Do We Create for Love or for Money?

Recently I participated in a discussion where creatives from various fields explored one of the most fundamental questions we face: Why do we create? And do we create for love or for money?

It got me thinking deeply about the process I go through when working on a feature film. It always starts with a vision, a lived scene that ignites a story. More often than not, the stories that find me are rooted in something personal, an experience I have lived or one that someone close to me has carried. In that sense, creating film is an act of release. It is a way of giving form to something that already lives inside of you.

When most people think about filmmaking, their minds go straight to the mega blockbusters playing in packed theaters, or the big production companies working with household names. But the indie film sector is vast and it is full of passionate creators who are driven not by box office numbers, but by the need to share a piece of themselves with the world. This is the sector we so often overlook. This is the sector that gets sidelined when the conversation about creativity centers money earned rather than meaning made.

Unfortunately, when money becomes tangled up with art, assumptions follow. There is a widespread belief that if a piece of art generates significant revenue, it must be the best art. Conversely, if a work does not receive financial validation, it must be inferior. Nothing could be further from the truth. Commercial success does not determine artistic worth. Honestly, I am not sure we can even rank art that way. What we are really talking about is one person's vision and interpretation of the world landing on a viewer in a particular way. Does a film move you? Does it stay with you after you leave the theater or close your laptop? That is the measure of great art. And because every human being is different, every viewer brings a different set of experiences, every work will resonate differently.

We create because something inside of us demands to come out. Every artist finds a medium that fits the shape of what they need to express. I am a writer first and a filmmaker second. I see stories take shape in my mind and I want to capture them on screen. My son is a musician who channels his worldview through sound. My husband teaches video production and trains the next generation of broadcasters and filmmakers. The medium may differ but the drive is the same.

Which brings me to something that genuinely breaks my heart. Through my husband's high school video program, we regularly meet parents who do not want their children to pursue careers in film or broadcast. In their minds, these paths will not lead to financial security, so they steer their children toward professions they have no passion for. I understand it. I truly do. We live in a capitalist society where the middle class is being squeezed out and far too many families are just trying to hold on. Of course parents want to protect their children from financial hardship. But what we lose in that exchange is enormous, especially when I watch a student who is genuinely gifted forfeit the one thing that makes them feel alive in exchange for a paycheck. That tradeoff costs all of us and reduces our communities.

And that is precisely why artists who create without chasing money are so vital. They are the ones keeping art honest. They are the ones reminding us that a story told from the gut, with no guarantee of return, can change someone's life. That a film made on a shoestring budget can carry more truth than a production with a nine figure budget. That your vision, your perspective, your particular way of seeing this world, has value that no algorithm or revenue report can ever quantify.

So if you are a creative who has ever questioned whether your work matters because it has not made you rich, let this be your answer: it matters. Keep creating. The world needs what only you can make.