Most of my apartment is dark, gloomy and cluttered with functional objects like remote controls and value sized Tums bottles, but I have this tiny kitchen with a tiny breakfast nook that’s surrounded by windows and flooded with sunlight for part of the day and most of the year. It’s one of the few areas of my house that makes it into shareable photos. Because of the light and the houseplants it’s the closest I get to achieving an upload worthy cottagecore aesthetic in my home. Believe it or not, my bedroom doesn’t have creamy bare walls and a perfectly unmade bed inexplicably dappled with cherries and plums under diffused sunlight and I do not have a handcrafted mother of pearl hair comb which is intentionally placed on a minimalist vintage credenza.
As our beautiful autumn days get shorter I’m maximizing the fleeting morning light by taking photos of my new ceramic work to put on my website. When I take photos I generally feel like I’m fumbling through a messy and imperfect situation and hoping for the best… or at least hoping for something that will do the job. This is a part of my practice where I actively try to drop my tendency towards perfectionism. I plan to take many photos of many ceramic treasures with my time so my rule is generally “done is better than good” so I can focus on the work itself. Maybe this isn’t the best way… but it’s what I’ve got.
This fumbling through defines a lot of how I approach being an artist these days. I have certain things that I know work well for me, and there never seems to be extra time or money to improve upon them or even rethink them. I have vast dreams of not only how I’d like to run my business, but ideas and projects that need space and time and resources to be nurtured into being. I love sitting down to hand build vases at the fold out plastic table in a corner of my house that I call a studio… because it’s grounding and nice and replenishing… but I dream of greater adventures in art making. I’d like to make a piece that takes up the whole kiln. I’d like to spend a month hand painting a whole poem onto a massive sculpture in underglaze. I would like to take another crack at oil painting! I’d like to make bigger and messier art in a bigger and messier studio. I crave to not be fumbling through, but to have a clear vision that’s executed in a way that feels slow and intentional.
I guess you could say that I have my dream job. For the majority of my adult life I lived in a half fantasy of making art while supporting that vocation by working part time in the service industry. It was supposed to make me financially comfortable and free to make art without monetary burdens. But, if I’m being honest, I found that type of work really difficult, and there was a lot less art making involved than what was the plan. I was exhausted from 10 hour late night bartending shifts, and also for the first time in my life making enough money to comfortably live on my own, and maybe have an extra grand in my bank account to spend on unnecessary things. Earning a living through tips to pay the bills was addictive, which made it easy for the side hustle to become my career, and the pursuit of a creative path felt more and more like it was just a dream. I felt extremely trapped working in the service industry and maybe I will one day write something more vast about that, but to oversimplify how I got out: in the past years, as I was facing the reality of my infertility diagnosis (which felt like a full time job of its own), I somehow slowly adjusted to ditching bar and restaurant work and making my money as a full time artist.
(I would like to briefly add that having a part time job to support an art practice is a perfectly amazing way to be an artist. I wasn’t great at it, but I know it works well for so many and I wouldn’t want to come across as disparaging of that. I think for me juggling the extra bean bag of infertility is what pushed me out of this work mode for good)
When I’m feeling good about myself I am so proud that I’ve managed to pull this off. On darker days, I struggle with knowing that I’ve devoted my life to a pursuit where I’m still living very hand to mouth, and oftentimes just barely. Generally, I feel very blessed and motivated to keep this crazy train on track. But, when your tiny income is reliant on your creative output, there’s not a lot of space to fuck around, to try new things, or make something just because you feel like it. You have your time and resources to make something… so you make something that will help you feed yourself or buy that humidifier you need or maybe treat yourself to some nice lotion.
Making art to make rent also often means I don’t follow higher aspirations which would mean carving out time to write more grants, or work on project development, or develop bodies of new work for gallery shows which would in turn generate more recognition and momentum in my career. While there is much more upward growth, there’s just too much uncertainty in these pursuits, and I can’t afford uncertainty at the moment.
There’s a lot less glamour in being a full time artist than I pictured. When I was young I thought it would look like that Helen Frankenthaler studio portrait everyone was putting on their tumblr feeds 10 years ago, but in reality it looks like a messy corner of my house that’s part studio and part office where half of what I do is print shipping labels and constantly move things around to make space for other things. At the peak of unromantic art making: the last print I made on my iPad was made by slowly chipping away it languishing on my couch at the end of long days while half-watching action movies. This is the way I make it work so I can make rent.
In some deep, buried place I think I am worried that making art for money robs it of its validity. Is the art I make as valuable because I turn it over fast to make a buck? People do not like mixing money with art. When I was in art school (which put me into impossible levels of debt for decades) there wasn’t a class on how to make money, turn art making into a job, or even on how to write a grant. There was barely even a mention of it. We mostly just sat around in white rooms talking about how someone's papier-mâché sculpture made us feel. Centuries after art was only made in the name of what was holy I guess we still have some leftover morality weirdness that art should be sacred and not made filthy with cold hard cash. Nonetheless, I still wonder what my practice would look like if I were working the long game. Would it be better or worse? Would I be happier and more fulfilled? Would I feel a greater sense of belonging in my community? If I wasn’t always running to catch the bus, wouldn’t slowing down and enjoying the walk be nice?
I hope this entry hasn’t been bubble bursting or demystifying in any way (I guess that statement presumes that I’m mysterious?!). To be clear: I love being an artist and I love connecting with others through my work. Even though it’s not easy, I love making it and I am so proud of myself that I can get by with this as my vocation. Is it perfect? No. Are there pieces missing for it to be a “dream job?” Very that.
I’ll be dropping some new ceramic pieces in the shop on Friday Nov. 12th at 1:00pm. Some very cute limited edition mini No Name bud vases and speckled martini glasses. All photographed as I fumbled through getting the last of the morning’s good sunlight.
Hi Anna,
Such an honest d reflective post. I am currently doing a Freelance Journalism course to head down the commercial route after writing an uncommercial blog for ten years. I relate to the compromises with the house and the struggle, muddling along when there's this parallel realm of perfection that remains elusive. However, I somehow retain hope and inspiration and keep striving like yourself. Never give up.
Best wishes,
Rowena
Hi Anna,
Such an honest d reflective post. I am currently doing a Freelance Journalism course to head down the commercial route after writing an uncommercial blog for ten years. I relate to the compromises with the house and the struggle, muddling along when there's this parallel realm of perfection that remains elusive. However, I somehow retain hope and inspiration and keep striving like yourself. Never give up.
Best wishes,
Rowena