Today is the Day I Give Up Being an Artist
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Sorry for the clickbait title — but it’s not entirely untrue.
I am an above-average creative person. I don’t have a lot of technical skill, but I do have a lot of creativity and zest in my art and writing, and sometimes I get noticed. I go through periods of making a LOT of stuff, and most can attest to me posting on social media constantly.
In 2009, I got discovered by a greeting card representative company. I was 22 working retail. A couple nights previous, I took a heaping dose of melatonin trying to fight off insomnia and instead of sleeping, I made a bunch of collaged dinosaurs in little outfits. At 1am I started ripping up old National Geographics and cutting out tiny pieces of cloth and behold, the Complimenting Carnivores were born.
My ex-friend (HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED) graciously helped me get them into a local store. From that store, a rep company found my work.
At 22, with no money and no prospects (yes I know it’s a meme, but it’s true), I was suddenly flung into the world of art creation for profit. I quit my job (not the best idea, but also retail sucks so…), and became a full time artist for three years. I ended up making it into 50+ stores with many re-orders. I was a churning art machine.
And, let’s be real:
It was exhilarating.
It boosted my ego.
It was also isolating.
It was NOT profitable.
It was soul destroying.
Rep companies always wanted more birthday cards. I made grief cards in protest.
Eventually, I hit a financial and emotional wall. My father was dying and I was supposed to pay 1000+ dollars to go to a greeting card trade show in NYC in order to really “make it big”. I didn’t have the money. I asked my rep how people afford these events, and was told that a great majority of folks have partners that pay for their lifestyle so they could pursue their art. I sighed.
I had a partner at the time, but he was on his way out. He was emotionally cheating on me. Exploring ways to detach his soul from his body so he didn’t have to be in the same room as me.
Then, my father passed.
My partner and I broke up.
I was burnt out and didn’t want to make art again.
Time marched on.
And then, the pandemic happened. In 2020, a week after my birthday, I lost my marketing job and entered into a year of joblessness. I was with myself in silence and faced extreme discomfort. From that uncomfortable place, new art finally bloomed.
From that new art, a few new greeting cards.
Greeting cards, GOD DAMN IT.
I never thought I’d see them rear their ugly head again! A month into 2023, nearly 14 years later, I got my cards into more stores. I had a little art show where I made a couple hundred bucks. Being an artist really did creep up on me this time.
The mind-wheels start churning. Do I quit my job? Do I make a go at this again?
I look at how much printing costs are for the cards. In one store, I broke even. In another, I made 56 dollars. I have dozens of printed cards that haven’t been sold, sitting on my table. I get asked to do custom work. My soul starts to deflate, unable to see their vision, or my direction. No, Sarah, you do not quit your job.
When I close my eyes, I see visions of what I wanted when I was a child. To be a children’s book illustrator. To paint nothing but jellyfish. To give talks on a book I wrote. To be by the beach, sketching people diving in the water. I wanted bright and colorful hair. A million tattoos. And to be paid a million dollars a day and to never think about money again.
The dream of being an artist was to be free. Instead I turned into a realistic stereotype. A starving, struggling one. I asked my ego to step aside as I looked up startling statistics:
“The median income for respondents was just $20,000 to $30,000, with 60 percent making less than $30,000. 19 percent of artists make over $50,000 a year.” (Source)
“Those from households with an annual income of $1 million are 10 times more likely to become artists than those from families with a $100,000.” (Source)
A friend of mine used to work with artists. She told me that many made it big, had huge gallery showings, were on the news…but then what? The truth is, when you make it “big” as an artist, it really means only a moment in time. A gallery showing, a book deal, a popular greeting card that sells a couple thousand dollars worth.
Beyond that, it’s the hustle. The grind. The constant attempt at “connections.” The rejection. Long periods without getting paid.
And then what? You still need to make rent. You may want to retire some day. You may want to make art without thinking about profit all the time.
The older I get, the more I realize that it’s ok to not want that for yourself, even if you’re talented. Even if you have the “IT” factor. Even if you’ve got an official ARTIST SPIRIT ™. I am an artist, and I’m proud of my accomplishments. But I am also very tired and have never been good at winning the statistical lottery.
I’m turning 36 in a couple of weeks. The Realization of Adulthood is upon me. I have very little in my retirement. I do not have a partner. I do not make enough money at my current job. I knew logically for a while that I probably won’t make it as an artist financially, but it is now oozing into my soul for the first time as an adult.
These things finally ring true to me:
I’m not going to make it as an artist.
I cannot count on this as my secret job that will just “happen” one day.
I cannot count on this as my super power, even though it feels very powerful at times.
I cannot always rely on loosy-goosy novelty jobs for the “story” to make me “interesting” without making enough money for rent and insurance.
I am so proud of my friends who are going along the Artist Path still, and I will support them any way I can, while trying hard to not feel jealous that I cannot keep up.
At the end of the day, it’s OK to not always want to grind. To give in to hustle culture to feel like I’m worthy if I’m productive or “make it” momentarily.
I’ve worn my struggling artist title as a badge of honor (and fooled myself because growing up, my dear mother helped me when I needed it, so was I really struggling outside of my troubled mind?), but now I realize I want something else. I want a house with a sweet old dog one day.
Today, I am finding myself letting go of a dream to replace it with stability and hopefully slightly-less-troubled future.
Today I recognize that I’ll probably always (in the recesses of my mind regardless of how much self reflection I do) have hopes of being discovered.
Today, and hopefully moving forward, I’m going to create art to discover myself instead. Or maybe just for fun. That works too.
