Online art communities, especially on TikTok, offer a unique blend of creativity, learning, and connection, but they’re also known for their fluctuating culture, changing between uplifting support and harsh toxicity. Many creators contribute positively by sharing valuable tips, such as tutorials on anatomy, color theory, shading techniques, and digital art tricks. These resources have helped countless artists improve their skills and gain confidence. Brush settings, speed paint breakdowns, and collaboration challenges like base swaps often bring people together, sparking creativity and friendship across varying skill levels. Keona Pak (11) shares, “Aside from the after-school art classes that I have taken, I find many of the tutorials online very useful when it comes to improving my art.” When done with care, these practices foster a sense of community.

However, the darker side of this community reveals itself through gatekeeping, public shaming, and the misuse of influence. One notable controversy centered around the “jelly art style,” a vibrant, glossy aesthetic popularized by a creator named Puririka. While Puririka initially gained popularity through her eye-catching art and helpful tutorials, her reputation took a hit following a controversy in which she used her platform to target a younger artist. This artist had followed Puririka’s tutorials and adopted a similar style, something common and even encouraged in art culture, but was accused by Puririka and her followers of “tracing” or copying. Instead of addressing the situation privately or constructively, Puririka fueled public backlash against the younger creator, weaponizing her large following to harass someone who is still learning. The incident highlighted a toxic trend in the art community: larger creators using their influence to gatekeep styles they publicly teach, ultimately discouraging the very growth they claim to encourage.

This toxicity isn’t isolated to one incident. Many young or beginner artists face ridicule for not aligning with popular or “aesthetic” trends. A recurring example is the sarcastic demand for a “rendering process” in comment sections, used to mock artists whose work doesn’t meet a certain visual standard. Rather than offering support or constructive feedback, these comments create an environment where only “polished” or conventionally attractive art is seen as valid. Even when feedback is well-intentioned, it can be damaging if it’s unsolicited, especially when it comes from strangers who override the artist’s original vision or offer critique without considering the artist’s skill level or purpose. It’s important to remember that no one starts out perfect; artistic growth takes time, patience, and consistent practice. Every skilled artist was once a beginner, and learning should be encouraged, not ridiculed.

Another layered issue in the TikTok art community is the trend of more experienced artists “fixing” the work of lessskilled creators. While constructive redrawing can be helpful in theory, in practice, it often involves completely changing the original artist’s style and intent, sometimes without consent. These redraws frequently go viral, gaining clout for the more experienced artist at the expense of the original creator, who is left feeling disrespected or publicly embarrassed. This perpetuates the idea that art is only worthy if it conforms to specific digital art standards.

Adding to the pressure is the difficulty of gaining visibility on platforms like TikTok, where the algorithm often rewards trends and polish over originality and growth. Because getting traction is so difficult, some creators become desperate for recognition. This has led to a growing number of people turning to quick, unethical shortcuts, whether from tracing other artists’ work or using AI-generated images to mimic art styles and produce fake speed paintings. In some cases, individuals go as far as learning how to replicate the process of drawing by hand just to pass AI-generated work off as original. Art theft and the rise of AI-generated art further complicate the landscape. AI programs can produce visually convincing pieces and speed paintings, and some users exploit this technology to claim false ownership or skill. Tracing, too, remains a persistent problem, and many artists find their work stolen, altered, and reposted without credit. These actions not only hurt individual creators but also destroy the trust and authenticity that online art spaces rely on. Rather than learning and growing through genuine artistic practice, they chase viral fame by cutting corners, which only deepens the divide between authentic creators and those gaming the system.

Community-based practices like art trades, where artists exchange pieces, can also be a double-edged sword. On one hand, they promote collaboration, build relationships, and offer opportunities to grow. On the other hand, some artists, especially younger ones, are scammed and left without the art they were promised in return. This undermines trust and ruins the collaborative spirit that makes these communities feel safe and creative.

Despite all this, the online art world isn’t irredeemably toxic. Online platforms allow artists to be recognized for their works. Many artists go out of their way to create safe, inclusive spaces where feedback is given with care, resources are freely shared, and creative expression is celebrated in all forms. For these communities to truly thrive, the focus must shift back to respect, consent, and constructive engagement. Emma Wang (10) states “Art is inherently personal, and no one, regardless of following or fame, should have the power to dictate who gets to make it or how it should look.”