Can I be a credible artist and commercial success at the same time?

Let's explore this fear that lies at the hearts of all creative generalists.

Mar 12, 2025

We often idolise artists from the past and want to become like them.

What we like to forget is that most of them were actually miserable.

Charles Baudelaire was considered a misfit and Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear. Amy Winehouse drank herself to death and Heath Ledger overdosed on drugs.

Still, we seem to be keen on the idea that we should be able to be creative and spiritually thriving, and make a lot of money whilst following our most artistic pursuits.

Because of the cost of living these days, many of us don’t either have the luxury of just sitting at cafés all day writing poetry, but we also need to make a paycheck somehow.

Yet, our soul craves for stillness and authenticity. Making money seems so prosaic compared with the transcendental power of creating from our divine source.

But how exactly do you do this: follow your artistic passions and put food on the table?

I’d argue that solving this equation is one of the main motivations for becoming a creative generalist in the first place. Having a portfolio of projects where some make money and some don’t is basically the textbook description of what creative generalism is all about. But, living in this duality can also cause a lot of headaches.

Last autumn, I did a series of interviews with self-employed creative generalists. Many of them had successfully started and sustained their own business. Yet, not all of them considered themselves very successful (isn’t it funny how modest we are about things that are actually quite badass?).

Many of our conversations revolved around the struggle of balancing so-called commercial efforts with artistic pursuits. Being regarded as a “real artist” seemed to involve some level of recognition from the industry itself. Being financially secure was necessary but not ambitious enough for many of them.

So the question became: can we simultaneously make money and earn the respect of our creative peers?

Here are a few ways my interviewees expressed their concerns:

***

This one came from a creative generalist working with multiple projects from art exhibitions to television commercials, design and lifestyle journalism:

“The conflict between commercial and non-commercial work has always been there for me.

I’ve tried to find a sense of peace in thinking that I’m a creative generalist who works on both commercial and non-commercial projects.

But there are still questions to be resolved. Like, if I post on Instagram, how do I present both an art exhibition and a summer campaign for a big company? So far, I haven’t told publicly about that campaign because I feel like there’s such a conflict.

But, if I would like to properly brand myself as an artist, I would look ridiculous because I don’t have an array of exhibitions like everyone else since I’ve been working on the commercial side as well.”

***

This one came from a furniture designer working with various design projects and doing a PhD in arts:

“My commercial work includes creating floral hair clips. I enjoy working with flowers, designing the clips, photographing them, and planning campaigns. It feels fun—almost like play. However, it has no connection to the PhD I’m pursuing in art school or my training in furniture design.

I feel ashamed of the hair clips, as I believe my designer colleagues wouldn’t appreciate them. However, this commercial project allows me complete freedom to express myself, whereas at university, I often feel creatively constrained, anticipating critique from my peers.”

Where does this pressure to be artistically credible come from?

Creative generalists aren’t like other generalists. They aren’t either like other entrepreneurs. They often feel a soul connection and moral obligation to their artistry, their craft. And no amount of money can ever wholly remove that obligation.

But this moral obligation often makes them feel like misfits. As entrepreneurs, they’re not business-savvy enough. And as artists, they’re not serious enough because they have a variety of interests, some of which include business-like endeavours.

Living in this in-between is tough because creative generalists are always accompanied by imposter syndrome, fear of critique and feelings of inadequacy in one area or another.

So, what options do we have?

Here are some questions I’ve used to help me explore this for myself and my coaching clients.

Is it possible to be a credible artist if you also do commercial projects?

Yes, but you need to decide what “credibility” means to you.

The visual artist Yoayoi Kusama has printed her signature polka dots on Coca-Cola cans and made handbags with Louis Vuitton. The writer Haruki Murakami made a collection of t-shirts with the global fashion brand Uniqlo. Beyoncé created the athleisure line Ivy Park in collaboration with Adidas. Not to talk about all the actors who have signed deals with perfume brands or George Clooney becoming the face of Nespresso. Some might argue that these commercial projects have even strengthened their position in their field or made them appear more talented and versatile.

But then there are artists like Banksy, who would likely never ever sign a deal with Coca-Cola because it would be against his values. So, the real jury sits in each one of us. Do we believe these artists cannot perform their artistic duties and express their talent because of these collaborations and campaigns? What kind of values do we want to depict or oppose in our work? You are the best person to answer that question and everybody is entitled to whichever answer they choose.

What if my peers think I have sold my soul and don’t have any real talent?

Many creative and intellectual people hold the belief that if their talent becomes too obvious to the popular eye, it’s not real talent at all. It’s as if the more complicated we make things, the more sophisticated they are perceived. This is how art becomes exclusive instead of inclusive: only a few people will have the patience to sit with it and even fewer will ever understand. Often, the ones who will are other artists, art critics, or people with some type of expert degree in the same field.

So, the question then becomes, whose approval are we really looking for and for what reason? Who are we creating for and why?

These questions lead us back to our very original commitment to our craft. Are we here to solve problems, challenge the system or achieve a reputation within our industry's créme de la créme?

If you’re here to solve problems through furniture design, for example, you will likely give a rat’s ass about a peer who thinks you should make a chair that no one can sit in just for the artistic value of it. But if you’re a writer who is here to do curtsies for the literary elite, you will shy away from all the crowd-pleasing tips your publisher kindly offers you. You’d rather keep writing (even if it’s into a void) for as long as it takes for you to get noticed by your peers first.

Now, I’m not saying commercial success and artistic excellence can’t be mutually achievable, and in the best case, they are (look at Sally Rooney, for example), but I think even the best of us will have to make compromises.

What gives us refuge from the constant identity crisis is being honest about our number one driver.

But what if I want to make uncompromised art on my terms but I also have bills to pay and two kids to take care of?

Depending on your cultural context, the answer to this question can have several different versions. In some countries, you can make by with grants, in which case, you can focus on your artistic ambitions merely by adhering to the funders' wishes.

In other countries, commercialism may be the only way to monetise a creative career, in which case you have to create a vision for what type of commercialism you’re available to (or possibly change countries to find a more independent artist career).

However, there are plenty of options if you really start to think about it.

Not all of us can or want to get a lavish deal with Louis Vuitton or Uniqlo, so we might want to look into one or several of the following money-making opportunities:

Collaborations with small or medium-sized brands who share your values.
Crowdfunding or platforms such as Patreon, Substack, Buy Me a Coffee or Etsy, where your audience directly supports or pays for your work.
Teaching and courses to share your skills with those who could benefit from your know-how. This could be anywhere from schools and universities to private retreats to online platforms such as Skillshare or Udemy.
Self-publishing a book on Amazon (more about becoming a published author here).
Renting or licensing your artwork to be used in commercial contexts.
Art projects for public or corporate spaces.
Selling your expertise in the form of consulting or coaching.
Joining an agency or co-op that could use your skillset to diversify their offering.
A commercial side project for a specific niche, for example, abstract paintings about cats and their owners.
Contributing to magazines and online publications in your field.
Becoming an expert in your field through a blog, newsletter or Youtube channel and creating income streams from affiliate marketing.

All of the above are mere examples of the myriad ways you can make money as a creative generalist. These options give you plenty of room to decide how artistic or commercial you want your monetising strategies to be.

None of these are easy, or fill your bank account in a matter of weeks, so whatever you choose, prepare to commit to it for a while.

Also, accept that trials and errors are part of the game.

Don’t quit your day job just yet if you’re just getting started.

Give yourself time and space to find one or two streams of income that you can rely on.

Or, if you’re completely against all forms of monetisation and want to live a precarious and romanticised artist life, that’s also just fine.

But please don’t cut off your ear when times get tough.

What will the others think?

This is the last and most important one because at the root of the entire battle between artistry and commercialism is the fear of being rejected.

Because there’s no way to anticipate or control what others may or may not think, the only way to get past this one is to let go of it. I’ll end by quoting this poem by Cassie Phillips (thank you

Sage Justice

for bringing this poem to my consciousness):