The Beret Syndrome: Why Visibility Is Not the Same as Mastery

by Chantell Van Erbé

Every artist experiences moments of disappointment.

Sometimes we place our hopes on a particular opportunity, convinced it will change everything. When it doesn’t, it’s easy to wonder whether we’ve taken a wrong turn.

That was exactly where I found myself recently.

When I paused and took stock, what I realized was surprisingly simple.

I had been giving far too much attention to one setback while overlooking the progress that had been unfolding all along.

That shift in perspective brought me back to something I’ve believed for a long time.

Visibility and mastery are not the same thing.

We live in a time when recognition can happen almost instantly. A single post can reach thousands, and someone can seem successful overnight. Social media has made visibility easier than ever, but it has also changed the way many of us measure success. Every notification, every like, and every new follower offers what feels like a brief dopamine rush. Before long, it’s easy to begin chasing attention instead of growth.

The trouble is that attention is fleeting.

Mastery is cumulative.

Likes disappear into yesterday’s algorithm.

Skill, insight, and a personal voice remain. They deepen with every hour spent in the studio, even when no one is watching.

I call it The Beret Syndrome…

…It’s the mistaken belief that the identity of an artist can be adopted. In reality, it has to be cultivated. A beret, a carefully curated social media feed, or the appearance of a creative life may fit the stereotype, but artistry has never been a costume. It is a way of seeing the world, a discipline of observation, and a lifelong commitment to making the work.

There is a difference between learning to paint and becoming an artist. Learning to paint is a craft. It can be studied, practiced, and refined. Becoming an artist asks something more. It requires curiosity, observation, imagination, and the courage to keep asking questions that don’t always have answers. Technique gives us the vocabulary. Vision gives us something worth saying.

Those hours spent experimenting, failing, questioning yourself, starting over, and returning to the studio rarely attract attention. They don’t generate headlines or applause. Yet they are where an artist is truly formed.

When I reflect on decades of making art, exhibitions and publications aren’t the first things that come to mind. I remember my protégé days, the unsuccessful experiments, and the drawings that taught me something, even when no one else ever saw them.

None of those moments were detours. They were the work.

They were the foundation.

Every disappointment brought me back to what mattered most.

It reminded me why I began making art in the first place.

Not for recognition.

Not for competitions.

Not for approval.

I began because creating felt as natural as breathing.

That hasn’t changed.

If anything, that conviction has only grown stronger.

So I’m choosing to look ahead.

I’m grateful for every opportunity that comes my way…but I’ve learned not to mistake those moments for the destination. Recognition may mark milestones along the path, but it has never been the measure of an artist.

The work has always been the point.

Art doesn’t ask us to race.

It asks us to stay curious.

To keep learning.

To make the next piece.

Everything else arrives in its own time.