Experience is the best teacher of all. And for that, there are

“Experience is the best teacher of all. And for that, there are no guarantees that one will become an artist. Only the journey matters.” Thus spoke Harry Callahan, the American photographer whose work sought beauty not in perfection, but in the patient unfolding of life. His words are not meant only for artists with brush or camera, but for all souls who seek meaning through their craft. In this teaching lies a profound truth: that knowledge gained through books or instruction is but a spark, while experience—lived, endured, wrestled with—is the fire that forges the soul.

To say that experience is the best teacher is to honor the slow rhythm of trial and error, of failures and small victories. The artist does not awaken one morning with mastery fully formed. He stumbles, he tries again, he sees, he listens, he reflects. Through each act of living, he gathers fragments of understanding that no classroom can give. Callahan reminds us that the journey itself is the crucible, and it is in walking that path, not in reaching some final destination, that one is shaped.

Yet his words are also humbling. He declares that even with all the experience in the world, there are no guarantees. One may live richly, struggle deeply, labor endlessly—and still not become what the world calls an “artist.” For art is not a prize to be seized, but a calling that emerges mysteriously from the marriage of discipline and grace. To live fully does not ensure greatness in the eyes of men, but it ensures growth in the eyes of the soul. Thus, Callahan turns our gaze away from achievement and toward the deeper treasure: the act of living itself.

History bears witness to this truth. Consider Vincent van Gogh, who lived a life of anguish and searching, painting with ferocious passion but selling almost nothing in his lifetime. His experience—the fields of wheat, the starry skies, the loneliness of his room—was his truest teacher. Yet he died unrecognized, never crowned “artist” in his own day. Still, his journey was not in vain, for it birthed works that, though ignored then, became immortal. His life proves Callahan’s wisdom: that the measure of the journey is not the worldly title it yields, but the honesty with which it is walked.

The origin of Callahan’s words rests in his own path as a photographer. He was self-taught, not formally trained in the academies of art. He walked with his camera, day after day, capturing his wife Eleanor, the streets, the grasses, the play of light on water. His art was not born in theory but in practice, not in the pursuit of fame but in the daily labor of seeing. For him, the journey was everything—the act of observing, of experimenting, of being alive to the world. This is why he warns us against expecting guarantees: for true art grows not from expectation but from devotion.

The lesson for us is clear: walk the path of experience with humility. Do not seek the crown of “artist,” nor the approval of others, for these are but shadows. Instead, devote yourself to the journey. Live richly, engage deeply, labor daily. Let every mistake teach you, let every success humble you, let every moment sharpen your vision. If greatness comes, let it come as a gift, not as a demand. And if it does not come, let the journey itself be your reward.

Therefore, dear listener, take these words of Harry Callahan to heart. Live as though life itself were your canvas. Accept that there are no guarantees—and rejoice in it, for this frees you from the burden of perfection. Know that the value lies not in the title you gain, but in the honesty of your journey. For in truth, whether or not you are called “artist,” if you have lived attentively, if you have walked with courage and wonder, you will have touched the essence of art: to be fully alive in the world.