When I started my career as a designer, I believed there was a clear choice to make: pursue artistic integrity or chase commercial success. Twenty years and several cities later, I’ve learned this is a false dichotomy. Building a sustainable creative practice isn’t about choosing between these paths—it’s about creating systems that support both.
The Democratization of Learning
Life-long learning has transformed dramatically since I started in design. Back then, inspiration and technical knowledge were gatekept by institutions and instructors—you were limited by their tastes, skills, and perspectives. Now, knowledge flows freely. I can learn new tools over lunch on Instagram, discover motion design techniques from creators across the globe, or dive into emerging technologies whenever I want.
This accessibility has transformed how I approach my craft. Even after two decades in the field, I’m constantly refining my skills and finding new sources of inspiration. The gatekeepers are gone, and that means we’re all responsible for our own growth. It’s both liberating and challenging—you have to develop the discipline to curate your own learning journey
Breaking False Dichotomies
When I left Philadelphia, I thought I was choosing between two paths: the independent designer who maintains complete creative control, or the agency professional who trades freedom for stability. What I’ve learned is that this is a false dichotomy.
In any given month, I might be working on:
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A global campaign for a major sportswear brand
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A small exhibition catalog for an artist friend
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My personal newsletter
Each of these projects influences the others. The systematic thinking I learned in advertising improves how I structure cultural projects. The experimental approaches from my art world projects bring fresh perspectives to commercial work. The writing helps me articulate my process to clients of all sizes.
The Three Pillars of Sustainability
When I started, I thought sustainability just meant having enough clients to pay the bills. Now I understand it’s much more complex. A sustainable practice needs three interconnected elements: financial stability, creative growth, and personal fulfillment.
My own path illustrates why all three matter. In Philadelphia, I had financial stability but felt creatively stagnant. At Sandberg, I had creative growth but no stable income. At TBWA, I had financial stability and was learning constantly, but missed the personal connection to my work.
The key is recognizing that these elements shift—you don’t need perfect balance all the time, but you need to be intentional about managing these shifts.
Here’s what this looks like in practice: I maintain a mix of client types. Some projects pay well but might be less creatively fulfilling. Others are creatively exciting but have smaller budgets. The newsletter generates no direct income but keeps me engaged and thinking. It’s about creating a portfolio of work that sustains you in multiple ways.
Let’s Talk About Money
Here’s what I wish someone had told me when I was starting out:
1. Value your time properly.
When I started, I would quote projects based on what I thought clients could afford. Wrong approach. Now I understand that undervaluing your work doesn't help anyone—it creates unsustainable relationships and sets poor expectations.
2. Understand the difference between price and value.
In Philadelphia, I used to compete on price. In Amsterdam, I learned to compete on value. This means:
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Being clear about what you bring to a project beyond technical skills
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Understanding the client’s broader goals, not just their immediate needs
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Building relationships that can grow over time
3. Diversify your income streams.
This isn't just about having multiple clients. It's about having different types of work that fulfill different needs:
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Commercial projects that provide financial stability
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Cultural projects that maintain your creative growth
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Personal projects that develop your voice
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Teaching or writing that helps you articulate your process
Beyond Cultural Stereotypes
Working internationally has taught me that success isn’t about adapting to broad cultural differences, but about understanding each client’s specific context and needs. Whether I’m working with a museum in Japan, an artist in Philadelphia, or a tech startup in Amsterdam, what matters is approaching each relationship with genuine curiosity and openness. It’s about looking past generalizations to see the actual challenges and opportunities each project presents.
The Mouse Museum book project illustrates this perfectly. When working with multiple institutions—the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art and the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa—we faced different technical considerations not because of cultural differences, but because each institution had its own specific requirements and vision. The Japanese edition demanded particular production specifications and typography solutions that were about institutional standards rather than national characteristics.
Similarly, my work with tech startups isn’t about navigating “national business cultures”—it’s about understanding the particular challenges each company faces. A startup in Amsterdam might share more commonalities with one in Philadelphia than with its Dutch corporate neighbors.
The key is developing the ability to listen carefully and respond thoughtfully to each unique situation. Instead of relying on preconceptions about different markets or cultures, focus on building relationships based on clear communication and genuine interest in understanding what each client is trying to achieve.
Creating Your Work Ecosystem
How do you balance different types of work without burning out? This isn’t just about time management—it’s about creating an ecosystem of projects that feed each other.
Different types of work need different approaches. Commercial projects require clear boundaries and structured time—I protect my mornings for creative work and set specific days for client meetings. Cultural projects, like exhibition designs, often have smaller budgets but offer creative freedom. The key is being selective—taking on too many can diminish their value. Personal projects, like my newsletter, are perhaps the most crucial and easiest to neglect, so I treat them with the same respect as client work.
What I’m describing isn’t a rigid system—it’s more like a rhythm. Some weeks are heavily commercial, others focus on cultural or personal work. Think of it like cooking: you learn which projects complement each other, which need your full attention, and which can simmer in the background.
Finding and Maintaining Your Voice
Finding and maintaining your own voice as a designer is a lifelong practice. It comes from many sources—travel that shifts your perspective, projects that challenge your assumptions, collaborations that push your boundaries, and writing that helps you process it all. But it’s not just about professional development—it’s about developing as a complete person.
For me, this means staying curious across multiple dimensions. Sometimes it’s physical—training Muay Thai taught me about discipline and rhythm in ways that influence how I approach design problems. Sometimes it’s geographical—moving between cities forces me to question my assumptions and see things fresh. Sometimes it’s through challenging projects—like the Mouse Museum book that made me rethink my approach to authorship and reproduction.
None of this was part of a strategic plan. I didn’t start training martial arts to become a better designer, or move to Amsterdam to build an international brand. I wrote my newsletter because I needed to process changes in my life, not to attract clients. These were simply ways of staying engaged with the world, of maintaining curiosity, of pushing myself to keep growing. But together, they’ve helped me develop a distinct perspective that influences all my work.
The authenticity of this approach—following your genuine interests rather than trying to construct a brand—naturally attracts the right kinds of collaborators. People can sense when you’re truly invested in your growth versus when you’re just trying to build a platform.
For you, this might mean something completely different. Maybe it’s photography, coding, music, or whatever captures your curiosity. The medium isn’t what matters—it’s about finding ways to keep questioning and evolving beyond just your client work.
Remember, your unique perspective comes from the full range of your experiences—not just the ones that seem professionally relevant. Trust that following your genuine interests, even if they seem unrelated to design, will ultimately enrich your practice in unexpected ways.
Also of Note
Nick Cave Ceramics missed, but instead Egon Schiele
I’m sad to have missed this show, which was more or less in my backyard Learn. Instead, we’ll go see this show of late Egon Schiele work in Vienna.
Preservation Project-The Internet in Stone
READ here on X..
Until Next Time
As always, your support means a lot as I rebuild this connection with you. If you found value in this newsletter and want to encourage more, consider consider buying me a coffee. Many Thanks.