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There is a quiet tug of war that most artists live with—whether we admit it out loud or not.
Art, passion, and commerce. These three words rarely sit comfortably together, yet constantly demand to be reconciled. For me, this has never been a neat equation. It has been messy, emotional, confusing, liberating, and deeply fulfilling all at once.
My love for art is what keeps me going. It is the one constant that does not ask for logic or justification. Passion takes over even when the numbers do not make sense, even when the spreadsheets frown, and even when commercial advice suggests otherwise. And yet, I keep creating. Not because it is always profitable, but because the gain from fueling my creativity is so strong, so meaningful, and so satisfying that it outweighs the anxiety of outcomes.
We live in times of overexposure and easy availability. Art is everywhere. Content is endless. The pressure to constantly sell, promote, and position can be overwhelming.
But in the middle of this noise, I choose to keep creating because the act itself feels like a reward.
Over the years, I have also learned to reflect and recalibrate. Earlier, I put myself out there in every exhibition, every opportunity and every possible venue. The idea was simple visibility would lead to value. But reality taught me otherwise. Often, the commercial returns did not match the emotional or creative investment. The curators made their money, the logistics were heavy, and the joy slowly diluted.
That reflection led to a shift. Today, I choose selectively. I participate in exhibitions and venues that genuinely make me happy.
World Art Dubai, for instance, is one space I return to year after year. Not because it guarantees sales, but because it fuels my curiosity. I meet artists from across the world. I observe, learn, exchange stories, and absorb the creative energy of the space. I enjoy the vibe. It feeds me in ways that numbers cannot measure.
At times, I even conduct creative workshops at such venues without compensation. From a purely commercial lens, that may seem foolish. But the joy of sharing creativity, of watching someone slow down, breathe, and connect with themselves through art and mindfulness is far greater than anything transactional. That joy stays with me far longer than a cheque ever could.
The same passion flows into everything I do. Teaching art. Creating colouring books. Designing journals and diaries. Each project carries intention. Each carries heart. And that love for the process somehow softens the pressure of marketing and selling. It does not remove it, but it makes it bearable. Sometimes, it even makes it irrelevant.
There are days when commerce feels heavy, demanding, and exhausting. But then I sit down to draw a line, design a page, or guide someone through a creative exercise, and everything else fades into the background. In those moments, passion wins quietly, without needing applause.
Once, during an interview, I was asked what advice I would give to young artists. Without thinking too much, I said the entire process of creation, the learning, and the art itself—that’s the receiving. What comes later as commerce through sale feels like a bonus. Almost like something that has already been paid for in full by the journey itself.
Was I lying when I said that? Honestly, I don't know. But it does feel like a better way to be rewarded. The rest will follow or it may not. And strangely, I am learning to be at peace with that uncertainty.
So what wins in the end? My passion? My love for creativity? Or commerce?
You can judge.
All I know is this. I am still carrying on. And that, perhaps, is the real answer.
(Anu Singh is an artist, certified Zentangle teacher, Neuro Linguistic Programming Master practitioner (Life Coach), art workshop facilitator, creator of handcrafted colouring books, journals, and diaries. This is an opinion piece, and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for the same.)