There was an opinion piece by Nell Frizzell (who replied to my tweet about it and seems like a decent person) on IdeasTap yesterday that irked
me. Normally I’d swear loudly,
shrug and move on, but it somehow it stuck with me. I’m still thinking about it the next day. To me, it reified a couple of unhelpful
ideas and myths about what it is to work as an artist today. That it was published on IdeasTap, a
hub for young and emerging artists, those of us who should be trying to shake
things up, felt even more troubling.
So here we go.
If I can finish this in the length of the new White Lung
record, and then get back to work, then that would be great.
Two disclaimers.
1) My experience is mostly in theatre. I’ve extrapolated these experiences to
encompass other artforms – to match the rhetoric of the original article – but
each practice, I imagine, has its own customs and idiosyncrasies. But I suspect that most of this will
ring true.
2) These are all things that I believe right
now. But a lot of them are stolen
from or influenced by things I’ve read or people I’ve talked to about this kind
of thing. I haven’t even written
it yet, and I know for a fact that I’m going to owe a debt to Action Hero’s
‘How to make a living as an artist', Sacha Wares, Clare Lizzimore and Simon
Stephens.
So.
Here are 22 things you might want to hear about making
art.
No-one is doing
better than you at making your art.
Because that’s, well, impossible. People try to construct narratives in which artmaking works
like a ladder, with your place on a ladder determined by how many assisting
gigs you have, or how sizeable your audience is. These things will ebb and flow throughout the course of your
practice. The job - regardless of
where you’re doing it or who you’re doing it for - is always going to be
writing things down, making films, playing music, directing plays, etc. That bit doesn’t change, that’s the
work that we love to do, that’s why we’ve chosen to do this. The rest of it is between you and your
own ego.
You may never own
your own home.
True. But, then
again, neither does my Mum. And
she’s pretty cool & happy. Or
my brother. And he works with
computers & sends me texts that say things like: ‘oh you’re on about the
new baby LULZ’.
Some people really
hate your work
Great. People’s
value judgements of contemporary work can often be about everything other than
the work. But I’m reading about
Vsevlod Meyerhold at the moment.
He was murdered because the Russian authorities were suspicious of his
work. MURDERED. Let that sink in for a second. And he said, “If everyone praises your
production, almost certainly it is rubbish. If everyone abuses it, then perhaps there is something in
it. But if some praise and others
abuse, if you can split the audience in half, then for sure it is a good
production.” (quoted from Jonathan Pitches, p.1)
The way in which we
make and distribute work is changing
Fortunately, though, there’s still people out there who want
to read, listen, watch, be moved.
You’ll just won’t be able to fall back on received models – in the same
way that we don’t fall back on received models of the work that we make. It’s alright, your ideas are awesome,
you’ll figure it out.
Fuck. The White
Lung album has finished. This is
taking longer than I thought. Time
for St. Vincent. You should check
this one out if you haven’t already.
You should take time
away from your work unless you want to be dull as fuck.
One of the greatest myths about artmaking is that it has to
consume each and every one of your living hours and thoughts. If I was more intelligent, I’d argue
that this is capitalism demanding more and more of our affective labour. The time that you spend away from your
laptop and out in the world is the time that makes you who you are. It will make your work what it is. Your own personal innovation of
whatever sort will come from the shit that you do, the textures, the rhythms
& the colours that you notice, that we’re not able to do.
The old model of
record deals was only 50 years old.
People have been making music forever, yo.
This is an estimate, but I reckon I’m right, give or take 15
years. See the point above about
the models that we use to make & distribute work changing.
Some people will ask
you to work for free.
And you’ll have to figure out if you can afford it or if you
want to do it. The power of choice
is your own. I’ve done it twice in
the first 12 months I was in London: I walked 70 minutes to rehearsal every
day, worked double shifts on the Saturday & Sunday, and I’m still paying
monthly instalments to my then-flatmate for the rent he helped me to
cover. I’ve also turned down
unpaid work at a good theatre that I really, really wanted to do, because I
just couldn’t afford to do it, and my work didn’t collapse. But, remember, your artistic practice is
(most likely) not assisting or interning for someone else. These experiences can be helpful
educational opportunities in some cases, but they can also feed the ‘ladder’
image we discussed in point 1. It
can feel much better to say “I’m working on xxxxxx production that you’ve heard
of”, rather than “I’m working on my show/book/album that you’ve never heard
of”. The focus should always be on
your own work, your own vision, the things that you have to say.
Don’t feel pressured
into drinking/doing drugs/being someone who is not you.
I agree with the sentiment offered by the article here,
although the image of artists drinking loads and doing drugs is a bit odd. I’ve been to plenty of parties attended
by people who work in theatre, and I’ve never been offered any drugs. Maybe I’m just going to the wrong
(right) parties. ARF ARF.
People don’t want to
pay for things on the Internet.
I make live performance so I don’t really know about
this. I’ve stolen art on the
Internet when I’ve not had any money.
And I’ve paid for it on the Internet when I have had money. Fuck, I don’t know, I just wanted to
write something in this form and now it's biting back.
Sometimes the best
audience is your mates and your Mum.
Don’t just make work and throw it out there, hoping that The
Guardian and hordes of audience will magically discover your genius. The way in which you present and
distribute your work is a creative decision in and of itself. Think about this realistically: how
many people can you expect to experience the work? Present it accordingly (i.e. size of venue, number of
performances etc). And bigger is
definitely not always better: theatre, for example, would be much better in the
basement of Shoreditch Town Hall than the O2 Arena.
Nepotism is
everywhere. So make some friends.
But, like, real, genuine friends and collaborators. Don’t be cynical about this – our art
society is FUCKED if all the young people are making shallow, mercenary
relationships with each other.
But, you’re more likely to want to work with people that you like and
can trust. I recommend my friends
for work all the time when I know it is perfect for their practice, and they do the same thing.
Your day job might
not be interesting, but your own work is fucking fascinating.
This, to be fair, is the same sentiment offered by the
article. I’ve just rephrased it.
You may never be able
to afford children
This seems similar to the house one above (you can tell I
don’t have kids, I’m comparing a child to a house!). But, I know some artists who are absolutely phenomenal
parents. It looks unbelievably tough,
but it’s also what they want to do & it makes them so fucking happy.
You need to take
responsibility for your own finances.
Again, I’ve just re-phrased the point made by the
article. When you’re ready to
start thinking about it, you should consider things like a pension. Before you’re ready to think about it,
the HMRC will come calling so get on top of your tax. Fuck, I’m boring myself.
If you’re being
exploited, challenge someone about it.
I feel odd writing about this one, but it was one of the
points that ate away at me. The
way this point is written makes it sound like the arts in this country are full
of dodgy casting couch types. This
has never happened to me, and I’ve never thought about doing it to anyone else. Now, I can’t speak for female or
transgender artists here, but if they are being exploited in this way then we
need to be talking about this & calling it out NOW. If you feel exploited in less sinister
ways (working longer than you should etc), then call people up on it. Jess Gowwrote excellently on this, in the context of stage management. I can also think of two other people
(not my stories, I’m afraid) who have debated this fiercely with their
employers, and they’re doing fine.
No one person can destroy your career, no matter what some dickheads
like to think, because they can’t stop you making your own work. Most likely, if they’re exploiting you
already, then you won’t ever enjoy working with these people.
Don’t think that your
work is more important than your family or friends
Because, in most cases, it’s not. The fixed date nature (i.e. opening nights / gallery
openings / premieres) of art work might mean that you can’t change your
calendar around like some other family members. Make sure you make it up to them. Remember your family members’ and your friends’
birthdays. Don’t just pick them up
when you’re ‘not busy’. These
people love you unconditionally.
They will keep on loving you even when your work doesn’t. And, they make you who you are. See point 1 again.
You will be
rejected. A lot.
Yeah, this one is true. But you know what can’t reject you? You’ve guessed it, your own work! I know this is meagre comfort when
you’ve just come 2nd in a competition that offered you everything
you thought you’ve ever wanted in your work. Trust me, I’ve been there. This is why it’s important to spread your happiness around a
little bit: your friends, your family, see the point above.
Being able to be
open, sincere, honest, friendly helps.
Fuck ‘being charming’.
Fuck ‘being confident’. I
hate all of this false shit that people tell emerging artists. It is not the basis of a long-standing,
innovative practice. If you can be open, sincere, honest and friendly – which
you all can, it’s the blue sky of humanity behind the clouds – then you’ll be
received as charming and confident.
And, if you do find these too difficult, then write the best fucking
book in the world, make the best fucking play or film, play the best fucking
music, dance the best fucking dance in the world, and then they will want to be
charming and confident to you. I
don’t think that Edward Bond has ever, ever expended one iota of energy in an
effort to be charming.
You can control the
amount of time that you spent answering emails.
Email and mobile phone technology create this idea that we
have to be always-contactable all of the time. I try to set a limited amount of space at the beginning
& end of the day to reply to emails.
Procrastination sometimes gets the better of me, but that’s all on me. People will be happy to wait for a day,
and if they’re not they should be fucking phoning you. I have a friend who works for a major
global bank, who claims that he is not allowed to turn his mobile off in case
there’s a financial crisis in Australia.
I don’t know about you guys, but that’s not the life that I want to
lead. And, besides, I find it a
bit creepy that someone might have answered my email whilst lying in bed next
to their partner. MATE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
‘The arts’ are
London-centric, but there’s some amazing work being made outside of London
without the same distractions.
The ever-revolving series of parties, coffee meetings and
opening nights does mostly take place in London, to be sure. But, friends, in Newcastle, in Farnham,
in Folkestone, in Exeter, in Bristol, in Glasgow, in Cambridge, in Stockton, in
Eastleigh, and SO MANY OTHER PLACES, there’s this amazing thing: people
settling down and getting to their work.
And then they come to London and I think “Oh FUCK what have I been doing
with my time?!?”
Aside from the
obvious, the only difference between a ‘professional’ and an ‘amateur’ artist
is how we define ourselves. And so
that’s a pile of shit.
The term ‘hobbyist’ in the article felt pretentious and patronising. I’ve been looking after 11 youth
theatre shows for the NT Connections festival this year, made by schools, youth
theatres, community groups, and some of them are so much more exciting and live
than a lot of ‘professional’ theatre I’ve seen this year. ‘Professional’ artists get paid for
their work, most/some of the time, sure.
But rather than fussing about this label, isn’t it more liberating to
think that we can all just define ourselves as artists? We’re not competing with them –
remember, point one, no-one is better than you at being you.
We’ve always, forever,
been figuring it out as we go along.
I didn’t know how long this was going to take to write (for
the record: two plays of the White Lung album, and one play of the St Vincent
album). I don’t know how I’m going
to produce my next show. Nell Frizzell doesn’t know how they're going to pay their rent, in a time when writing
commissions are getting fewer and fewer.
Rufus Norris doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to run the National
Theatre successfully. Eimear
McBride didn’t know whether ‘A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing’ was even going to
be published. We’re all completely
terrified.
Things are changing right now, to be sure, and this is a
particularly difficult and unsettling set of jobs that we’ve decided to
do. It’s scary, and we’re all
fragile and vulnerable. But the
least we can do is to frame it positively and remind everybody of what we have:
ourselves, our own creativity and our own practices. Otherwise we spend all our lives waiting around to ‘make it’. No-one can take your own practice away
from you, and some people will completely love that. The more that we propagate ideas of competition and of
professionalism, the more we risk creating work that is completely sanitised,
cynical, and professional in every way.
Keep at it, dudes.
xxxx
xxxx
