How I Built My Art Career and Learned to Hate It.
I had dropped out of engineering school to pursue an art degree, and there they were, my former peers talking about their new engineering jobs, 401Ks,and vacation time, and I was their food server.
“What are you doing now?” they asked.
“I’m studying Art at the local university,” I said as I handed them their menus.
They looked at each other, unimpressed, “Cool. Can we get some Diet Coke?”
Maybe it was the look of pity or dismissal, or maybe I was just insecure, but I felt sheepish. If I had any pride about pursuing my passions, at that moment, it had been kicked down the social totem pole to the peasants and muck, even if I was operating as dictator in my own self- perpetuating autocracy!
It wasn’t until many years later that I remembered that moment, once I had become successful in my art career, and I wished that I could call them up, and be like,
“Remember that one time? Well, I work from home and I fucking make six figures bitches. How’s that boring ass albeit sensible engineering career working out for you?”
Of course, they probably wouldn’t remember that moment, and I’d probably just sound like a big asshole. And maybe even just be one!
C’est la vie.
Moments in life like that are similar to when some dickhead pulls out in front of you while you’re driving. While you sit there, simmering in your own cocktail of life sucking cortisol, they’re car lengths down the road without a care in the world or knowledge they wronged you.
It took me many years to carve out a comfortable career in the art industry. I never thought I would make more than $10-15 an hour, let alone a six figure income, but it didn’t come without a dire sacrifice.
A part of me has come to dislike, no, hate, creating a livelihood from art. Like a blissful love that has gone sour from stark reality, over time, I’ve learned the unpleasant truths about commercial art, or more accurately, the consumers of art. Truths that sully uninhibited spirits, that jade an ignorant heart like telling a child that Santa isn’t real.
I remember an emotional moment at the beginning of my art career. I couldn’t have been happier. I had taken a leap of faith and quit my corporate sales job (somewhat impulsively like quitting engineering school) to pursue art. Within 3 months, without searching, a design job landed in my lap.
I felt so blessed. It was as if a rift had opened up in the sky, and the Universe personally delivered a greeting card on which it had scribbled, “Here you go. You believed in yourself, so now I believe in you.You are no longer a dipshit!”
I was creating a livelihood from my “passion” and all the years of nurturing my artistic talents weren’t in vain. I was becoming known by my artist persona around town. I was ambitious, and inspirational to others around me.
As I progressed in my career, the Universe occasionally visited to check up and congratulate me on my success.
“Oh snap, you just got hired 6 months ago and now you’re being promoted to Art Director? You ballin brah!”
“Oh snap, you landed a gig with -insert notable brand name here-. Yo, you are the Shiznit. Money, money, money!”
It seems that we all derive *some* self worth and happiness from our job title and income. Whereas in the beginning, I would’ve been happy just to be creating art, making enough to pay the bills and to get takeout sushi on occasion, over time, it wasn’t enough.
I was living in Tennessee, but I ended up moving out to the west coast where salaries and opportunities were much more lucrative. I had landed an Art Director position with a company that sold a different graphic t-shirt on a daily basis. The art was crowd sourced from artists all around the world and I made decisions on what was going to be printed 365 designs a year. I based my decisions, like any other business on profitability, and since the company sold directly to consumers on the internet, the community sensibility was the bellwether.
In the beginning, since the company sold directly to a diverse internet market, I procured and scheduled designs in a vast array of topics and genres.
As an artist, I tended to create illustrations based on generic themes. Skulls, birds,tattoos, concepts like hope or truth, or artistic imagery that derived very little from popular culture and relied more on skillful execution and unique expression. There’s no simpler way to classify it than artsy fartsy, not smear-your-period-on-a-canvas-and-call-it-art artsy fartsy, but the kind of art common viewers would ask, “What does it mean? I don’t get it.”
Over time, consumer sensibilities clearly indicated preferences toward parodies of pop culture over artsy fartsy.
That’s when the artist inside me started to die a little.
There I was, an art director given the authority to give artists like myself, who had refined their artistic voice to be able to sing to a beautiful and unique song, opportunities to get printed, yet, I had to reject them including myself, because all the consumers wanted was a boot leggy Star Wars parody.
To add insult to injury, I often approved art that might not have been well executed,daresay maybe even poorly crafted. I had learned they would *still* sell better than some artsy fartsy design due to its pop culture content. It seemed that consumers could not differentiate a design that was decent from one that was excellent in execution.
It was as if after learning how to make the most well crafted Gnocchi Al Maiale from scratch, I found out that people just wanted a Pepperoni Pizza or worse, a Hot Dog, aka pigs buttholes and entrails.
Obviously, there are artists that have succeeded in branding their art and style into desirability, so I am in no way indicating there is not an opportunity for artists. In fact, I believe there is an significant amount of it.
I’ve just grown a complex relationship with art. I’ve spent the last 5+ years rigorously evaluating art on a daily basis for it’s ability to be profitable, so I can no longer create truly original art myself without a small voice inside me saying, “That’s not going to make you any money, it’s a waste of time. Draw Lil Bub or a Stormtrooper instead!”
If one is questioning what kind of art for income potential, there’s only one more step to amputating oneself from “should I make art” because one only has to ask, “What would make more money? Making art or starting a business? A house cleaning franchise perhaps, or a municipal service company?”
I know there are emotional beings and artists out there, that will emphatically bleat from their righteous grandstand the conventional wisdom “You should do it for love, you should do it for love” but I’ve found over the years, those who give such grandiose admonitions rarely ever sacrifice themselves to such martyrdom and exercise the notion themselves or know of the complexities of such a living out such a circumstance. And those that will claim that they are doing what they love, certainly, congratulations on being in that moment in your journey, and here is your ass pat for being so awesome. I hope for you, you never lose that feeling because I KNOW that feeling. It’s the one I had when the Universe ripped open a rift to give me a Fist Bump.
But my journey is different now, and it has been at a crossroads for a long time. I held on to my art director position for many years for the income and because I was able to actively boost a few artists into a position of limelight to create a true livelihood from art. I did good things for other artists that I had wished someone had done for me.
I recently resigned from my six figure income job in the art industry because I hated it. I hated my job, I hated my absentee bosses, I hated the competitive nature of the industry and the way it made the artists I worked with. I hated that I couldn’t look at any piece of art without evaluating it.
Now years later, without my art director position, I make enough from home without a job to pay the bills, to have take out sushi, and I have all the time in the world now to make art.
I just gotta find that young artist fellow from years ago who just wanted exactly that and nothing more. I just don’t know if he exists anymore.
The Universe stopped by recently, “What the hell are you gonna do now brah?”
“I don’t know man. You know I always manage though. It ain’t like this is the first time I quit something and figured it out.”
Universe, “Word.”
Thanks for readin! Jimiyo
We know the game and we’re gonna play it.
