Starving for Respect
An Exploration of the Poor Artist
Recently, the celebrated countercultural figure, Peter Coyote, known for his work in the low-budget avant-garde film E.T., came to speak with us about California countercultures. During his talk, he recounted his role as an arts advocate in California.
For eight years in the 70s and 80s, Coyote was a member of the California Arts Council, which is responsible for funding arts projects in the state. While serving as chairman for a period of three years, he successfully increased the budget for the California Art Council from $1 million to $18 million.
Directly after Coyote’s achievement, a change in leadership saw that amount immediately returned to its original budget of $1 million. Essentially, Coyote’s eight-year job was undone with the signing of one piece of paper. Of course, this speaks to the fleeting nature of political success; however, it speaks to something greater as well.
In the orange-tinted times we find ourselves in, it is clear that the arts are under attack. This is evidenced by the fact that President Trump recently called for the defunding of the National Endowment for the Arts, commonly referred to as the NEA, in the budget outline he submitted to Congress. Unfortunately, however, this is not a new phenomenon.
Like all bad things, the drive to defund the NEA began with Ronald Reagan. Other bad things include (but are not limited to): the “Make America Great Again” slogan and the use of the words “trickle down” in economic discourse. Trump has since borrowed both of these concepts, although his understanding of “trickle down” has more to do with Russian women than it does with economics.
Returning to the topic at hand, we ought to ask ourselves what fuels this idea that the arts are disposable. How is it that National Endowment for the Arts accounts for .0012% of the federal budget while the Defense Department accounts for 17%? More importantly, how is it that .0012% still seems like too much to some people? Not only do these cuts suggests that art is not something worth supporting, but also inherent in them is the idea that artists ought to be poor.
It is not rare for one to hear the term “starving artist.” I must admit that as a child, I thought that a starving artist was someone who was so passionate about their work that they were just starving (read: dying, yearning) to do more of it. In other words, I thought this term was reserved for people who had an insatiable desire to do their work. Now that I am no longer a child, I know that this is a naive interpretation of the phrase. In reality, a starving artist is someone who forgoes food and other necessities in order to pursue their work. A starving artist is, quite literally, starving.
When we think of the artist’s journey, we think of a romantic “bohemian” life followed, often posthumously, by success and fame. Van Gogh, Basquiat, Genet, Poe — the list is disgustingly long. We think of these artists this way because we have read books and watched films that represent their journeys in this way. What these representations don’t tell you, however, is that “bohemian” means poor. Further, these depictions of the artist’s journey are highly romanticized.
Poverty (noun): the wonderfully romantic state of being unable to afford one’s basic needs.
We’ve read about Jean Genet’s poverty-stricken youth filled with bouts of homelessness and acts of thievery. We’ve read about Patti Smith’s days sleeping on porches in the West Village. We’ve read about Van Gogh’s failure to sell more than one painting during his lifetime. And because we’ve read about these things, we think that that’s the way things ought to be. Artists ought to be poor. Artists ought to have difficult lives. How else would they produce great works?
Of course, there is something admirable about an artist who is so passionate about their work that they are willing to sacrifice their material well-being in order to pursue it. This should not be forgotten, and it certainly makes for a great story if they eventually succeed. But why do we romanticize their poverty? In what other profession is having no money or means of supporting oneself celebrated? Answer: none. And that is exactly how it should be.
It is exactly these kinds of uninformed impressions that allow people like Donald Trump to suggest that we ought to cut the already infinitesimal funding the arts receive. When we imply that there is something worthwhile about artists being poor, we allow for others to think that they don’t need or deserve our support. In truth, there is nothing romantic about poverty, homelessness, or starvation.
I can assure you that great works would still be made if we fed our artists. Fantastic paintings can come from those with stable living conditions. Culturally significant works can be produced by those whose basic needs are met. To think otherwise is ludicrous.
Support our artists.
