The Artist's Dilemma

Sometimes, after buying a carton of eggs from the grocery store, we arrive back home only to drop and break every single one of them. Sometimes, as we go throughout our day, we hit a pothole in the road; the same pothole we’ve hit many times before, and it finally blows out a tire. Sometimes the water heater dies, swiftly followed by the air conditioner, and then the fridge … all in a row. These instances are exemplary of life, and a knowledge that all of us know deep down. Sometimes shit happens. Minor inconveniences on the grand scale of things that aren’t dilemmas by any stretch, but nonetheless cost money and seemingly hit us at the worst times. It’s all a part of life. However, one thing that is unfortunately part of life, especially the artist’s life, is that for whatever reason, people in general don’t want to pay for art. Now, nearing forty years of age, I can still hear the exasperated words of Brenda Gentile, my former middle school art teacher. She said this one day, while shaking her head in defeat: “I don’t know what it is about art, but people don’t want to pay for it.” Indeed. The same year she made that statement, through a Partners In Education program, I did a painting for Glidden Paint. My compensation? A coffee mug. As a twelve year old kid, I didn’t even drink coffee, much less enough to justify a cup. I would’ve much rather had, oh, $500, which would’ve probably been the appropriate compensation.

All these years later, I still notice the same drudgery, only to a ridiculous degree. Often, there isn’t even a mug. People expect art for free. In contrast to Brenda Gentile’s words, a former college professor, Paul Hudson, had the following to say: “Never feel bad about charging a lot for your work. Think about what a plumber charges, and that’s to fix a toilet. Think about what they charge per hour. People are paying you for your skills. Given enough time, we could learn to do what a plumber does. However, given the same amount of time, the plumber can’t necessarily do what the artist can do.” Theoretically, Paul wasn’t wrong. However, what he fails to factor in (aside from the fact that he had lived in Paul Hudson world for a while): For most people, plumbing and running water are necessities. People need those things. They need water, food, and in most cases, a car. They don’t need art. It’s a nice-to-have. Yes, art may be what makes a certain car design sleek and sexy. But in regard to art, whatever form it takes and wherever it can be found, as much as it pains me to say it, I’m mostly in agreement with Brenda. Which brings me to a larger observation. People definitely operate within their own self-interests. It’s horrible out there for artist. Absolutely horrible. And yes, awful things happen to us all in varying degrees, no matter the profession, but I’ve noticed a very bitter harvest and dilemma for those who attempt to make a living at art. The tech field right now is booming. For every computer technician or software engineer that hops from job to job to job making upwards of $200,000 a year, there are a horde of artists who struggle, day in and day out, to literally make enough money for their daily bread. This disparity is unbelievable, and easily places most artists on the fast track of having to bend to a corporate or retail world in order to survive, while relegating their talent and art to the side (aka the dirty word “Hobby”). As a middle-aged artist, stopping for a moment to take a look around me, I see my fellow artists struggle. I see myself struggle. It’s beyond a burnt slice of pizza or being waylaid by a pothole in the road of life. It’s the artist’s dilemma. Bruno Gmunder, a publisher of art anthologies out of Germany, never paid me for the book illustration work that I did for them. The editor at the time, Harvey Redding, explained, “The artist’s payment is being published in the book. That’s the compensation. Everybody has to bend over and take it initially. So just take it until you make it.” But, again, therein lies the dilemma. What do you do as an artist when everyone says that? Does the artist finally have to put his or her foot down and say, “Well, if you’re not going to pay me, then you don’t get me.” The Bruno Gmunders of the world simply go to the next artist in line who is more than willing to do artwork for free. Even the Leslie-Lohman Gallery in New York, a museum for Gay and Lesbian art, gave me only $30 for two of my originals. It didn’t pay for the taxi cab back to my uncle’s apartment in Brooklyn. When the museum’s subsequent newsletter came out, I looked for at least any sign or acknowledgement of my name. When at last I found my name in the newsletter, my heart sank. They had listed my artwork as a donation. I could go on, but it would be beating a dead horse, or so goes the saying. The ultimate conundrum, and I imagine that this happens for many people, is that making art brings me happiness. It’s the primary thing that makes me happy. I don’t know what else to do with myself. Even given all that I’ve mentioned before, I wouldn’t trade my abilities and talents for anything, because it allows me to see the world from a perspective that others don’t. It can be lonely. Others may not see value where I see it, or find merit where I find merit, but maybe loneliness is part of the cost that an artist pays as well. If I’m eternally lost in the world at large, at least I’m not lost unto myself. At least I know who I am. Many don’t. Many are afraid. Now, for the love of heaven, please let me be lucky.