Owning My Financial Ambition as an Artist

For a long time, I believed what many artists are quietly taught:
that creating from the heart and thinking about money don’t mix.
That the more invisible, intuitive, or poetic your work is, the less room there is to talk about financial stability.

I grew up with that belief — not in theory, but in practice.
My parents, both artists, lived it every day.
Their work was central, full of soul and meaning.
But to pay the rent, take a break, or simply make ends meet, they had to take on side jobs, constantly adapting.

A model I chose not to repeat

After my studies, when I began working professionally, I felt a quiet but insistent resistance.
Something in me couldn’t accept the idea that artistic legitimacy had to come at the cost of personal stability.

I wanted to create — deeply, freely.
But I also wanted to live with balance, dignity, and clarity.
Not extravagantly, but sustainably.
I needed space, not struggle.

So I started to look at things differently.
To question my mindset around money, worth, and pricing.
To let go of the guilt, the fear of being misunderstood.
And to build something more solid — a long-term, intentional path.

A shift in posture, inside and out

This didn’t happen overnight.
It took time to find the words, the confidence, the clarity to stand behind the value of my work.

But slowly, things changed.
As I became clearer about who I was — and what I offered — so did the perception of those around me.
Collectors, collaborators, galleries…
They began to respond to that clarity. To respect it.
Not just because of the art itself, but because of the space I allowed it to hold.

And this shift transformed not only how I was seen — but how I created.
When you’re not stuck in survival mode, your creative energy expands.
You explore more freely, more deeply. You create from alignment, not urgency.

It’s not a betrayal of art — it’s a commitment to it

Believing in yourself.
Defining your own vision.
Being honest about your relationship to money.

None of this makes your work less poetic, less profound, or less sincere.
In fact, it allows it to grow — with depth, integrity, and space to breathe.

I’m still walking that path, step by step.
With nuance, doubt, courage — and above all, with heart.

Because I know that my art lives more fully in the world when I allow myself to live fully, too.