Some weeks after reading Jonathan Holloway's criticism of 'amateurism' among theatre directors, my attention got drawn to another, older piece looking at the reality of financial sustainability for most artists. That is, that it isn't. The 'job on the side' is the dirty little secret that rarely gets mentioned lest it detract from artistic credibility and the semblance of creative dedication. Pulling these together resonated with something I'd been reflecting on for some time, which is that of the working-class, folk tradition (that's 'folk' as in people, not beardy boys with banjoleles).
The tradition goes like this: you do your job down the pit, in the bakery or wherever to get the money that supports you and your family. Yes, this model assumes that artists have as much right to family life as anyone else, not that they should sacrifice everything for their art. Then you go home, down the church hall or into the fields and make your art. Could be poetry, brass band, painting, acoustic jam down the pub or - for the Welsh - Eisteddfod. It's about art as a widespread and participative practice, not a spectator sport for the consumer. As such, it embeds the practice, and ownership, of art in the very fabric of society. Of course, this does presuppose we buy into the notion of society, and begs important quesions about our privileging of individual aspiration.The 'professional' model is lovely. Who wouldn't want to do what they enjoy doing, earn sufficient money from it to live a full, regular life alongside anyone else, and not be a marginalised, impoverished artist. But - especially with convergent media that promote the few over the many, the centralised over the local - where does that leave artists who aren't lauded by the key curators, commentators and other cultural gatekeepers? Should they eat gruel and dress in rags to assert their authenticity and indulge this popular conceit, or refuse to let this get in the way of the life they want to live, whether that means holidays, family or simply hanging out with friends in other fields.
This is, of course, not exclusive to the arts. It's simply another dangling of the aspirational carrot, that everyone has a chance to make it big. It gained Margaret Thatcher an election victory, and Tony Blair's tacit endorsement extended it to the creative industries with the whole notion of 'Cool Britannia'. Thus we end up with an industry that - like most others - is predicated on the wild-west free-market ethos that success belongs to those with the sharpest elbows, greatest self-interest, and arrogance (however smoothly polished) that compulsively puts their own needs and vision above all else.
Little wonder then that 60% of chart acts come from private education. No amount of nosing around has yielded comparable statistics for other areas of the arts, but the Higher Education Statistics Agency reports the 2009 intake for the Courtauld Institute as having a stonking 54% of students from independent schools (compared to 7% of the population overall). This isn't intended to knock private education (and that would be unfair on those individuals who, let's face it, probably didn't have a choice in the matter). What parent wouldn't want their child to have the self-confidence, unlimited aspiration and sense that they can do whatever they want? [That was intended as rhetorical, but I now realise that, say, those parents who are more interested in their children's intrinsic 'being' and happiness rather than achievement might actually regard that as a huge pressure for a small child.] But it still feeds a pervasive notion that getting what you want is the most important thing in life. This, I believe, is more telling than any financial aspect of privilege. Sure it might help if you have the financial backing to afford several years in unpaid work, but the underlying driver is the engrained sense that this is a worthwhile sacrifice, that you you are indeed entitled to expect a return on your hard work. So, while 'opportunities' are widely dangled, outcomes are far more limited, and the gruel and rags become legitimised as the norm. The price of success for the 1% is the deprivation of the 99%, and we've long been invited to ask whether we care so little for the rest that we'll run that risk.
It's one of the regular concerns amongst artists, all talented and dedicated, once they've paid their dues, and after early, all-consuming professional obsession. To look at their lives as a whole, now and in the future, and wonder how the hell one gets from here to there. To call it 'work-life balance' would be too simplistic. Certainly there are many properly-paid professions for which that notion works, but it presupposes that the time working is also the time from which income is generated, so it's a basic assumption that often fails to serve artists. And, while 'work-life balance' generally implies a balance of time, there's another important aspect: money. 'Life' today almost invariably means 'money' and it's inherent in the expression 'make a living.' Try to think of a single financial services advert that doesn't sell its products in terms of life goals. There's an implication in work-life balance that the work makes enough money to live the life, if only the time were well enough balanced. As such, one might argue that work-life balance is the sole concern of the wealthy; I've yet to hear anyone use the expression when the work just doesn't bring in enough money to live. So, let's refine that model. Let's call it 'work-money-life balance.' On the one hand, it acknowledges that time may have to be spent earning money alongside our work as artists; on the other it outs cash as an important part of this process. Of course that doesn't mean a high income: it could equally mean living frugally, making and mending (for which many artists have an aptitude already), but it does at least assert that we have to find a balance, of not only our time, but also our money.
It does not serve us, or society, to marginalise ourselves as artists. Sure there are many cultural ghettoes from which great art has come, but they're not the ghettoes of art itself. As artists, it's important that we're connected to what's going on in the world and have a diverse social experience, whether in terms of race, age, profession or class. So, let's reject the insular premise that "we're all skint artists, we can only hang out with each other." Go out, make a bit of money, however humbly, take part in life and mix with people who aren't like yourself. Not only does this better inform the art, but it better informs society, with artists themselves as an integral part of it, rather than outsiders occasionally parachuted in to deliver 'outreach'.
So, accept, share and even celebrate what you have to do to make a living. It's proof that you're like everyone else. Share in that collective sense of work as a necessary evil. Dare to be ordinary. Be part of the wider fabric of humanity and give the finger to those who'd assert that society doesn't exist.
But don't give up the art job.
Afterword
In writing this I found myself thinking of food. Not uncommon for me, and a great example of a necessity of life that it's important to enjoy. But - as with any basic human need - it's also intrinsically political. Read pretty much any article on food and it's predicated on excellence: what's the best burger in London, where's Britain's best artisan baker (and please, don't use the word 'artisan' unless you can actually name the person with dough-covered hands, or we'll end up in the same mess as we have with 'designer'). All are designed to send the nation's foodies flocking there and leave their local baker lost in tumbleweed. No-one's asking about priorities. Sure, excellence is one option; environmental impact is another, and now we're seeing 'local', well after all the local shops and markets have perished to be replaced by the clever City refugees who got out early and spotted the next premium food trend. What about the ordinary? You know, that thing that other people do: or is this exactly it, that we're still chasing a 1980s competitive high and looking for the next fun or exciting new thing that's going to make us somehow more special than the next guy?
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