We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Steven Whyte a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Alright, Steven thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Have you been able to earn a full-time living from your creative work? If so, can you walk us through your journey and how you made it happen? Was it like that from day one? If not, what were some of the major steps and milestones and do you think you could have sped up the process somehow knowing what you know now?

Yes, I’ve been fortunate to earn a full-time living from my creative work for the majority of my adult life—but it certainly wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight.

I was about 20 years old when I received my first major commissions: portrait busts for the Lord Bishop of Lichfield and the Speaker of the House of Commons. That early success gave me just enough momentum to believe it could be a real path. But my parents had made one thing clear when I told them I wanted to be an artist: I’d have to find a way to make a living at it. So I approached this career with both passion and a very practical mindset from the beginning.

Over the years, I’ve balanced creativity with business discipline. I learned to listen to clients, to negotiate contracts, to keep overhead manageable, and most importantly, to deliver work that resonates deeply with the public. I also took on teaching, curated exhibits, and eventually ran my own studio—not only to support myself, but to build a structure where other artists could learn and grow as well.

Still, there were major setbacks. In the U.K., I hit a social ceiling when I lost a commissioned Princess Diana figure because, as I was told, I “didn’t speak properly” or come from the “right class.” That moment broke something open in me. I realized I needed to be somewhere that valued work ethic and talent over pedigree. That’s when I moved to the U.S., and later became a citizen.

Since then, I’ve built a career creating monuments that tell difficult, powerful, often underrepresented stories—from The National Salute to Bob Hope and the Military to The State of Florida’s Slavery Memorial. I’ve sculpted everyone from Martin Luther King Jr. to John Steinbeck to local Monterey heroes. The emotional responses to those works—families playing music at a loved one’s statue, veterans saluting—those are the real paychecks.

Could I have sped up the process? Possibly. If I had known earlier just how important the business side was, I might have reached sustainability sooner. That’s why I now teach my team not just how to sculpt, but how to negotiate, invoice, and protect their intellectual property. Artists deserve to thrive—not just survive.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

As a figurative sculptor originally from the U.K. and now proudly based in Carmel, California. I’ve been sculpting professionally for nearly four decades, and over that time I’ve created more than 80 life-size and larger-than-life bronze figures that are installed across the U.S. and internationally. My work is focused on the human form—but more importantly, on the human story. I specialize in large-scale public monuments that seek to honor, provoke, and connect.

I began my career in England, where I was fortunate enough to study under Dame Elisabeth Frink and be accepted as the only undergraduate into the Sir Henry Doulton School of Sculpture. Early commissions from civic leaders gave me a taste for how powerful public art could be—but it was also clear that the British art establishment wasn’t always welcoming to working-class voices. After losing a major commission because I “wasn’t the right class,” I decided to make a bold move. I came to the U.S., where I’ve built not only a studio, but a life dedicated to storytelling through sculpture.

I create custom bronze portraiture, commemorative monuments, memorials, and historically significant public art. My clients include city governments, universities, cultural organizations, private collectors, and advocacy groups. The problems I help solve are often emotional and cultural: how do we give form to a legacy? How do we make a space speak? How do we recognize people and stories that have been overlooked, silenced, or underrepresented? My studio creates work that provides dignity, voice, and permanence to those stories.

What sets my work apart is a commitment to presence, anatomy, and emotional narrative. Every sculpture I create—whether it’s Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Bob Hope, John Conyers, or a local Monterey accordion player—is treated with the same care, craft, and intentionality. I believe in making figures feel alive, not just accurate. The posture, gesture, expression—all of it should tell a story. I also believe in involving the community in that storytelling process whenever possible.

I’m most proud of works like The Chains That Speak, the official slavery memorial for the State of Florida, and the Comfort Women memorial in San Francisco—pieces that not only honor history, but challenge us to confront it. I’m also proud of mentoring dozens of young artists in my studio over the years, many of whom have gone on to build their own creative careers. I believe in lifting others while you rise.

If there’s one thing I’d want clients, collectors, and supporters to know about me and my work, it’s this: I don’t make sculpture to decorate space. I make it to transform space. I want each piece to feel like a living presence, something that stirs conversation, memory, emotion. My goal is always to create work that is technically strong, deeply human, and artistically brave.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

One of the biggest lessons I had to unlearn was that success in the art world is based purely on talent. I grew up believing that if you worked hard, trained relentlessly, and produced good work, the opportunities would naturally follow. But that’s not always how it works—especially in traditional or class-bound environments.

Early in my career in England, I was proud to be getting high-profile commissions and gaining recognition. I even won the commission to sculpt a statue of Princess Diana for the Red Cross. But the project was suddenly canceled. I later learned from someone inside that it had been taken away because I “didn’t speak properly” and “wasn’t the right class.” It wasn’t about my art—it was about social position. That was crushing. I had to unlearn the idea that the best work always wins.

But that hard truth pushed me to make one of the most important decisions of my life: I moved to the United States, where I felt I’d be judged more on the quality of my work than on my accent or upbringing. That leap changed everything. It taught me to be adaptable, to advocate for myself, and to build a business that values equity and mentorship.

Now, in my own studio, I emphasize to young artists that talent matters—but so do communication, professionalism, and perseverance. And above all, you must build your own table if the door to someone else’s is closed. That’s what I’ve tried to do.

What do you think is the goal or mission that drives your creative journey?

Yes—my creative mission has always been to give physical form to stories that deserve to be seen, felt, and remembered. Whether I’m sculpting a civil rights leader, a war veteran, or a local community hero, my goal is to create work that honors humanity and invites connection. I want my sculptures to do more than resemble a person—they should carry emotional weight, cultural truth, and historical relevance.

At the core of my work is a belief that public art has the power to educate, heal, and provoke conversation. That’s why I’m drawn to subjects who’ve made an impact—especially those whose stories have been overlooked or silenced. Projects like The Chains That Speak, Florida’s slavery memorial, or the Comfort Women monument are not just artistic commissions—they’re moral imperatives. These are narratives that demand space in our collective memory.

I also have a deep commitment to mentorship. Part of my mission is to pass on everything I’ve learned—about sculpture, business, and creative resilience—to the next generation of artists. I want them to know they can make a life in art, but also that art has a responsibility to serve something greater than ego.

Ultimately, my creative journey is about helping people feel seen—literally and figuratively. I want each sculpture to be a bridge between the past and the present, between a subject and the viewer, between the silent and the spoken. That’s the work, with the support of my loving Wife, I’m here to do.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/stevenwhytesculptor
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stevenwhytecarmel
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/stevenwhytesculptor/