In news that isn’t really news, today’s artists are having a hard time making a living. And when they do make a living, they probably aren’t working on their art.
For the majority of us who majored in something that made our parents shift uncomfortably in their seats – or worse yet, acquired a graduate degree in that field, the reality of every day life is indeed a heavy one. Most of us won’t be discovered at an early age and catapulted to fame before we can mentally or emotionally handle it. Hell, most of us won’t even see the first letter in the word fame. But what we will see: bills, long hours at sucky jobs, and more reports about how today’s artists are having a hard time making a living.
I know plenty of talented writers who have settled into lives of little consequence (teaching, working 40 hours a week as editors and proofreaders, transcribing Japanese manuals into English…) because they got too damn tired of walking the poverty line. They fought the good fight as long as they could, but time eventually claimed its victory. They no longer cared if their masterpiece was ever published or garnered lavish acclaim, they just wanted to buy groceries without coupons and own a DVR.
Some people would shake their heads sadly at those teachers and proofreaders, but I don’t. The life of the undiscovered artist is way too hard to live forever, unless you like too much booze and too little food and the occasional misery-inspired drug overdose. I don’t fault a single young novelist turned full-time college professor. Their choice makes sense.
But what of those of us who haven’t decided to trade in our tiny apartments and lame, repetitive diets for flat screen TVs and health insurance yet? What about those of us who still have the chutzpa – or the insanity – to continue striving for our dream? Should we let those reports about how we’ll be poor and kind of unhappy for a long portion of our life depress us, or revitalize us into seeking a new way of fulfilled, starving artist living?
Are we going to continue the trend of toiling away until we join the masses out of sheer exhaustion, or are we going to push back until those reports become extinct?
Will the starving artist always be hungry? I hope not. I like french fries too much.
