Art Chat

The 2022 summer of inflation is just revealing what's been there all along for most talented artists: unsustainable income and a lack of upward mobility. A novelist friend who has been on the NYTimes Best seller list multiple times admitted that he has to scramble for rent in his middle age. Another colleague is an established visual artist and asked if I could buy any of his work for a few hundred...he emphasized that he needed the money for basic living stuff this summer. And I always have a Greek chorus of disgruntled playwrights by my side...writers who thought that a NYTimes critics pick was going to be the jump off, writers who were hot for a few years and thought it would last, the non-trust fund, non-married to the wealthy, un-inherited, avg-class playwrights who really thought that having 3 roommates and one bathroom was a temporary layover before traveling to the Isle of Mo' Riches. Now they face the choices of either commuting into the city from Vermont or finding a discrete way to have middle-aged sex on a futon in crowded East Bushwick apt. 

The only long-term emotionally sustainable view is to do art for art. Act as if the riches will never come. Act as if the bright lights will never shine. Act as if your work will never achieve immortality, but is just the singular expression of a soul who is on this planet for the blink of an eye. And yes, you will have to do this while seeing so much flagrantly terrible art being praised that it'll drive you crazy. It is totally illogical and frustrating. And if you're looking for meritocracy then look to any industry except for the arts.

Coming out of a play last week, I talked to a young playwright who was FURIOUS. The play we had just seen was a work of shapeless carelessly bad narcissism.  I asked them why they were so upset and they seethed that writers -like them- sacrifice and scrape together money and they hold out for some dream, and then they go see theatre at some established institutions that clearly lack any hustle, backbone, grit, or heart. I asked them 'you thought your sacrifice would be rewarded by a theatre?' They paused b/c...of course they did!! We live in a Judeo-Christian culture. We are the center of our own Christ-tale and think of our journey as psychically similar to crucifixion-resurrection-salvation, aka pain-recognized breakthrough-external success-immortality. Your sacrifice is only rewarded in your craft. Theatre is older than Christ and has been consistently disappointing to its disciples for about 4,000 years. Theatre does not know or care about how many shitty temp jobs you had to work to pay for your tix. They are totally unconcerned with your sacrifice. Art is unconcerned. There is no statute to all the dead failed poets. 

And with all that in mind, do you still want to make art? Then you're cursed. You're doomed to your craft despite the world, despite the corruption and nepotism, despite the failures. You're cursed to pursue something outside of money or fame in a culture that worships those two things exclusively. You're doing something spiritually admirable and totally un-romantic. 

You're an artist. Granted, you might not even be good. Actually, you probably aren't good in terms of what's trending or in fashion with tastemakers. But there you are.