Ars Gratia Artis

It’s nearly impossible to make a living creating something artistic. So why do it?

“You don’t believe in paying actors for their time and talent?”

“I didn’t say that. I said that if I create the opportunity for artists to create, then I get paid first. If I’m not getting paid, no one is. My time and talent are worth something as well but the early WNEP Theater model was that if we made any money above costs in a given production, that cash went to the next show.”

“What if you made more money than the cost of the next one?”

“Rarely happened in the earliest of days but when we did, we’d sit up in my attic and decide what to do with it. For the most part, we’d collectively decide to put it into the next show because that artistic autonomy was more vital than the stipend people could get for doing intentionally non-commercial, shoot for the fences stuff we were attempting. That model was born from our very first written show which we dubbed A Non-revue of Unimprovisation and really was a chance for the ensemble to just create whatever we wanted to and see if it worked for an audience. That sort of opportunity was extremely limited and we were all hungry to try new things.”

“And that was OK with everybody involved?”

“Not everybody. Some wanted compensation and they ended up splitting. Some wanted recognition and held on for a while thinking that eventually we’d get a hit that would propel us up into cool kid territory. Some left and came back. All said, WNEP Theater put on more original work than most tiny companies at the time and no one made any money doing it. When we lost the venue on Halsted, the board required a financial audit because some folks thought I was skimming cash to pay my rent. Turned out I had spent $85,000 of my own money over fifteen years without compensation.”

“And you’re OK with that?”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I weren’t OK with it.”

Art for art's sake—the usual English rendering of l'art pour l'art, a French slogan from the latter half of the 19th century—is a phrase that expresses the philosophy that 'true' art is utterly independent of any and all social values and utilitarian function, be that didactic, moral, or political. Such works are sometimes described as autotelic, a concept that has been expanded to embrace "inner-directed" or "self-motivated" human beings.

You want to help world hunger? Stop sending them food. Don’t send them another bite, send them U-Hauls. Send them a guy that says, “You know, we’ve been coming here giving you food for about 35 years now and we were driving through the desert, and we realized there wouldn’t BE world hunger if you people would live where the FOOD IS! YOU LIVE IN A DESERT!! UNDERSTAND THAT? YOU LIVE IN A FUCKING DESERT!! NOTHING GROWS HERE! NOTHING’S GONNA GROW HERE! Come here, you see this? This is sand. You know what it’s gonna be 100 years from now? IT’S GONNA BE SAND!! YOU LIVE IN A FUCKING DESERT! We have deserts in America, we just don’t LIVE in them, assholes!”

I’d say the same thing for the many artists out in the world complaining that they can’t make a living as an artist. There’s NO MONEY IN BEING AN ARTIST! GET A JOB WHERE THEY PAY YOU TO DO THINGS! YOUR THEATER DEGREE IS MEANINGLESS! GET A JOB AND BE AN ARTIST, TOO!

There's about a 1 in 300 million chance of winning the Powerball or Mega Millions.

"I like to point out that if you'd been buying 2,000 tickets a week since the time of Jesus there's a better than even chance that you wouldn't have won yet. So this is extremely long odds," mathematician Kenneth Alexander said.

The general consensus is that a very small percentage of actors make it big. This number remains close to Samuel Arbesman's calculations in which only 0.04% of the overall acting population become famous. In reality, it could be even less. Currently, A-Listers make up about 0.0002% of SAG-AFTRA members.

The chances of your book becoming a New York Times best seller in 2012—0.002 %. 70% of New York Times bestsellers make less than $5,000.

The median income of those with art degrees who made their living as artists in New York City in 2012 was $25,000. The average apartment cost in New York City in 2012 was $36,000.

It seems that making a sustainable living as an artist—writer, actor, musician, painter—has better odds than winning the lottery but not by much. Making a living as an artist with a singular voice or perspective rather than artistry by commission (working for an agency or institution designed to create artwork and music for corporations) is closer to the gambler’s odds of hitting a jackpot on a slot machine.

Boiled down it’s nearly impossible to make a living creating something artistic. So why do it?

“If you’re only making art—writing books, recording podcasts, producing theater and storytelling things—for yourself what does that say about you and the art?”

“Interesting take. I do not create what art I do for myself. I want people to read my books, listen to my podcasts. I want an audience to either enjoy or be enraged by the manifestations of my lunatic sense of humor. I just don’t care if it makes any money. My metric for success is not commercial but autonomous.

“Take Literate Ape for example. David’s goal was to be a success on the terms he set which included being widely read, amazingly cool, and money-making. He wanted to create something that would allow he and I the chance to quit our day jobs and just do the Ape. That was never my goal—I mean, if it happened, groovy—because my metric of success is focused on the creation rather than the result. We tried paying writers for a few years but the money came from our pockets and he bought a house and had kids so that was no longer sustainable.”

“Well, I’ll never do theater for free and for audiences of three people again.”

“That’s fine. Do your thing. I’d rather create stuff and hope it gets traction with a few people than not create because it just isn’t fair that art doesn’t pay my electric bill.”

My mom bristles a bit when she hears me wax on about art for art’s sake. It feels like I’m ungrateful for the presence of those family and friends who help me out when I’m on my ass. She feels like I’m looking down my nose at those who work for a living and are there to keep me housed when I’m out being a free and unencumbered artiste. I remind her that I’ve always had a day job. Always. I always will because despite my daydreamy perspective on art, I’m a pragmatist who prefers to own a car, a phone, and eat regularly. My stance on art being its own end has been consistent for decades.

My man, Joe Janes, is in Scotland as I write this, losing money on a production he wrote and performs in at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. He’s killing it—great reviews and, according to him, solid houses in the tiny space they rented—but I’d guess when they finish up and return to Chicago, no one will have made any money. Why do it then? Because it’s an experience. It’s his artistic achievement. It’s a small section of people who will laugh and marvel at it and live to tell about the show for long after it closes.

I expect he does it because he can and it’s fun. Is there the hope in the back of his mind that the artistic success could lead to a Powerball win? Of course. Does he do it for that possibility? Maybe a little but he’s been doing this for long enough that it can’t possibly be for that.

In the end, the question positions itself as a series of Which would you rather? Would you rather spend three times the time and energy to get your work published and paid or spend your time writing and self publish? Would you rather create at the behest of someone paying you to do it their way or hone your own artistic voice?

Would you rather spend your very short time on this ball in endless and ever-expanding space complaining about how unfair it is you can’t make a living as an artist or get a day job so you can be an artist creating things when you aren’t making a living?

My answer has always been the latter but my gambling jones is limited to falling in love with incompatible women. I am not a successful gambler in that regard.