Art Hell: Do what you love and you'll probably starve

I have an identity problem. I don't know who I am. If you were feeling magnanimous, you might blame it on a feud between my right brain and my left brain. The neurological equivalent of the Hatfields and the McCoys. Or you could say I'm just "well-rounded" (but if you did you'd be talking about my ass).

I use the term schizophrenic. No offense to the truly mentally ill, but sometimes I feel like I'm hanging by a thin thread, trying to figure out if I'm an artist or a scholar or a teacher or just a stupid secretary.

I can't believe I just wrote that. Who do I think I am, to parade my white angst, my privileged existential crisis out for everyone to see? (In my 12 Step program we would call that having a luxury problem. Or an ego problem.) I don't expect your sympathy. No wait, on second thought, I would like a little sympathy. Some recognition that it's not easy being me.

How did I get like this? Thanks for asking. It wasn't always like this. Things were clear to me when I was ten years old. I was going to be an artist and a writer, write and publish my own books. No other career would do. My father was an Oregon State Trooper, my mother was a nurse. Practical, blue collar, put the meat and potatoes on the table kinds of jobs. Nope, not for me. I chose the fourth most difficult way to earn a living (after being a musician, philosopher, or mime): art and writing.

You might be thinking, what's the problem? Lots of people make a living making art and writing. Even when they aren't that good. Think Thomas Kinkade. Or James Patterson. (The links go to reviews that are slightly less than complimentary. Not my reviews. I love Thomas Kinkade. Really.) Clearly, making bad art or writing crappy stories isn't enough to automatically brand you as a loser. No, there's something else wrong with me.

Usually I blame my tendency toward chronic malcontentedness. But you have to admit, the vast swath of middle America doesn't really give much thought to art or support to artists. Their idea of art is... you guessed it, Thomas Kinkade. It's depressing to realize that I could be successful if only I painted pictures that went well with people's couches. Or anything that had butterflies, flowers, or fairies in it.

Do what you love and you'll probably starve? Isn't that a tad pessimistic, you say? Maybe, but I'd call it realistic. Here's an article by career counselor Marty Nemko that explains why it is so hard to make a living doing what you love. Everyone wants to make a living doing what they love. Unfortunately, a lot of us love to make art, write, or work for great non-profit causes. Which is great, but also means there is a lot of competition for the few art/writing/non-profit jobs that happen to exist.

I have a lot more to say, and if I can keep up the momentum, I guess I'll say it. You get the idea. If you have read this far, you are probably an artist or a writer. I'd be interested to hear your story.