There Is No "Best" in Art

Last week I posted a reel saying something that surprised a few people: it's not about being the best. It's about the process. A few days on, I want to revisit that — not to take it back, but to go deeper.

This weekend I watched a classical guitarist perform. Technically, he was extraordinary. Clean lines, perfect articulation, not a note out of place. By any conventional measure, you'd call it flawless. But afterwards, my sister turned to me and said, "It was impressive — I just didn't feel it that much."

That stuck with me.

Because she wasn't wrong. The performance was technically on point. But something was sitting just slightly out of reach — that ineffable thing that makes music land in your chest rather than just your ears. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised: this is exactly why "the best" is such a complicated idea in art.

Eye-level view of a cozy music studio with a guitar and keyboard

There is no best in music. There is no best in art. There is only the most honest, the most curious, the most present version of you — on that day, in that room, with that instrument.

As a teacher, I care deeply about technical progress. I want my students to develop their technique, to build their vocabulary on the instrument, to push through the hard stuff. But that's never the whole picture. What I'm more interested in — what I find myself most excited by — is the moment a student starts to enjoy the process of getting better. When they stop performing for the grade or the approval and start playing because something in them needs to.

That's when the music starts to breathe.

Being the best version of yourself on your instrument looks different for everyone. For one student it means finally nailing a chord transition they've been wrestling with for months. For another it means finding a way to improvise freely for the first time. For the concert guitarist on stage this weekend, maybe it means finding a way to let a little more of himself into those impeccably placed notes.

Curiosity is the engine. Progress is the road. But enjoyment — real, genuine enjoyment of where you are and where you're going — that's what keeps you playing for life.

And if you're doing that? You're winning.

Close-up view of a guitar neck and fingers playing chords