Being a hobby or leisure artist is wonderful: picking up the paintbrush whenever you feel like it, creating whatever art takes your fancy, sharing with close friends and family - what a joy. Being a “professional” artist is bloody hard work: committing to art practice, dedicating time to creating a cohesive body of work, applying to exhibitions, maintaining websites and social media accounts, fulfilling obligations to collectives and arts organizations - exhausting. Being a commercial artist is even harder: making art that sells, taking good photos of work for sales platforms, approaching galleries for representation, dealing with collectors, committing to art fairs, shipping art, managing accounts and taxes - that’s a lot for one person. I’m a professional and sometimes a commercial artist, and it’s no surprise that I regularly find myself wanting to slip back into being a leisure artist. I remember fondly the days when I stitched pretty little objects for my home and as gifts for friends; the days when I worked in an office and had a regular income!
Commitment
Every now and then I have to re-commit to my art practice. I don’t take it for granted that I currently have the resources and energy to run an art studio that if you squint and ignore the mess, looks professional. I often have moments when I consider giving it all up: times when the relationship with my art has turned sour, and I need to step back and re-assess what I’m asking of my studio practice. I recognize that my art can’t be *everything* - that’s too much pressure - and I have to choose what role I want my practice to play, and then voice the words of re-committal:
Today I commit to making art that helps me work through confidence issues I’m having - I need my studio to be a healing space.
This month I commit to my art studio being a playful space so I can re-connect with the joy of making art.
This year I commit to my art generating a small income that will pay for a trip to Japan for my birthday.
Confidence
I sold two large pieces of work recently. I was happy because they were both newer pieces from my collection of colorful, graphic paintings. Interestingly, they both sold to Millennial collectors who work in the gaming industry. I think that’s valuable information, and I’ve been researching how to market to the Millennial generation. The sales gave me a much-needed boost of confidence but then I got rejected from a gallery show, and my confidence fell down a deep, gloomy hole: “My work is rubbish! What was I thinking applying to that show? I’ve learned nothing about how to make art that sells! My art is crap!”
Yeah, creative confidence doesn’t last long. I wrote about that HERE, and I’ve been busy printing out positive comments and mantras, leaving them all around my studio:
Your art is beautiful because it’s an expression of you.
It’s okay if other people don’t like or don’t understand your work.
Rejection is part of the professional art life, it’s not a rejection of you as a person.
Remember how far you’ve come.
Making art is a joy.
Nobody owes you their gallery walls.
Preparation
I’m prepping for a small show in spring. It takes me ages to prepare, but it’s one of the ways I commit to my art practice: A few years ago, I vowed that if I were going to exhibit, I would always present work in the most professional way possible within my means. This usually equates to framing paper works and generating written documentation such as a statement or preferably a zine (I’m not a fan of artist statements). All of this takes time. I intended to show my most recent work, but in the end, I selected a few pieces from different projects that hang well together and tell a good story. I find this heartening because I’ve always believed my work is inconsistent, yet while I was selecting from my stash of paintings, I realized that I could create several stories by picking out pieces from different projects I’ve completed over the last few years. And that made me feel better about my work.
Commitment, confidence, preparation: I suppose they are the three cornerstones of professional art practice. If I weren’t committed to creating frequently, I wouldn’t have bodies of work that I can select from to curate appealing shows. If I didn’t prepare before an exhibition, I wouldn’t feel confident showing my work. The three work together.
COMMITMENT + PREPARATION = CONFIDENCE
Spring is a good time to re-set and re-commit. I’ve been struggling in the studio recently - I’m not sure if I still have the energy to commit to professional art practice. I watched a couple of webinars about being a “professional artist”. The webinars are actually sales funnels for membership programs that come with catchy slogans such as “Better than Art School”, and promise to turn you into a “professional” artist within a year. But their version of “professional” is the traditional (aka capitalist, patriarchal, colonial) art world route of pursuing gallery representation, selling work, increasing your prices, and making more money. It’s all money driven.
And of course, there’s nothing wrong with making money and we all need to pay the bills, but what if my version of “professional” doesn’t center money-making as the number one goal in my practice? What if being a professional artist means a commitment to self-expression and the mutual support of other artists? What if I want to learn how to live outside of the traditional art world? What if I want to tear down the art world we’ve inherited and build a new, more equitable one? Where’s the program for that?
The problem I have with programs that centre money-making as the number one measure of success for artists is that art is probably the worst path to generating an income! Seriously, unless you’ve graduated from one of the elite art schools and therefore have an immediate platform, or you’re the granddaughter of a famous painter, or you happen to be a celebrity actor who decides to turn their hand to art (looking at you Johnny Depp), then you may as well forget about art as a wealth builder. Sure, we can all make a few bucks, but enough to buy a house, pay for your weekly food bill, fund your kids’ education? That’s tough. Only the elite few will achieve that level of “success”.
Another problem I have with money-making being the primary goal of an art practice is that in order to sell artwork, you have to make art that sells. And I don’t do that. If I seriously wanted to make some bank right now, I’d hop onto midjourney and create some ai-art - it’s selling like hot cakes. Or I’d paint something that I know is commercially appealing: something with a tiger, or a cowboy, or a pretty unsmiling woman, or a supersized child-like sketch (bonus dollars if it’s created with an oil stick). There are plenty of commercial art formulas out there but none of them include quirky self-portraits of a scowling woman, lol. Nobody wants that on their wall.
So it seems like my best option at the moment is to be an “un-professional” artist. I’ll continue making meaningful bodies of work but I’m not going to compromise my self-expression for dollars (well not this week).
If you’d like to share your thoughts on what a “professional artist” is, please leave them in the comments box below.
Until next time.
JC
Resources I value at the moment:
ALL the courses that come out of Node Center are amazing! These folks are building a new art world. I’m about to start this one: (click image to visit course details)
I’ve been working my way through every oil painting course on Domestika. I really like the content on this platform and the easy delivery style. Plus many of the courses are super affordable. Most of the courses are delivered in Spanish but if you understand that language or can handle the subtitles, I recommend taking a look at what they offer.
I’ve found myself turning back to this book for support. In particular I love the chapter entitled “A Different Rhythm” which makes me ponder on how we as artists can find a different rhythm within this art world.
We need alternative ways of organizing society and processes of decision making that are beyond representative democracies in the capitalist system: a system that has become a sort of techno-political package, monolithic, and therefore is very vulnerable now. -Fernando Garcia-Dory