I turned a hobby into a business. But what does it really cost to make a living from art?

R3SEARCH

Can an Artist Earn a Living in Australia?

COLLECTION: Work, Economy & Society
CLASSIFICATION: Lived Experience / Creative Economy
PUBLICATION DATE: 9 November 2026

Featured Image

A collection of handmade rustic furniture and timber objects, made from recycled Tasmanian timber, displayed at a country market.

LIVED EXPERIENCE

Rustix: Ten years making a living from timber

For ten years, I operated Rustix, a small business making rustic furniture from recycled Tasmanian timber. What began as a hobby gradually became a sole-trader business.

I collected timber whenever I came across it. Driving around Tasmania in my ute, I would spot discarded timber, stop, load it up and take it home. Much of what I made came from materials that other people had overlooked.

Initially, I sold my work wherever I could. Sometimes it was simply displayed on the side of the road outside my house. Eventually, I found my way to Salamanca Market, country fairs and markets throughout regional Tasmania.

People were attracted to the quaintness of it. There was something appealing about a person collecting old timber, making furniture and selling it locally. The community rallied around the idea. People seemed to believe they were supporting a genuine little piece of the local economy.

And they were.

But there was another side to the story.

The price of making things

There were times when I was scraping together $10 to top up the electricity power card so I could keep working.

My diet was often meat, sauce and broccoli. Sometimes I would buy hot chips from the local shop.

There were occasions when I had to roll my car down the road to a service station because I didn’t have enough fuel to get there under its own power.

I was making things, selling things and operating a business, but I was barely getting by.

I suffered for my art, and in some ways the people around me accepted that as part of the romantic idea of being an artist. Looking back, I question whether that was right.

Was it really reasonable that producing something of value should require someone to live in such circumstances?

I eventually found myself moving away from that life and into the social security system, alongside a difficult period involving my mental health.

Art, however, did not disappear.

I found dancing, and when an ankle injury ended that chapter, I found singing. I also found another expression of creativity through community work, including cooking for people at Eureka Clubhouse.

The medium changed, but making, creating and contributing remained important.

SETTING

The independent artist and the Australian economy

Australia has a substantial creative workforce, but earning a sustainable income from creative work remains difficult.

Artists are often expected to operate as independent businesses. They must create their work, source materials, manage production, market their products, find customers, negotiate prices and manage their finances.

For a craft practitioner, the work does not end when an object is finished. There is still the cost of materials, tools, electricity, transport, market fees, packaging and the time spent selling.

A handmade object can have considerable artistic and community value while generating very little financial return.

This raises an important distinction: being able to sell your work is not necessarily the same as being able to earn a living from it.

INVESTIGATION

What does the research tell us?

The 2023 Creative Australia study Artists as Workers, by researchers David Throsby and Katya Petetskaya, provides a national picture of professional artists’ working conditions.

The findings are revealing:

• Australian professional artists earned an average gross income of $54,500 in 2021–22, from all sources.
• Only $23,200 of that average came directly from creative work.
• Just 21% could earn their nominated minimum living income from creative practice alone.
• Approximately 78% worked freelance or self-employed in their principal artistic occupation.
• Almost half earned less than $10,000 annually from their creative work.

The research suggests that most professional artists cannot rely entirely on the sale of their creative work to support themselves.

A separate 2025 RMIT-led study of visual and craft workers found that average income from visual art and craft practice was just $13,937 in 2023–24. Nearly half of respondents reported unpaid arts work, while 63% reported stress about paying for essential goods and services.

These findings suggest that the financial difficulties I experienced with Rustix were not simply a personal failure to make a business work. They reflect a much wider problem in the Australian creative economy.

OBSERVATIONS

The difference between a business and a livelihood

My experience with Rustix revealed several tensions.

1. Community support does not always translate into financial sustainability.

People appreciated the work, enjoyed the story and supported the idea of a local maker. But appreciation and purchasing power are different things.

2. The artist carries the business risk.

I sourced the timber, provided the equipment, paid for electricity, made the furniture, transported it and spent hours selling it. Every part of the process depended on my own resources.

3. The value of creative work is difficult to price.

A handmade object contains time, skill, imagination and material. Yet customers often compare its price with mass-produced alternatives.

4. Personal sacrifice can become normalised.

There is a romantic image of the struggling artist. My experience makes me question whether celebrating that struggle sometimes allows poor working conditions to continue.

INTERPRETATION

Working hypothesis, not established finding

The problem may not be that people cannot make a living from art. It may be that the economic arrangements surrounding independent creative work make it exceptionally difficult.

Artists are often expected to be simultaneously:

• Makers and producers.
• Business managers.
• Marketers and salespeople.
• Transport operators.
• Financial administrators.

The creative work is only one part of the enterprise.

My experience suggests that a community can genuinely value an artist without providing an economic environment in which that artist can thrive.

There is also a distinction between earning money through art and earning enough to live with dignity.

I managed to operate Rustix for ten years. That was a genuine business achievement. But longevity alone does not demonstrate financial sustainability.

Social Questions

1. Should artists be expected to live in poverty to demonstrate their commitment to their craft?
2. How do we measure the economic value of small-scale creative businesses?
3. Can regional markets and local communities provide sustainable livelihoods for independent makers?
4. What responsibility do governments and arts organisations have for fair payment?
5. Can a creative business remain viable without sacrificing the wellbeing of the person running it?

PERSONAL REFLECTION

I didn’t stop being an artist

Looking back, I sometimes wonder whether I confused perseverance with sustainability.

I was proud of Rustix. I collected the timber, made the furniture and took it to market. I built something from very little, and people responded to it.

But I also remember the $10 power-card top-ups, the limited meals and rolling my car to the service station.

Perhaps the most important lesson is that suffering should not be a prerequisite for creative work.

My relationship with creativity has continued through different forms. After Rustix, I found dancing. When a broken ankle interrupted that, I found singing.

I also discovered another way of making things happen: cooking and contributing to community life at Eureka Clubhouse.

There is a connection between these experiences. Whether working with timber, music or food, I have found meaning in making something that other people can share.

Today, I am interested in the relationship between creativity, community and economic participation. I have also returned to woodcraft through new small-business ventures.

I don’t regret the ten years of Rustix. But I do question the economic model that allowed people to celebrate my work while I struggled to afford the basics.

Perhaps the question isn’t simply whether someone can earn a living as an artist.

It is whether we are prepared to create the conditions in which they can.

FURTHER INVESTIGATION

This research could be extended by examining:

• The economics of independent craft businesses in regional Tasmania.
• The financial realities of selling through Salamanca Market and regional markets.
• The cost of materials, production time, transport and market fees.
• The relationship between disability, social security and creative self-employment.
• Whether microenterprise models can provide more sustainable pathways for people who want to turn creative skills into income.

A useful next step would be to compare the experiences of several Tasmanian makers, including those who have maintained a creative business over many years and those who have left the industry.

REFERENCES

1. Throsby, D. & Petetskaya, K. (2025). Artists as Workers: An Economic Study of Professional Artists in Australia. Creative Australia.
   https://www.creative.gov.au/research/artists-workers-economic-study-professional-artists-australia
2. RMIT University (2025). Australia’s visual and craft arts sector likened to the gig economy in new report.
   https://www.rmit.edu.au/news/all-news/2025/apr/arts-workers
3. Bureau of Infrastructure and Transport Research Economics (2025). Cultural and Creative Workforce.
   https://www.bitre.gov.au/resource/arts/cultural-and-creative-workforce

RESEARCH NOTE

This article combines personal lived experience with published Australian research. The Rustix account is autobiographical. National statistics describe broader artist populations and should not be treated as measurements of Rustix’s individual financial performance.