the Starving Artist Trope

     I have said many times that the best kind of art you’ll find is what you discover if you dig locally. Some of the best music, paintings, clothing, crafts and entertainment I’ve consumed have been things made by independent creators, and there’s a good reason for that. As an artist it’s kind of unbelievable for me to know that in the age of the internet people aren’t aware of this. Art is fundamental to our society, yet it seems that our support for STEM far outweighs the demand for creativity. Over the years I’ve consistently heard about schools cutting funds from their art programs in favor of more “practical” subjects. My father, a musician himself, strongly advised me to stay away from pursuing a career in it. In his mind I think he was protecting me, but I rejected everything except reading, writing, and singing (with some science mixed in here and there because c’mon, space is pretty cool.) 

    There’s only one problem with my being an artist: I’m American, and that’s hard to be at the same time. How does one of the most developed and wealthiest nations on the planet fail the artist? Well, that depends on the kind of artist you’re asking. If you ask the nepotistic baby, whose parents were gracious enough to pay for a full ride to whatever art school of their choosing, they might be able to tell you something generic, if not knowing how to answer it at all. That isn’t to say that great art can’t come from the common people even if their paint is from the local pickup down the street, as many art students at the college I attended did, but the rich student has time to ponder, a luxury poor artists do not have. This becomes especially complicated when you factor in marginalized communities, who can face even more speed bumps.

    An artist needs to experience what it’s like to create without an audience, to be underappreciated. Right now, there’s a theater kid belting their soul to the world on a stage to an audience of 10 (the cast’s parents.) It’s a humbling feeling when you see something in yourself that others might not, but like everything else it takes time and effort, trying and trying again until you get it right. I can only describe being an artist as a series of transformations, reinventing yourself and going through multiple cycles like samsara. That is why I keep multiple creative avenues open. Not only do they mean different things to me but being well-rounded has many advantages and you open for opportunity. I was watching an episode of Rupaul’s Drag Race once and one of the queens described going through the creative process for them as “throwing everything at the wall and seeing what sticks,” and I found that to be an astoundingly apt statement.

    Part of the reason we do this as artists is because American culture forces us to. When I was a kid and Disney Channel and Nickelodeon ruled the world some of the most popular celebrities to come out of it were always acting, dancing, singing or doing anything and everything that could put one in the limelight, just something that was deemed worthy of success in the eyes of our society. I remember other kids saying “she tries to do everything,” about the famous back in the day, not old enough to understand that corporations were trying to squeeze as much profit as they could out of their favorite idols by having multiple routes for revenue. For many artists, part of being one is understanding that you have to make yourself marketable to get anywhere, to do what you love while being happy at the same time, and the clock is ticking. Expression by itself is worth nothing in capitalism. You could apply this theory to any profession, but being an artist without corporate backing is especially difficult because without it, you risk losing your vision or the product coming out in a way you hadn’t intended, if you even have the time at all. With it, you risk corporate meddling and your product becoming stale.

    

    Some people like myself struggled to even figure out what they wanted to be. I had many creative pursuits, but I lived in a small southern town with basically no money and no connections. I paid my own way through college, I had bad roommates and jobs. Stresses that muddy the creative process. I won local karaoke shows for beer money and made music with my cheap computer and a Presonus Midi USB audiobox I got as a Christmas gift. My college friend and I wrote books that would never see the light of day, forever staying in draft purgatory. I saw bands and music acts that would easily crush anything in the top 40. I answered a craigslist ad once that wanted a singer and made an entire EP with him. Sure it wasn’t all the best, but I met some of the coolest people going through the same problems I was as a creative person in a non-creative-appreciating world, and when they gave me their Spotify, Bandcamp or SoundCloud links I always listened and posted it on social media. I edited and critiqued drafts for Freshman to help them become more prolific writers. I had friends in film school that would send me their home movies. I knew actors that struggled to find roles (which I swear should just be listed as part of the job). That’s what artists do for each other. One particular night I found myself attending a house show (one of the many house shows I’d get to see, where you could donate a set amount of money rather than a flat rate for a ticket) where someone had a punk concert in their kitchen. It was packed so tightly full of kids that they threw one kid up in the air, his foot hit the ceiling light and it came crashing down on top of everyone. Thankfully, nobody was hurt, but I kept the chain that broke off and hooked it to my belt loop as a trophy. That band is still on some of my playlists on Spotify. Experiences like that you just can’t manufacture.

    

    

“Don’t quit your day job,” is an expression you might’ve heard a couple of times, urging the creative to think rationally. I knew a guy who was super into theater and naturally gifted for it, but was in school for engineering. Engineering didn’t make him unhappy, but he explained to me that he knew his parents wouldn’t find theater a worthwhile pursuit and felt pushed to take something that was more sensible for his future. He also told me that because he was Asian he “wouldn’t land a lot of roles anyway,” due to the unfortunately limited representation for people that looked like him and the fear of directors telling him he wasn’t “what they were looking for,” which made opportunities even more sparse. When I worked at a T.G.I Fridays as a server there was a cook I had become cool with who made rap music in his off time, and I would repost his music and music videos because I respected that he had a passion. He would work doubles over a hot stove and then hit the studio at nighttime (sometimes they run that late depending on who you’re connected with.) He told me one night that you never know what could happen. One day his stuff might get heard by the right person, then he could do what he loved and make money simultaneously. I couldn’t help but admire the guy because I too wanted a world where I could express myself creatively and maybe support myself along with it. That’s every artist’s dream.

    So whenever I’m in the creative process and get bummed I can’t make the art that I want to, I think about the small ways in which my creations give meaning to me or those close to me. I don’t have to worry about pleasing a large audience, or manipulation from higher ups. I am completely free and authenticity flows more naturally. When my family or friends send me their projects, it means something special to me. It means that even if we as artists don’t have proper support, we have each other. No matter what stage you’re at in life, continue to do your passions, even if it conflicts with someone else’s parameters for success. Should the world be kinder to the artist? Of course. Every day I wish it was, but the personal meaning it has for me is priceless. I’ve never had anything published like the Princeton writers of the Atlantic or the New Yorker but when I swap drafts with my friends and our faces light up at each other’s praises and critiques I can’t help but feel a sense of purpose. When somebody sends me their demo tape, and I tell them what I genuinely think, I know it makes them feel like the effort was worth it and not just a drop of sand in the desert of unrecognized art. If you haven’t been to a local art event or concert, I suggest you start doing so. It may unlock a whole new world you were unaware of.