Artistic Calling: Embracing dualistic realities.

Pen and ink contemporary fine art by Doug Ashby.

The artwork above is one I created long ago. If you’ve been following my work for a while, you’ve likely encountered it before. It’s fairly straightforward, as you can see. At the time, I was developing my style and skill, without giving much thought to what I was creating. I wanted to make something beautiful, something that people would enjoy—a piece with commercial value. That’s not something I focus on much these days. This artwork also happens to be my father’s favorite piece that I’ve ever created. He passed away a year and a half ago, and I’ve written before about the challenges I’ve faced with his passing, and with him in general. He never called me an artist until just before he died. At one of his final visits with his oncologist, I was showing the doctor my work, the type of art I thought had value. My father interrupted, “Show her the penguins, Doug.” My father often told me he believed I could be a professional artist—if I focused on creating what he called “the more commercial work.” Perhaps now, it’s time to reconcile these ideas.

My father was a man of strong opinions. As I grew older, I began to see that many of his ideas, presented as facts, weren’t always right. He was a practical man, and from a young age, he expressed his desire for me to become a businessman like him. I’ll never forget being at the barber with him when he explained that he got his haircut every two weeks so it always looked like he never needed one. His words were something like, “A good businessman always looks like he never gets his haircut.” Naturally, I committed to getting mine cut twice a year, at most. There was always a tension between us—I was an artist, after all. But when I first became serious about my art, he was there to lend his support, and, of course, his opinions. He paid for my first series of professional prints and even got my work hung in a restaurant, where it still hangs more than 15 years later. When I asked him if he thought I could have a professional career as an artist, he said, “Yes, as long as you focus on the more commercial stuff.” That tension—the push and pull between commercial and meaningful work—still exists today, and it’s why I’m exploring it in this essay.

This brings me to the question of what defines commercial art versus art that feels meaningful to me. The latter is easier to define. I want to create work that makes people think deeply, that challenges them to reflect on the nature of life. I egotistically crave being part of the long history of great art that delves into what it means to be human. It’s not an easy feat, but it’s something I’ve always admired in others’ work—the experience of encountering something deeply beautiful, crafted by another human hand. There’s a deeper connection, too—like the meaning I developed about love from Oskar Kokoschka’s ”Two Lovers.” On the other hand, the act of creating commercial work doesn’t feel all that different in the moment. I may feel less purposeful when making something like the penguins, but I still find joy in the process. I know the broader appeal of this piece makes people happy, and in fact, the penguins sold the most at the only live event I’ve done. Maybe that’s reason enough to engage with commercial work—if it brings joy to others, it has value. So, can the two types of work coexist? I suppose they can.

There’s also an underlying belief that I’ve carried with me, one that was ingrained by my parents and reinforced by society at large. It’s the reason I became an art teacher: the belief that being a professional artist is not a viable career. This belief runs so deep that it’s a constant battle between my desires and my reality. Earlier today, I was listening to a podcast, Feel Better, Live More, with Rangan Chatterjee. His guest, Dr. Bruce Lipton, was discussing limiting beliefs and how we can change them. It’s not easy, but I believe it’s possible. This is exactly what I need to do, because the life I’m living now is causing more harm than good. I know that becoming a full-time artist and fully stepping into that identity will come with challenges. But I also know I have no other choice—being an artist is my calling. And if that means dedicating time to “the more commercial” work, then maybe that’s a limiting belief I need to challenge as well.

As I mentioned earlier, I find fulfillment in the act of creating, no matter the subject. It’s just a bit less satisfying when I’m intentionally creating something with more commercial value. Still, the joy of creation is there. Teaching, on the other hand, has felt like a necessary evil—a way to provide financial stability while I explored the work I wanted to do. Don’t get me wrong, there have been many joyful moments, and I’ve helped many students along the way—I know this because they’ve told me so. For that, I’ll always be grateful. But 24 years later, teaching drains me. It feels like it’s sucking the life out of me. If creating work with broader appeal is the path to leaving teaching behind and becoming a full-time artist, then I need to let go of certain limiting beliefs and reframe my thinking.

Whenever this topic comes up, I’m reminded of an interview with Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins. He talked about writing “Today” as a rejection of the path his producers wanted him to take, embracing instead the songwriting he wanted to do. He also explained the reasoning behind creating the double album Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. One album was for the masses—fun, pop-style songs—and the other was for the deeper artist within him. He found a way to reconcile the need to engage with a wider audience while fulfilling his own artistic desires. Perhaps that’s where I need to land. Being an artist is what I’m called to do, and if I need to create work with broader appeal, so be it. After all, at this moment, what aligns with my deepest values is being an artist, a creator. Finding a way to do just that should bring me joy, no matter the subject. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.

As always, I hope you enjoy the art and the writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this topic, so please leave a comment. I promise I’ll respond.

Thanks,

Doug