Lately I’ve been very concerned about the online discourse regarding art. It’s not unique that we’re discussing art in the context of consumer culture, but as technology advances and opportunity for economic advancement in the arts declines from the relatively unique reality created in the 20th and early 21st centuries, it’s important for artists to recognize what they represent and how to value themselves outside of a consumerist framework. We don’t create in service of a product or as a service… artists create because it’s one of the things which makes us fundamentally human.

Before anyone could “make a fortune” from a painting or a poem, art was already part of us. It flourished not as a commodity, but as a fundamental human impulse, a way for communities to share experience, wisdom, and wonder. The first artists and storytellers did not check the market value of their work; their payment was the gasp of astonishment around the campfire, the communal laughter, the solemn nods of understanding. In this chapter, we journey across millennia and continents to explore the origins of artists and storytellers. We will see how, in culture after culture, art arose from a **deep impulse to connect and make sense of the world**, rather than a drive for profit. By understanding this rich history, we can learn to seek artistic purpose beyond today’s monetary metrics – to find success in creation that is measured not in dollars or “likes,” but in the human hearts touched and the truths illuminated.

Every culture on Earth has a visual / oral tradition… a rich tapestry of spoken myths, legends, and histories passed down through generations. Early storytellers were not just entertainers; they were indispensable members of the community. Anthropologists and historians note that in traditional societies, the storyteller is often healer, historian, and teacher in one. In West African villages, for example, the griot holds a revered role: part poet, part musician, part historian. Griots (also called jeliw in the Mali Empire) have, for centuries, been responsible for preserving the memory and values of their people. They narrate epic tales of ancestors and heroes, accompanying themselves on instruments like the kora (a harp-like lute). The griot’s purpose was not to sell a story but to *be the living archive of the community*. As one description puts it, griots are *“the storytellers, musicians and singers of songs of praise… They are the archives.”*. They often counsel leaders with wisdom from history and entertain the public with tales that affirm cultural identity. This tradition illustrates a key origin point of art: to express emotional truths that remember and bind people together.

Even the first visual artists who carved a fertility figure from mammoth ivory or painted a shamanic vision on a rock were likely moved by something far larger than personal gain. Art in these contexts served ritual and teaching purposes. Art and storytelling have been fundamentally collective endeavors. Think of dance circles, the theater, the festival. Their origins are almost always tied to community rituals.

Creation & Commerce

Some of the original sins of seeing art as a commercial exchange comes from the same European environment that eventually created capitalism and hyper-competition. The success of art was measured by its reception in the community and its alignment with cultural values, not just by a price tag… but in medieval times, a European artisan who spent months carving a beautiful cathedral door was paid a wage by the church, his motivation wasn’t just pride in craftsmanship and faith. In the Renaissance, the dominant system was patronage: artists like Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo had patrons (the Church, or wealthy families like the Medicis) who funded them to create. This system was paradoxically liberating in some ways. It freed the artist to pursue ambitious works without worrying about selling each piece to the highest bidder. As long as the artist was not critical of society, this could be a functional framework for artists… but displeasure with the world order could only be expressed in coded messages hidden in their works.

In classical Asian art Chinese painters and poets, especially scholar-artists, created their work as a form of personal cultivation or to share within close circles. A Chinese literati painter of the Song Dynasty might paint a landscape with subtle calligraphy not for sale, but as a gift to a friend, or simply as an act of contemplation— to align his mind with nature. Some works were kept in family collections for centuries rather than sold. In Japan, the art of the tea ceremony arose, wherein every element from the handcrafted ceramic tea bowls to the flower arrangement and calligraphy scroll in the tearoom was made or chosen with utmost aesthetic and spiritual consideration. These objects were appreciated for their wabi-sabi beauty (finding elegance in simplicity and imperfection), not for their commercial exchange value.

Indigenous arts further illustrate how art thrived without commercial motive. The totem poles of Pacific Northwest tribes were carved to represent family lineage and legends; they stood as sentinels of story and status in the village. You couldn’t buy one at a shop – it was a communal monument. Textile arts, like the weaving of Persian carpets or Navajo blankets, often started as domestic or community crafts, rich with cultural symbols and made with love and skill to be used or gifted, not merely sold. (Only later did global trade turn some of these into prized commodities.)

It’s also worth noting that many great artists and storytellers achieved little financial reward in their lifetimes. They were driven by something internal. Mozart, for example, earned some fame and patronage but struggled with money and died with debts… yet he kept composing prolifically because music poured from him and he sought immortality through art. Vincent van Gogh famously sold almost no paintings while alive (there is debate, but the common lore is he sold only one). He lived in poverty, sustained by his brother’s support, and yet produced hundreds of artworks in a feverish drive to capture the beauty and emotion he saw in the world. Van Gogh’s letters reveal that he painted because he had to.. it was his way of understanding life and sharing his soul. Today his paintings are worth millions, but that metric would likely bewilder him. For Vincent, the reward was in the creative act itself and the hope that maybe a few others would one day see the world through his eyes.

As societies grew more complex, artists continued to evolve toward more overt social commentary as they centered personal experience in contrast to power structures. The playwrights of Shakespeare’s time wove reflections on power, justice, and human folly into their dramas, performed openly for public audiences of all classes..

In the Middle Ages, peasants had little control over their fates, but they had rich imaginations and oral literature – fairy tales, dragon slayers, kingdom-of-god legends – that allowed them to dream beyond their socio-economic reality. Artists gave them that gift. In every era, artists have worked to expand the collective imagination. Science fiction writers in the mid-20th century, for instance, dreamed up futures of space travel and advanced technology, inspiring real scientists and broadening society’s vision. Those writers weren’t predicting for profit; many wrote in pulpy magazines for meager pay. But their success was in planting seeds of possibility in the communal mind.

Now that srt and storytelling have become industries we have a massive entertainment market, a luxury art market, a publishing market – all assigning economic value to creative works. Living artists understandably chase these metrics out of necessity or because society emphasizes them. Yet, it can be soul-crushing for a creative person to measure their worth solely by external commercial success. The ancient perspective offers a form of liberation: art’s true value resides in human connection and understanding, not in profit.

Knowing this history, you might ask: How can I, as a modern creator or appreciator of art, seek success beyond monetary metrics? Redefine success. Think of success the way a griot or cave painter might: did the work convey truth or beauty? Did it bring people together? Did it preserve something worth preserving (a memory, a tradition, an insight)? Did it challenge someone to think or comfort someone in pain? These impacts are harder to quantify but deeply felt.

We can also seek community in creation rather than the kind of isolation an atomized modern society demands of us. Historically, art was rarely a lone genius toiling in solitude… that image is largely a modern Romantic invention. Instead, artists learned from mentors, collaborated with peers, and interacted with audiences. Even solitary poets often envisioned a reader with whom they were spiritually communing. Today, rather than focusing on amassing social media followers or tailoring output to market trends, one might find greater fulfillment by joining a local writer’s circle, starting a band with friends just for fun, painting a mural in one’s neighborhood, or making gifts of art for loved ones. These grassroots acts echo the original context of art as communal gift.