I'm transitioning from being a starving artist. My producers had

Hear the words of Daniel Caesar: “I’m transitioning from being a starving artist. My producers had success outside of the Daniel Caesar brand, so they invested money, time and resources. They funded the first video, and a lot of other things that I’m so thankful for.” These words may seem like a simple confession of gratitude, yet they speak to one of the deepest truths of the human journey: no great endeavor is achieved alone, and the road from obscurity to recognition is always paved with the hands of others who believed when the world did not.

The origin of this saying lies in the struggle of the artist, that eternal wanderer who begins with only vision and hunger, but little else. Daniel Caesar speaks of his passage from scarcity—the state of the starving artist—to a place where others saw his worth and chose to build with him. His producers, having found success in other ventures, poured their resources into his dream. And his heart, rather than being puffed up with pride, bows in thankfulness for the faith that others placed in him. For what is an artist without those who believe, those who invest, those who say, “You are worth the risk”?

History offers us many examples of such stories. Consider the tale of Michelangelo, who might never have carved the marble of David or painted the vault of the Sistine Chapel without the patrons of Florence and Rome. His genius was his own, but the opportunity to display it came from those who offered resources, time, and trust. Just as Caesar gives thanks for his producers, so too must every artist recognize that the flowering of their gift often depends on the soil that others provide.

In Caesar’s words, there is also a lesson of humility. Many, when they rise from poverty to recognition, forget the days of hunger and the people who sustained them. But to confess thankfulness is to remain grounded, to remember that blessings are not self-made alone. Gratitude is the anchor that prevents the soul from being swept away by pride. To say “I am thankful” is to acknowledge that our victories are shared, that our success belongs not only to us but to the community that carried us.

There is also the truth of transition. Caesar speaks not from the place of final triumph, but from the threshold—the moment between hunger and abundance, between striving and arrival. Such transitions are sacred, for they are the bridges between who we were and who we are becoming. They are filled with uncertainty, yet also with power. To honor them with gratitude is to strengthen one’s spirit for the challenges ahead, lest success harden the heart or blind the eyes.

What lesson, then, do we take? That in every path—whether artistic, professional, or personal—there will be seasons of hunger, and there will be seasons of growth. The wise do not despise the hunger, for it sharpens the soul. Nor do they despise the help of others, for it sustains the journey. Instead, they walk with gratitude in both. The artist who forgets his beginnings becomes hollow; the man who forgets his supporters becomes arrogant. But he who remembers, as Caesar remembers, will always remain true to his roots.

Practical actions flow from this wisdom. If you are in your season of hunger, do not despair—press on, and be ready to honor those who extend a hand. If you are in your season of growth, give thanks, and never forget those who labored beside you. And if you are in a position to support another’s dream, do so with generosity, for in doing so you may nurture the next great voice, the next great artist, the next great vision for the world.

Thus let the words of Daniel Caesar endure: be thankful for those who invest in you, for those who believe when belief is scarce. For the journey from starving artist to flourishing soul is never walked alone, and the crown of true greatness is not only success, but humility and gratitude toward all who helped you rise.