Reflections on Art, Presence, and the Creator Economy

I started painting as a way to take on a new hobby — to understand the artist’s way of living and what it feels like to operate fully from the right side of the brain. Most of my life, I’ve lived from the left: structured, analytical, disciplined. But I wanted balance — to function from both hemispheres at full capacity, if that’s even possible.

So I submerged myself in paint and canvas.

Fortunately, I had lived below my means for years, following my parents’ motto to “save it for a rainy day,” which evolved into “invest it for a rainy day.” Through full-time jobs and even working seven days a week at times, I allocated what I could into investments — guided by people who were more passionate or knowledgeable than I was. Sometimes I’d share my own long-term ideas, but I was rarely taken seriously — maybe because I expressed them too freely, or maybe because others were afraid of the unknown. Either way, those investments gave me the freedom to explore this new chapter with art.

That said, I didn’t handle the digital side properly at first. I had no real plan — only curiosity and a beginner’s mindset. Painting became a way to focus inward. Eventually, it felt right to make things official in the spring of 2025 — to bring a different kind of vulnerability forward and see what happens when you try to monetize something that began as pure self-expression.

When I researched pricing, I learned that most professional artists charge between $3.50 and $7.50 per square inch. I decided to price my work at the lower end — not because I undervalue my time, but because I see art as a lifelong practice. I want to give collectors the chance to own original pieces early on, while allowing the value to rise naturally as both the work and brand evolve.

Some artists resist talking about pricing, business, or digital presence — as if it taints the purity of art. To me, that’s nonsense. The purity is in the process, not in avoiding reality. Markets and creativity can coexist. What matters is that the artist is fully present in the work — not chasing virality, but expression.

When I looked into galleries, I learned about the 40–50% commissions they often take. While those connections can open doors, that structure didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t want to discount my work in that way or rely on old systems that feel outdated. Many talented artists end up underpricing themselves within those networks.

That led me to the internet — specifically, to Zora. It’s a Web3 platform that allows me to tokenize each piece of art, linking them to my business website. Over the past month, I’ve seen my site gain more global exposure, which has been energizing.

From what I’ve observed, most users on platforms like Zora aren’t traditional collectors. Traditional collectors tend to be between 35–65 years old, with higher household incomes and a preference for galleries or fairs. They buy art for their homes — for comfort, beauty, and luxury. Zora, on the other hand, feels experimental — a space for digital ownership, micro-patronage, and connection that transcends geography.

I experimented with Reels for a while, but they didn’t feel right. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable speaking — I just don’t want to contribute to the cycle of attention theft. When people spend time watching but not feeling, something is lost. Every act of creating — from writing a description to posting a thought — is part of the work. I’d rather focus on that.

On Zora, each post can be purchased fractionally as a digital token, permanently on the blockchain. That permanence forces me to be intentional; there’s no edit or delete. It’s a kind of accountability. And it’s brought international traffic to my site — something I’m quietly proud of.

It hasn’t led to sales of the physical canvas yet, but it has lead to digital sales that I have been continuing to watch the sustainable growth as a passion project. This process has reawakened my interest in Web3 and in connecting with others differently — as both an artist and a learner. It’s also allowed me to invest back into other creators by purchasing their coins, supporting the ecosystem that supports me.

I’ve learned a lot — about platforms old and new, about how the internet shapes connection, and about my own thresholds for noise. When things feel too digital, I ground myself with a walk or yoga.

It’s amazing how one thing can lead to another. I’m just grateful to still be evolving — as an artist, as a person, and as a participant in this ongoing experiment of expression.