i feel like "artblock," over the years, has become an overgrown, monolithic term haphazardly applied to any kind of personal disconnect between an artist and their art. there's just about as many potential causes for this as there are words in the english language. maybe you feel like your artistic "eye" has outpaced your hands. maybe you no longer identify with the things you used to find joy in depicting. maybe you're moments away from an identity crisis. et cetera.

as such, it would be basically impossible for me to sufficiently address your highly personal circumstances—so i'm gonna resort to some very generic advice instead.

1. are you having fun? if you're not having fun right now, what sounds like fun instead? do you think you can feasibly achieve this, or at least work towards it? it's okay if something other than creating things sounds more fun right now, too.

2. how's your relationship to your output? do you find yourself preoccupied with numbers? do you find it unforgivable if you didn't work on anything that day, week, month? this may be normalized in many corners of the internet, but it's objectively corrosive.

3. on a related note, how frequently do you compare yourself disfavorably to other creators? everyone's got their own stuff going on, and nobody's ever gonna see the perfect vision in your head that never quite makes it onto the canvas. sometimes, in the past, i would get asked how to achieve the artistic output i used to uphold, particularly for my comics. the answer is actually very simple: break your body and spirit in order to drag your mangled self across some kind of hallucinated finish line. i would not recommend the experience.

i didn't actually start "loving" my art consistently until, like, 2020 or so. i spent many years feeling frustrated and humiliated about my works. nothing seemed to turn out the way i wanted it to. there were times when every piece felt like pulling teeth, and looking at them after the fact still makes me wince.
but my art wouldn't have existed if i didn't make it. and, to this day, i still occasionally encounter people who have found such joy and meaning in stuff i made almost a decade ago.

that matters, to me at least.

this is, primarily, a matter of authenticity. specifically, the level of authenticity you are willing to embody in public spaces.

any representation of yourself is going to be fragmented, in some way. a piece of the whole. no one on this planet can ever claim to know you in your entirety, especially not through the abstraction of the internet.

everyone has different thresholds, or tolerance levels, for the incongruencies between their various perceived selves. some people actively fear being known. others crave it desperately. regardless, it is ultimately up to you how you would like to present yourself in your own spaces—and in doing so, you are pitting your own personal comfort against whatever perceived level of comfort your existing audience already has.

maybe it's "safer" to be insincere, to keep paying lip service to the person you once were, or once thought you wanted to be. i wouldn't fault anyone for doing so, especially if income or other societal pressures are tangled up in it.

but, for me, my artwork is a vehicle for personal expression, first and foremost. and i'd rather be rejected for who i am than accepted under false pretenses, personally.