Not just talented and not just interesting, because those things are usually a given. I'm talking about the way you're expected to be nice, and accommodating, and limitlessly friendly.
And not just ordinary nice, either. I’m talking next-level, saint-tier niceness –– generous with your process, endlessly accessible, visibly and giddily grateful at all times. Ideally, you’re supposed to come off like some magical art fairy who somehow creates these deeply personal, emotionally resonant pieces and has the time and desire to walk every stranger through the mechanics of how it's done.
And if you don’t? Well. Brace yourself for side-eyes, subtle guilt-tripping, and a few thinly veiled posts in your feed about how some creators are “too full of themselves to help others anymore.” But here’s the truth. That sort of entitlement makes me deeply uncomfortable, so you're not alone if that's the way it makes you feel, too. I also don’t owe anyone that kind of access, and neither do you.
The Myth of the Nice Artist
Somewhere along the way, we all seem to absorb this myth that a “good” creator is also a public servant with zero boundaries. They’re supposed to be constantly open to questions, full of encouragement, and ready to hand over their creative secrets to absolutely anyone just because someone asked nicely. Especially in online communities, especially if you're a woman, especially if your work carries any spiritual or emotional weight.
You’re expected to smile, nod, and say “thank you” even when someone’s hovering way too close, asking to peek into your sketchbook, or low-key hinting that they want your source files. (For free, of course.) And if you don’t play along? You’re “standoffish.” “Difficult.” “Ungrateful.” Or worse, “elitist.”
I've heard all of those a time or three over the years, and worse. But here’s the catch. The people who honestly have the nerve to say things like that to you, all while claiming to love and respect your work? They’re not your audience. They’re consumers. And there’s a difference.
So, What Do You Actually Owe Your Audience?
Before you get down on me for foolishly thinking audiences don't matter, know that that's not where I'm coming from. Of course, your audience matters. Having people engage with your work, resonate with it, and be moved by it? I think I can speak for any creative when I say that’s the kind of connection most of us are hoping for, even if we never say it out loud.
But there’s a difference between connection and compliance. That said, here’s what I believe we do owe our audiences and what we don’t.
1. Honesty in the work
I will always feel that as creatives, we owe our audience authenticity and truth. Not necessarily literal truth or sensitive details we're not comfortable sharing, but emotional truth. Make work that reflects what you actually think, feel, and believe. Don’t just create for applause or trend-chasing. Don’t manufacture vulnerability to get engagement.
Just be real, even if that reality is strange, dark, complicated, or wildly niche. You don’t necessarily need to explain your entire process in painstaking detail to hit the authenticity mark. The work can do that for itself. Let people draw their own conclusions and find whatever it is they need to in what you've done.
2. Respect for their time
If someone is choosing to look at my art, read my words, or engage with my posts, they’re offering me something valuable and limited –– their time and attention. I don’t and never will feel that entitles people to secrets or behind-the-scenes peeks I don't feel comfortable giving them, but I do try to honor what people give me by offering something of substance in return.
Maybe it’s insight. Maybe it’s a vibe. Maybe it’s just a damn good piece of art that holds its own. But whatever it is you decide to offer, don’t water down the bite behind your posts with disclaimers or apologies. If the work is strong, it doesn’t need softening. Trust your audience's instincts (and your own).
3. Boundaries that support your creativity
This one might seem counterintuitive, but it’s essential. When you make the commitment to share your creativity, you also owe your audience your continuity and consistency. Not your presence every single day, but your capacity to keep creating. That means protecting your energy, your vision, and yes, your boundaries.
If that means not sharing your Midjourney prompts, not over-explaining your tarot spreads, not responding to every comment with a full breakdown? So be it. Set your boundaries accordingly, and don't apologize for them. Every time you protect your process, you feed your future work. That's responsibility, not rudeness.
The Content Is the Generosity
I see so many creatives forget this, and I really wish they wouldn't, because it's so important.
The work itself –– the very things you chose to make, say, and share? That, in and of itself, is the offering. That’s what you made for others, and that’s where the heart is. And if that’s not “enough” for someone, then maybe they're not truly here for your art.
In my experience, people like that are a lot more interested in access. And I don't know about you, but I’m not here (or anywhere else I might be found) to be consumed. I’m not here to hand over my creative mechanics like homework notes, and I’m not here to pretend we’re best friends because you liked a post.
I’m here because I have things to say. Things to express. Things to offer. If those things resonate with you? I’m glad, I think that’s beautiful, and I hope you stick around, because you're who I bother sharing for. But if you want more than that — if you want me to be sweeter, more available, more instructional, more malleable — you’re going to be disappointed.
And that’s fine, too.
You're Allowed to Be a Wall
This is the part that took me years to learn, because I'm stubborn like that, but you might be quicker on the uptake than I used to be. You’re allowed to be private. You’re allowed to protect your creative methods, ignore messages that feel intrusive, and say “no, thank you” to people who want to be closer than you’re comfortable with.
Your job is to create, and their job is to witness. That’s the deal you make when you decide to share your creativity with other people, and that's where the boundary ought to stay (until you decide it's time to move it).
You are not a product, a guaranteed teacher, or anyone's free creativity coach. You are not a vending machine full of inspiration. You’re a person, a creator, and maybe even a channel at times. Your content is the generosity.
Everything else is optional.
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