My three agreements
How I digest my anxious thoughts in the creative industry
Dear reader,
In recent weeks, I have actively listened in several different spaces to sentiments and worry about the perceived value of art, financial sustainability, and creative endurance. I only offered support when asked, letting myself digest the worry.
It’s often far too easy to let my anxious mind spiral. Consuming every ounce of self-imposed judgment. I’ve come a long way in the past nine years of sustaining a creative practice. And have learned to digest my anxious thoughts through gentle support. Here are my three near-constant reminders:
No one owes you.
This is a hard sentence. It’s hard to say, hard to type, hard to believe. And I still think it’s one of the most important reality checks I have with myself.
Creating artwork is, for me, a nonnegotiable. I have the same dedication to creating I had when my audience was 0 as I do now with an email audience of ~2,500. I can’t stop—it might be an obsession. It’s also the way I view the world. The way I see things. The way I process information. And I can’t be me, I can’t be human unless I make.
And nobody owes me for that.
Yes, I love being in conversation about artwork. It’s a true joy to receive email replies from you. To read your comments on Substack. And have the opportunity to do a little happy dance when you place an order. But I can’t and don’t expect that—I can’t control anything outside of myself. I don’t take silence personally and don’t assume on either part. Knowing that means I have to find complete and utter fulfillment in this wholeheartedly. Or else, why do it?
This mindset helps curve expectations. Thus helping to stem the tide of negative emotions that can cloud my skills and my extremely vital mental, physical, and emotional energy.
The only thing sustainable is being authentic to you.
Doing something because someone else is doing it is the quickest way to burn out. And feelings of anxiety, criticism, and doubt are the antithesis of sustainability. These feelings are so very normal, and I also know I can’t sustain my body, my mind, and my emotions when my feelings are in constant turmoil. It’s ultimately my responsibility to know what I am okay tuning into, and when, and what I need to tune out.
Seeing myself. My world. My every day. My moments. It’s the only way to escape the “should be” and “could be” judgment. And instead, respond to exactly what I need and feel. It creates my lived experience. And that’s the only concrete place to create from. It’s only then the artwork (and writing) has a voice.
And when I am scared to find myself. To go deeper. Scared to be a self-witness. I lean on the people around me. Find community. Find mentors. Remember my foundations and return to what I know to be authentically true.
The pieces to your financial puzzle are entirely yours.
This. This is something I’ve gone back and forth with a million times this year. How do I sell the artwork I want to create in a way that values the time I spend on it? I don’t like either answer—1) price it in a way that is only accessible to people above a certain income 2) have a very (very) large audience that could support more accessible pricing. Or, have massive family support—whether that be a partner, parents, or generational wealth. None of which are true for me.
My answer is to take a 9-5 job. To have something more reliable that supports my life. Something that takes the stress off my creative practice. That doesn’t force me—bully me into having every single answer right now. This gives me the freedom to create in any way I need to. To be experimental. To keep honing my voice and what is specific to me.
Do I wish everyone adored and appreciated artwork? Yes. And I also don't expect that. I do my part by being a voice for this industry. For creative pursuits. I don’t know if I will ever be able to return to art being my primary income. And I’ll also always be an artist. My 9-5 job is simply a part of my financial puzzle. A part of giving myself what I need. A part of the way I remain authentic. And find fulfillment in my entire process.
Each of these reminders isn’t always easy for me to maintain. They require constant check-ins. A community to remind me of my authenticity. Mentors to help support and guide me towards what is true for me. Patience. Stillness.
And I keep going. I have complete confidence in my foundations. And know without a doubt that this work is a part of me.
Talk soon,
Lauren
xx
P.S. Earlier this week, I shared about a new project and invited you to join me behind the scenes. Updates this week include: updating my vision and timeline page. Check it out here →
Currently reading: Why Fish Don’t Exist by Lulu Miller
Currently watching: Peaky Blinders
Currently updating: my screened-in porch
Currently making: this recipe
Listen to: the latest Viewfinder episode
If we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting—I’m Lauren Sauder, an artist, writer, and mentor. If you enjoyed this post, here are a few ways you can connect with me:
Download the Artist Mixed Tape—a mix of books, playlists, and residencies to provide inspiration and company in the studio.
Receive letters from me—bi-weekly letters from me about what I’m working through in my creative practice and life.
Enlist me as your mentor—if you are interested in support and guidance to grow your creative practice.
Get in touch with me directly—send an email to laurensauderstudio@gmail.com.
A hard truth to swallow but a much needed reminder ! Thank you for sharing Lauren, it’s important to share with others artists that a 9-5 job is not something to be ashamed of, it doesn’t make you less of an artist, we all need some kind of security/stability, have bills to be and creating a system that feed us emotionally, creatively and financially is very important. We all have different paths, different stories and they’re so different way to be an artists
Beautifully said! It’s a hard truth to swallow though, no one owes you anything.
As you know, my husband financially supports our family which allows me to grow my business and raise/homeschool our children.
We all have a different story!