"There was a beautiful time in the beginning when I just did it and didn't analyze the consequences, but I think that time ends in everyone's work"
About this Quote
Nostalgia, here, isn’t for youth so much as for unselfconsciousness: that early stretch when making work feels like play, not a referendum. Lynda Barry nails the moment when art stops being a private language and becomes a public object, freighted with outcomes. “Beautiful” is doing a lot of work. It frames innocence as a lost aesthetic state, the way a blank page used to feel before you learned how many people might see it, misread it, judge it, or ask you to explain it.
Barry’s “just did it” isn’t hustle culture bravado; it’s a cartoonist’s version of flow. Comics are a medium where the hand and the mind are visibly linked, and overthinking shows. The subtext is almost managerial: analysis arrives like a middle manager barging into the studio, bringing spreadsheets labeled Career, Brand, Audience, Legacy. Once those categories exist, they don’t politely wait outside.
The sting is in the inevitability: “I think that time ends in everyone’s work.” Not “my work,” not “sometimes,” but a shared expiration date. Barry is talking about the psychic cost of becoming professional, of being good enough to have expectations. The consequence isn’t just commercial pressure; it’s self-surveillance. You start anticipating reaction before you’ve even made the mark.
Coming from an artist who’s long championed drawing as a tool for memory, intuition, and the weird subconscious, the line reads as both elegy and warning: if you want to keep making alive work, you’ll have to fight to re-enter that beginning again, even after you know too much.
Barry’s “just did it” isn’t hustle culture bravado; it’s a cartoonist’s version of flow. Comics are a medium where the hand and the mind are visibly linked, and overthinking shows. The subtext is almost managerial: analysis arrives like a middle manager barging into the studio, bringing spreadsheets labeled Career, Brand, Audience, Legacy. Once those categories exist, they don’t politely wait outside.
The sting is in the inevitability: “I think that time ends in everyone’s work.” Not “my work,” not “sometimes,” but a shared expiration date. Barry is talking about the psychic cost of becoming professional, of being good enough to have expectations. The consequence isn’t just commercial pressure; it’s self-surveillance. You start anticipating reaction before you’ve even made the mark.
Coming from an artist who’s long championed drawing as a tool for memory, intuition, and the weird subconscious, the line reads as both elegy and warning: if you want to keep making alive work, you’ll have to fight to re-enter that beginning again, even after you know too much.
Quote Details
| Topic | Work |
|---|
More Quotes by Lynda
Add to List










