She makes six figures as an artist. It's still a grind to get by in NYC.

A couple of years out of college and in the midst of a pandemic, Courtney Kinnare took several big risks. The Californian quit her job in sustainable packaging design in Los Angeles, became a full-time artist, and moved to New York City.

"I just took the leap," said Kinnare, now 29. "I was just like, if I go for it, I have no choice but to make it work out."

She wasn't totally prepared for what it would cost her. When Kinnare moved across the country in 2021, New York City rents began to rise as many others returned after the pandemic. Like many artists, she pays double rent — for her apartment and her studio — and her income swings dramatically, making it hard to budget.

At the same time, living in New York has turbocharged Kinnare's career. She's constantly meeting gallery owners, seeing new art, and getting exposure to new customers. But while her income has more than doubled in a few years, she often works seven days a week — and the money she makes doesn't go very far.

Kinnare is among a growing share of New Yorkers struggling to afford life in one of the most expensive cities in the world, as the costs of necessities like housing, groceries, and childcare soar. For decades, the city has failed to build enough new homes, creating a severe shortage that has driven up rents and home prices.

New York City's new mayor, Zohran Mamdani, got elected on a pledge to bring these costs down, including for artists. In January, he promised to "make New York affordable to make the arts," and said his administration would also make arts and culture more accessible for working-class people. He's facing a dismal trend. After years of growth in the creative industries, the city has lost a significant number of artists since the pandemic.

"I've always been able to figure it out," Kinnare said, but, "every month I'm like, 'Okay, how am I making money this month?'"

Sticker shock

When she first arrived in the city, Kinnare spent $2,000 on rent for a two-bedroom apartment in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn that she also used as her art studio. Eventually, she moved in with two roommates and rented a separate studio, where she had more room to grow her craft.

Last year, she moved in with her partner, and spends about $1,000 a month for her share of the $2,600 rent for their Bed-Stuy loft, and another $1,700 on her studio space in Dumbo.

Over the last few years, she's steadily grown her art sales and income, which started around $50,000 a year when she first moved to the city, and last year exceeded $100,000. That's in part because one of her products — a $45 purse hook — took off late last year. She quickly sold out of her first 1,500 hooks, made of metal, glass, abalone shell, and mother-of-pearl, and designed to hang a bag from a restaurant table or bar. She recently dropped 2,000 more and hopes to make them a permanent part of her collection.

Despite her recent windfall, budgeting is tricky with an income that varies dramatically month to month. "I don't have family money to fall back on, or anyone to ask to borrow money from," she says.

It's taken a toll on Kinnare's social life, especially with friends who work corporate jobs and like to go out. She says she skips dinners out and has made a concerted effort to surround herself with other artists who understand the reality of having an unreliable income and the lifestyle that comes with it.

"Sometimes you blink your eyes and spend $100, and you're like, what just happened?" she says. "That's taken a lot of self-control to be able to find activities and things to do that don't require spending money."

When factoring in the cost of living, New York creative workers like Kinnare earn about 23% less than the national average, a recent report by the nonprofit Center for an Urban Future found. A decade ago, they earned 15% less than the average. Much of that has to do with pricier real estate. With tighter living quarters in the city, many artists rent a separate studio space to work on their craft.

Finding a studio space with enough room and natural light was even harder than finding an apartment, Kinnare says. When she was forced to move out of one studio on short notice, she struggled to find anything affordable on the market that had a window. So she resorted to messaging artists she didn't know on Instagram, asking for their landlords' contact information. "It's a really, really fast game, and you have to be on top of it," she said.

An investment in the future

Kinnare sees the high cost of living in New York City as an investment in her career that, so far, is paying off. She thinks it's easier to break into the art world than it was in LA, where she felt more professionally isolated.

"The art scene here is a lot more diverse and approachable," she said. "I'm frequenting galleries a lot more, going to openings, going to shows, being in places where I want to be, networking and seeing and having the chance to talk to some of these people."

"The exposure here has been tenfold compared to what I've been used to," she added.

Last year, she signed with a gallery after meeting their owners at a design fair and has since shown her work at multiple fairs with them.

Still, the costs of breaking into the most dynamic creative scene in the country are high — and a growing number of creatives aren't making it. Many artists who left New York when COVID hit haven't returned. The number of New Yorkers working in the creative economy, including self-employed people, has dropped by about 6% since 2019, the Center for an Urban Future found. The city has lost nearly one-fifth of its dancers and film and video editors. More than a quarter of its fashion designers have disappeared.

Kinnare feels like one of the lucky ones. Her sales and social media following are growing, and she finally has some savings. One of her goals for 2026 is to give herself one day a week when she doesn't open her laptop or step inside the studio.

"I feel like I'm finally, after four years, at a place where I can breathe a little bit, but the grind never stops," she says. "You can never get too comfortable."