Working for Meaning

"The Sacramento Bee (newspaper for the state capitol) found that California spends $0.03 per capita per year to fund the arts. Mississippi spends $1.31, New York $2.75, Germany 85.00, and Canada $145.00 per capita per year. Pathetic is what the Bee called it"

"Everything that happens in my day is a transaction between the external world and my internal world. Everything is raw material. Everything is relevant. Everything is usable. Everything feeds into my creativity." Twyla Tharp, The Creative Habit



I discovered these two bits of text today. The first was on a sticky note, without attribution, on my desktop; the second from my morning reading. They are both facts for the artist. The former is the outer terrain—that which is known and which must be daily navigated. The latter is the inward geography—the constant migration to and through unknown territories.

That artists are poorly paid is not news. While there are the exceptional living few (think Christo), or our illustrious dead (Van Gogh, Picasso et al), most artists are strictly blue collar. Those with MFA's, if they are lucky enough to get teaching positions, are generally adjunct faculty. A few get the brass ring of tenure and get to retire from the freeway flyer club. We struggle to get wages that reflect our professional training, to have health benefits, and to retire with some sense of security, however modest.

It must seem odd to the general public that anyone would seemingly "work for nothing" at a profession that is peripheral to society. Art doesn't make the Stock Exchange go up or down; neither does it make the the freeway less congested, cure terminal illness, provide affordable housing, or make a dent in the greenhouse effect. Lately I've been conscious at how regularly our local newspaper is filled with editorials and letters to the editor critical of art and artists. Given the poor pay and lack of respect for the profession, why don't artists move on to something more lucrative, say, real estate investment, professional athlete, or "reality TV" participant?

For me, the work I do is not "for nothing." Oh yes, I don't always get paid for all the sketches that fill my notebooks, the research into processes and products, the reading of texts refined, practical, or fanciful. I'm a good advocate for myself (as are most professional artists) so I am, in fact, compensated for the work I am commissioned to do. I will always, however, work more hours than I will ever be paid for. Some of these hours I will begrudge. The majority of them I will not.

I have this certainty in my life: I will never retire. Ever. Imagine the collective shudder such an idea would engender in all those souls whose days are spent in cubicles, under the low green glow of artifical light? The artist does not need to think of the freedom generally associated with retirement—the freedom from the psychic lash, from the boredom, the stress, and the rage associated with all of it. But after the multitudes have taken off the yoke, after enduring years and years of work they would chuck immediately if they won the lottery, what then? Beyond taking well earned trips you always promised yourself, or catching up with the projects that lingered on old "to-do" lists, or getting reacquainted with your significant other—what can life offer that is more than just passing time till the inevitable end?

People are angry at the mediocrity with which they live, writes essayist Michael Ventura. I think they are also angry because they know they are being cheated out of the deep consolation and joy this world has to offer. They eat junk food (junk television, junk popular culture, junk politics, jumk social interactions) because that's all they're offered at the steam table at Hometown Buffet. No one lets them in on the fact that there's a feast one table over and it's being catered by Julia Child and company. They intuit that it's there, and they're angry because some part of them knows it but can't figure out how to get to it.

Human beings are meaning makers. Artists haven't forgotten that about themselves, and they haven't allowed anything or anyone to beat it out of them. And life certainly does try to get you to stop. I'm lucky; I've passed the point where the beating works so I'm freed up to go on my own way. I'm following a creative path because life is strong and demanding and art makes it more than something to be tolerated. Art gets you to see why and how it is magnificent and empowering and your birthright.

The artist is an important contributor to society because we help people to find the feast. It's our role, and it's an important one. We're not entertainers, although some of what we do will entertain. We're not gadflies, although some of our work will prod and poke. We're not decorators, although some of our work will dazzle with its skill.

We are meaning shapers in a world that desperately needs us, regardless of what is spent on us per capita. Personally speaking, there isn't a bank big enough to hold the amount of money that we artists are worth. I can't be sidetracked by measuring out my worth in a system designed by bean counters for bean counters. I'll take my measure some other way.

Oh yes, and I'm still looking for a good and affordable health care plan.