We hear it all the time: “Art isn’t a competition.” And on the surface, that’s true. Creativity isn’t a race. There’s no stopwatch, no finish line, and no universal scoring system for what stirs the soul. But when we enter contests, submit work for selection, or even just scroll through platforms filled with other people’s creations, aren’t we—quietly or otherwise—comparing? Judging? Deciding what we like more, and what we like less?
And is that really such a terrible thing?
We’ve become almost allergic to comparison in the creative world. We’ve been taught that saying one piece is “better” than another is snobbish, or elitist, or unkind. And yet, every art show, every open call, every exhibition is a selection process. Someone makes a choice. Someone says, “This fits. This speaks. This one goes on the wall.” And someone else’s doesn’t.
So where’s the line between encouragement and honesty? Between support and silence?
Perhaps it lies in the way we compare. There’s a vast difference between saying, “This is terrible” and saying, “This doesn’t speak to me because…” The latter leaves space for dialogue, for growth, for taste. And taste is allowed. Not all art will appeal to everyone. Some artists push boundaries. Some lean into subtlety. Some explode with colour while others whisper in graphite. Preference isn’t prejudice. And liking one thing more than another doesn’t automatically diminish the value of the other.
That said, there’s a tension when it comes to contests or side-by-side comparisons—especially between different mediums like painting and photography. Can you truly compare a portrait done in oils with one captured through a lens? Maybe not directly. But you can compare their impact. Their technical skill. The emotional story they tell. You can admire one and still acknowledge the difficulty and beauty in the other.
What we perhaps need isn’t to avoid comparison, but to reclaim it—to shift it from ranking to recognising. Instead of “This is better,” perhaps we could say, “This feels more resolved,” “This has stronger composition,” “This moved me more deeply,” or even simply, “I’d hang this on my wall.”
Let’s also be honest: artists and photographers alike want feedback. They want to know if their work stands out. If it connects. If it resonates beyond their own vision. A contest without judgment is just a raffle. And while there’s a place for gentle encouragement, we also need space where skill, originality, and execution can be appreciated—and yes, sometimes measured.
The answer isn’t to pretend all art is equal. It’s not. That doesn’t mean some art is worthless—it means some art, for now, is less refined, less complete, or less impactful. That might change. That artist might grow. But it does no one any good to pretend the conversation doesn’t exist.
In the end, perhaps the real question isn’t whether we can compare—but whether we can do it with respect, honesty, and a willingness to explain what we see. Because comparison without cruelty isn’t competition. It’s critique. And that’s how we all improve.
What do you think? Have you ever judged a contest—or been in one—and struggled with this? Should we be more open about what we admire (and what we don’t)?
