Mastering the Fine Line Between Art and Commerce

When I first started selling my work, I thought I had it all figured out. You make good art, you show up, and the world just magically…gets it. Right? Not exactly. What I didn’t realize at the time is that there’s this invisible, tricky line you start walking the minute you decide to sell your art. On one side is pure, authentic creative expression. On the other is the reality that, if you want to keep doing this sustainably, you have to make money. And sometimes? Those two sides pull at each other a lot more than I ever expected.

Today, I want to dig into this a little bit. If you’ve ever felt weird about promoting your work, pricing your pieces, or just figuring out how to show up as yourself while also building a business…you’re not alone. Honestly, I think it’s one of the most tender parts of an artist’s life that doesn’t get talked about enough. So let’s talk about it.

When you’re first starting to sell your work, it’s easy to feel like you have to change something to be more “marketable.” Maybe you feel pressure to make smaller pieces because they sell faster. Maybe people keep asking if you’ll make prints, but you secretly don’t want to. Maybe you find yourself tweaking colors or themes you love because “that’s what’s trending.” I’ve been there too. And it’s sneaky because it doesn’t always feel like selling out at first. It just feels like…adjusting. Being smart. Meeting the market halfway. But if you’re not careful, a few small shifts can eventually pull you far away from the work that actually feels like yours.

So the big question becomes: how do you stay true to your work, your vision, your voice—and still make a living?

For me, one of the biggest mindset shifts was understanding that commercial success doesn’t have to mean compromising who you are as an artist. It just means being intentional about how you show your work to the world. You’re not watering yourself down—you’re finding the best way to connect with the people who will love what you make.

One of the first things that helped me was getting really clear on what my non-negotiables were. What was off the table, no matter how much money someone waved around? For me, it was style and subject matter. I could offer different sizes, I could do prints if I wanted to, but I wouldn’t shift the heart of my work. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend taking an hour to sit down and actually write out your personal non-negotiables. Not just in your head—on paper. Having that list to refer back to can save you a lot of second-guessing later.

I also gave myself permission to have different categories of work: my main studio practice, my commercial prints, my collaborations. Not everything had to carry the same emotional weight. Some pieces could be lighter, playful, experimental. Some could be deep, personal, slow. Both had value. Both were still me. If you feel torn between different types of work you make, try mentally labeling them as “studio” and “studio-supported” projects. It helped me stop feeling like I had to cram everything into one box.

Another thing that’s helped a lot? Thinking about my art business like a collaboration, not a compromise. Instead of thinking, "What do people want from me?" I started asking, "How can I share what I already love in a way that helps them feel connected to it?" That’s a subtle but huge difference. It shifted the conversation from "how do I change?" to "how do I invite?" One little trick that helped with this was starting to write captions for my posts or descriptions of my work as if I were writing a note to a friend. Less “pitch,” more “hey, look what I’m excited about.”

There’s also the very real practical side to all of this. Pricing, for one. Early on, I way underpriced my work because, like so many artists, I thought making it “affordable” would make it “accessible.” What actually happened was that it made my work seem less valuable. People second-guessed it. They didn’t take it seriously. I had to learn that valuing your work isn’t just about making money—it’s about sending a message about the care, time, skill, and vision that goes into every piece you make.

One really tangible thing that helped me was setting a pricing formula early on. Even if it was basic. I’d add up materials, time, overhead, and then tack on a fair margin. That way, I wasn’t making emotional pricing decisions based on whether I “felt bad” asking for what it was worth. If you’re new to this, even something simple like: materials + time x hourly rate + 10% overhead can help take some of the guesswork out of it.

When it comes to marketing and social media, I also had to find my own way. You don’t have to be loud, pushy, or salesy to sell your work. You can share behind the scenes of your process. You can talk about why you made something, what it means to you, or what you hope people feel when they experience it. You can show up like you’re inviting someone into your studio, not shoving a business card in their hand at a networking event.

One simple prompt I use whenever I’m stuck on what to post: “What’s something I wish people knew about this piece?” It’s amazing how often that one question opens up a real, honest, easy caption without making it feel like marketing.

If you’re feeling stuck on how to show your work while staying authentic, here are a few more things that have helped me:

Start by sharing the "why" behind your work, not just the "what." People connect with stories. They connect with process. They connect with the human side of it all. One of my favorite things to do after finishing a piece is to sit with it for five minutes and free-write anything that comes to mind. Those notes almost always turn into better titles, better statements, and better posts.

Keep a journal (even a loose one) where you reflect on what you’re making and why you’re making it. That way, when it’s time to write an artist statement, post about a new piece, or even talk to a collector, you’re already grounded in your own language. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Even a Notes app file counts. The important part is that you’re practicing putting your work into words.

Give yourself permission to have different “levels” of your work available. Maybe you sell originals at one price point and prints or postcards at another. Maybe you do workshops or classes alongside your studio work. Diversifying doesn’t mean diluting. It’s about making space for more people to connect with you in ways that feel right for them—and right for you. One little trick I found helpful was setting up “tiers” in my mind: entry point (small prints, stickers), mid-range (larger prints, small originals), investment (large originals, commissions). That helped me plan without feeling like I was selling everything to everyone.

Make your website or portfolio feel like an extension of your studio, not a storefront. What does your space look like? Feel like? Sound like? Bring that energy into how you present yourself online. One thing I did was take photos of little corners of my studio—the messy parts, the cozy parts—and use those kinds of images on my website. It made it feel less polished but more me.

And the biggest one? Check in with yourself often. If something starts to feel off—or if you’re feeling resentful about what you’re making—that’s a sign to pause and re-center. Your best work will always come from a place of alignment, not obligation. I try to do a “gut check” every couple of months. Nothing formal. Just sitting down with a cup of coffee and asking myself, does this still feel like mine?

Making a living from your art is hard. There’s no getting around that. But it’s also possible. It’s not an either-or game. You don’t have to choose between being “pure” and being “successful.” You can build a life where you’re making work that matters to you—and finding the people who see that and want to support it. There are going to be seasons where the balance tilts more one way or the other. Times when you have to take on projects that are more commercial to pay the bills. Times when you can go deep into personal work without worrying about how it sells. That’s not failure. That’s real life. You’re allowed to flow between those spaces. You’re allowed to find your own rhythm.

If you’re standing at that crossroads right now, wondering how to move forward, know that you’re not alone. Every artist I know wrestles with this at some point. The goal isn’t to have a perfect balance every single day. The goal is to build a creative life that feels sustainable over the long haul. One where your art can breathe, grow, evolve—and yes, also help support you. And it’s okay if it takes some trial and error. It’s okay if you have to redraw that fine line a few times along the way. What matters is that you stay connected to your work, your voice, your values. The commerce part can come. The art part is where it all begins—and where it will keep beginning, over and over again.

So, how are you feeling about the art and commerce balance these days? Are there any parts of your creative business that feel good right now—or parts that you’re still trying to sort out? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Let’s keep the conversation going.