an inherent trait rather than a cultivated skill.

But then, there’s the argument for artistry as a process of becoming. Countless artists began their careers with minimal talent, no clear sense of direction and only a vague desire to express something. They honed their craft through discipline, trial and error and years of study. This "art is made" perspective emphasizes grit, learning and growth. As Pablo Picasso famously said, "Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working." Similarly, Michelangelo described sculpture as a process of chiseling away to reveal what was already there, suggesting that art is as much about persistence and dedication as it is about innate talent. Ultimately, this view of art emphasizes that mastery is not simply a gift but the result of continual effort and evolution.

In today’s world, where art schools and tutorials are more accessible than ever, the "made" argument has gained significant ground. Creativity, once seen as mysterious and elusive, is increasingly recognized as a skill that can be developed through exposure, mentorship and practice. Modern neuroscience even suggests that the brain can be "rewired" to think more creatively through specific exercises, fostering the idea that anyone can nurture their creative capacities.

However, those who’ve spent time around artists know that there’s often a deeper drive, a compulsion to create that goes beyond simple skill-building. Many artists describe feeling "called" to their work as though they’re tapping into something greater than themselves. This isn’t to say that only certain people are "born" with this impulse, but rather that artistic passion can feel like a life of its own, a force that can’t be easily taught or replicated.

So, perhaps the true answer lies in synthesizing the two ideas. Artists may indeed be born with a unique inclination, a perspective that makes them drawn to create. Yet even the most "natural" artists must nurture their talents, discipline their minds and endure countless hours of practice to realize their potential. Artistry is born in the quiet tension between talent and tenacity, between the desire to create and the will to keep going.

Can AI users really be artists?

In an age where AI can generate a painting in seconds, compose a symphony at the click of a button and even produce short films, it’s no wonder people are asking: Can everyone using AI become an artist? The idea is both exhilarating and unsettling. If anyone can create beautiful or compelling work using AI tools, does that mean anyone can be an artist? Or does true artistry require something more?

Let’s start with what AI can do. AI platforms now offer powerful, user-friendly tools that allow people to create impressive visuals, write poems or compose music without traditional skills or training. You can type in a few words, select a style and, in moments, have a complete piece of art. For those of us who may lack a formal art background, this democratization of creativity feels thrilling and inclusive. With AI, the door to creativity opens wider, allowing more people to explore self-expression than ever before.

But is using AI to create images or music truly the same as being an artist? This question digs into the heart of what "art" really means. Art is often viewed as an expression of one’s inner world thoughts, feelings, personal experiences and perspectives. When we think of a painter like Georgia O’Keeffe or a poet like Rainer Maria Rilke, we imagine someone pouring their soul into their work, channeling a lifetime of joy, sorrow, or reflection into a tangible form. The result isn’t just a beautiful image or evocative words; it’s a piece of the artist’s identity. Art, in this sense, is less about the tools used and more about the vision, emotion and intentionality behind the work.

With AI, however, the creative process becomes almost effortless, even detached. You input a prompt, the AI processes it, and an image or text pops out. The creation is often impressive, even beautiful – but it’s not born out of lived experience, struggle, or a burning desire to communicate something meaningful. The user of AI might appreciate the result, but the journey lacks the depth, experimentation and reflection that often define an artist’s process. Instead of being a vessel for one’s own perspective, AI is a collaborator that adds its own interpretations, trained by thousands of existing works, to generate something new. This isn’t to say that AI-assisted creations are without value or impact.

On the contrary, they can spark ideas, enhance projects and give more people the confidence to explore creativity. For people who wouldn’t otherwise have had the means or skills to express themselves visually or musically, AI can be transformative. It can help create influential art that is moving and perhaps even profound. But artistry is more than crafting something that looks or sounds beautiful; it’s about voice, vision and intentionality. AI, as a tool, has limits when it comes to individuality. It reflects a vast pool of data but lacks personal experience. Those who truly want to be artists using AI will need to bring a distinct perspective, story or intention to the process, something uniquely theirs that AI alone cannot generate.

So, can everyone using AI become an artist? Perhaps the answer lies in the degree to which they approach AI as a partner rather than a shortcut. If they use AI to amplify their own creativity, to tell a story that only they can tell, or to create something that comes from a place of genuine expression, then yes, AI users can become artists. But if AI is merely used to replicate existing ideas or churn out aesthetically pleasing images without depth, then perhaps the answer is no. Art is more than the final product; it’s about purpose, process and perspective, things that no algorithm can replace.

In this new era, AI has given us extraordinary tools, but artistry will still belong to those who create with intention, authenticity and a drive to connect with others on a deeper level. True artists, whether they use AI or paintbrushes, are those who bring a piece of themselves into the work, a piece that no machine can replicate.