As an art student growing up in Ghana, I was immersed in a culture where the purpose of art was a constant topic of debate. We often found ourselves engaged in lengthy discussions about whether artists should create for art’s sake or for commercial gain. The prevailing sentiment was clear: pursuing art for commercial reasons somehow diluted its authenticity. True art, we were told, was born purely from passion, untouched by market demands. This belief shaped how many of us viewed our paths as artists. We were subtly taught that success would come if we remained dedicated to our practice, waiting patiently for galleries or art agents to “discover” us. The artist was imagined as an introvert, happiest in the solitude of their studio, creating for the sake of creation alone. The business of art—the marketing, the selling—was left to others who supposedly understood that world better. Fast forward to today, and the art world has evolved dramatically. The current generation of artists embraces commercial success unapologetically, using social media and digital platforms to market and sell their work directly. Artists today are entrepreneurs, curators, marketers, and creators all rolled into one. There’s a certain freedom in this approach, yet I find myself struggling to fully embrace it. As a professional artist now, I need to sell my paintings to make a living. But I still wrestle with the idea that thinking about sales before I even start a piece might somehow drain it of passion. This tension isn’t new to me—I once worked at an art publishing company, where my role was to produce commercially sellable work. I struggled and was wholly unsuccessful, precisely because creating with a sale in mind felt at odds with my artistic instincts. Take my current painting, for example— initially meant to be a study in yellow and its complementary colours, depicting four people gathered around a table with glasses raised in a toast. Titled 'An Allegory of Belonging', it’s part of a series that reclaims ordinary moments of Black life—scenes of joy, connection, and everyday elegance—within a historical narrative that has often excluded them. By portraying Black people in familiar, social settings traditionally depicted by European painters, the work highlights the quiet power of belonging and representation. It is a celebration of life as it is lived, where ordinary experiences are recognised as worthy of the canvas. As the painting nears completion, I’m still asking myself whether to add more detail to the faces or leave them slightly obscured. Would defining their features make the work feel too much like portraiture and limit its universal appeal? Or would leaving them undefined invite viewers to see themselves in the scene, broadening its connection? These creative decisions reflect the larger struggle I’ve been facing—how much do I shape my work for others, and how much do I trust that my passion and vision will resonate on their own? There are moments when I consider asking for feedback, but I’ve learned that opinions on art are so subjective that seeking them often leads to more confusion than clarity. So, I sit with these thoughts, quietly wondering how other artists navigate these same struggles. Surely, I can’t be the only one who overthinks every piece I create? Shedding learned behaviour isn’t easy. To this day, I still rise at the crack of dawn because that’s how I was raised—it’s ingrained in me. Similarly, I continue to wrestle with the tension between painting for passion and painting for profit. This internal tug-of-war doesn’t have a simple resolution. But maybe acknowledging it is a step forward. Maybe this honesty allows room for growth, for balancing the love of creating with the realities of making a living. I share this because I believe I’m not alone. And perhaps in sharing, I’ll find others who are also learning to navigate this complex and evolving landscape. If you’ve faced similar struggles, how do you balance passion and profit in your art practice? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please share your comments below so others may see and respond.
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AuthorI love to paint and sketch and although predominantly a studio artist, I have discovered the joys of painting and sketching outdoors. Archives
February 2025
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