Real artists hustle.

Your moral high ground is holding you back.

When he was thirteen years old, he painted his first masterpiece—a fantastical exploration of winged demons tormenting a saint. When he was fifteen, he sculpted his first work in marble: a depiction of the Virgin Mary and her Child upon a series of steps. When he was twenty-six, he brought the powerful figure of the Statue of David to life in one of the most breathtaking works of art ever carved by human hands. When he was thirty-seven, he finished painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling in Italy.

What is most remarkable about this timeline of artwork, is that there are dozens, if not hundreds—or even thousands—of known, unknown, and potential ideas of projects that were never created in one human lifespan.

These art pieces were crafted not as a result of extensive rest, but the opposite.

They were crafted from outstanding resilience, undeniable obsession, an unbreakable love for the craft, and the unbridled desire to use mediums of art to transform what canvassed the inner workings of the mind.

I am, of course, referring to Michelangelo.

Some scholars refer to his art ethic alone, as superhuman.

His work ethic, unmatched. His desire to create, untethered. His discipline, obsession, dedication to real research, and complete disregard for physical limitations created one of the most legendary foundations of an artist we know today. He cared little for comfort, food, or worldly possessions. He was never satisfied with his work, ruthlessly difficult, and intense beyond most human comprehension—to a point where his peers described him with the word terribilità, calling attention to how his grandiose loyalty to his work transcended every possible need most humans could want.

“If people knew how hard I had to work to gain my mastery, it would not seem so wonderful at all.” — Michelangelo (presumably)

As an entrepreneur, writer, and artist in my own way, I’ve always found Michelangelo to be the most fascinating and relatable creator I’ve studied.

There are many talented people I’ve loved learning from, but no one quite felt as understandable and almost parasocial as Michelangelo.

This is not to say that I’m an accomplished artist.

I’m not.

But I am ruthless.

Voracious in my writing. Obsessed with the pursuit of perfection. Absolutely unapologetic when it comes to building things I care about after a period of serving others and denying what I wanted throughout the journey. Burying my head in a void of self-creation to unleash the thousands of stories dwelling in my conscious, yearning to be revealed. To be written. To be built.

This might sound harsh to those who don’t understand what this feels like—but if you don’t want to push yourself to these unimaginable breaking points, and beyond, you will never achieve anything that could label you as a master.

Some people have no desire to become a master of their craft.

This is respectable in its own way, but it is not what we should all strive for. It’ snot what you should strive for, if you have a tenacious dedication to your craft, your art, and your projects. This is why there is only one Michelangelo.

If we had many Michelangelos, the outcome of legendary success would no longer be legendary, and our understanding of ordinary would soon match our definition of mastery. We would no longer have masters, we would all be “equal,” and we would soon lose the desire to compete, to create, and build at all.

I’m of the firm belief that human competition, obsession, and the potential of the few is far more important to champion than this strange collectivist idea that all humans are meant to do and be exactly the same thing, with equal outcomes in all—despite people like Michelangelo clearly achieving his masterpieces through unmatched and historically outstanding obsession.

Which brings me to why I’m writing you this open letter on this cold, foggy Monday morning:

There is a growing narrative ecosystem on social media that’s been festering for a couple of years now—across LinkedIn, X, and especially Substack—that “hustle” is inherently toxic, not a good mindset for anyone, and should be eradicated as an ingredient of self-development culture.

The builders of the future will look at these statements, and laugh.

They won’t care for the comments on social media that claim they’re “toxic” or “unhealthy” for dedicating their lives to obsessive artful practices. They will, in fact, be so preoccupied with their own work, ambitions, and ideas, that the fingers pointed at them for engaging in “toxic” behavior will roll off their backs like water on duck feathers.

To be clear, this is not a criticism mostly directed at artists.

In fact, artists are often categorized as something sacred, and untouchable, and the binary “opposite” of hustle culture. These critics will pointedly ignore the sacrifices artists like Michelangelo made in order to create masterful work. They will pretend that hustle as a whole is demonic, and should be avoided at all costs if you want to be a true artist.

As if art is created only from a place of rest, and not at all of obsession.

Most commonly, these critics will claim entrepreneurs—which, I would argue, include self-starters who are artists in their own way—are the ones who are responsible for hustle as a movement, and how it’s ruining everyone.

This could not be further from the truth.

The world’s best entrepreneurs are artists.

The world’s best artists are entrepreneurial.

Real mastery is only achieved through enormous dedication, sacrifice, resilience, obsession, and an undeniable love of the process.

Make no mistake—there is always a cost to achieving remarkable things.

Social lives. Mental health. Physical health. Relationships. Small pleasures. Distractions. Instant dopamine. Frivolous things. Worldly possessions. Gossip.

These are surface-level attributes that most people who want to be great—and who are great—will gladly trade for the ability to create work no one else can create. They harden themselves to the tribalistic pleasures of humankind in order to use their hands, minds, and bodies in ways no one else can dream of.

The common response to this truth is something along the lines of: “Well, that’s toxic. We shouldn’t have to give up rest to make art.”

Rest is necessary, yes.

I am, myself, quite poor at creative rest.

However, what is “rest” to me is going to not be the same way other people rest.

I would argue that most people rest in a way that I would find boring: clubbing, shopping, watching too many things, reading too many things (in lieu of writing your own work), excessive sleeping, etc. and etc.

I daydream often. I walk. I exercise daily. I read in bursts—because I am much more interested in creating my own projects, and so when I am inspired by the work of others, I immediately want to plunge into what I want to build rather than invest those precious minutes, seconds, and hours exploring others’—and am in the current process of building things I truly want to build after a decade of doing the opposite. I watch films critically, because that’s how I like to observe the art of others. The one time I visited the Louvre is one of the best days of my life, and I will never forget what it felt like—how inspired I was—walking through those grandiose halls, admiring the Wings of Victory, Psyche Revived By Cupid’s Kiss, and countless other works of art.

To be inspired, for me, is to rest.

But, I’ve gone through a period where other people tell me that’s not proper resting. They’ll say that I need to not create. That I should pause what I’m doing and “have fun.” That my loves and obsessions and desires—because they are borne from a place that makes others uncomfortable—are a product of “hustle culture” rather than coming from a place of good.

This is disgusting, and morally reprehensible.

If you are afraid of hustle—and you point fingers, waste your time accusing other builders of being toxic in lieu of building your own projects, ignore the truth about the work ethic of the world’s most brilliant artists, and put yourself on a pedestal that preaches the so-called “evils of hustle” culture—you are not only hypocritical, but you are holding yourself back.

There is a reason that some people will read this and be very offended.

They will be angry that this is the truth.

If you are afraid of hustle, you simply haven’t discovered what lights that fire in your blood. You haven’t met the art form that makes you wish to create against all odds. You haven’t learned what it feels like to love an idea with so much ferocity that the world does not exist for the entirety of that idea’s existence.

Real artists hustle.

Michelangelo did not choose average. For his entire life, he sculpted, carved, painted, built, ideated, thought, ruminated, scrapped, reframed, recreated, and recklessly pursued the path of perfection. He was never satisfied with himself or his work, and that led to the most outstanding artifacts of a human mind we are extremely lucky to be able to witness in any capacity.

If you want to create anything remarkable, you must not fear hustle.

You must look deep inside yourself—your heart, your soul, your bones—and pull out the secret desires and wants and loves and obsessions that make you want to hustle towards the ends of the earth and beyond in order to make them happen.

If you don’t have those desires, wants, loves, and obsessions…

Then you’re simply not meant to be one of the world’s greats.

And if that statement makes you angry, you crave hustle more than you realize.

Hustle culture was never holding you back.

Your moral high ground was.

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