Art as Our Work

Paperback version of Shadows: A Collection of Poetry

We live in a marvelous, magical time. We have the capacity and freedom to make creative choices with our lives, and we have the technology and access to put our creations into print or e-form to make our voices heard anywhere on the planet.  When you think about it, it boggles the mind. At least it boggles my mind. I think about all the great artists, writers, poets, scientists, and other creative types who lived in lives of relative obscurity. I wonder if motivated only by the desire to create, they didn't often wonder whether or not anyone would ever be able to hear their voices, enjoy their work, or even have access to their creations?

Last night in talking to an artist friend of mine, I was reminded, as I am on a daily basis, of all the choices we have to make when we devote and commit ourselves to lives of creativity. We all need to work to keep ourselves afloat. Even Maslow understood that the basic needs had to be met before we were free enough, stable enough, and healthy enough to reach the our level of human potential.  He was only half right though. For writers and artists often give up some of what others would say are the "necessities" quite simply so that they can do their art. Our friends and families, well meaning though they are, often encourage us to get a 'real' job, not understanding that our art is our work. 

Many writers, even the most famous ones, historically and living writers, have been well-educated, had careers, maintained relationships and families, and lived fairly conventional lives. 
William Carlos Williams, for example practiced medicine in New Jersey his entire career while also being a poet. Poet, Wallace Stevens, worked for Hartford Accident and Indemnity for over 40 years, refusing to leave his job when he became famous. He also refused to accept the Pullitzer Prize for Literature because it would require him to leave his job with the Hartford company. Poet, Phillip Larkin, was a librarian at HullU niversity's library when he wrote his poetry. Bram Stoker, the author of "Dracula" was the personal assistant to an actor and the business manager of the Lyceum Theater in London for most of his life. Alice in Wonderland's author, Lewis Carroll, was a teacher, mathematician, and photographer. 

Mystery writers,  Dashell Hammet and John Grishem, had jobs that later became part of their genre. Hammet was a private detective and Grishem was an attorney and a member of the House of Representatives representing Mississippi. Jack London was an oyster pirate, gold prospector, and a hobo, riding the rails to gather stories. Essayist and poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, ran a school for girls out his home with his brother. He also was a minister and lecturer. Henry David Thoreau, was Emerson's handy man, worked for his family's pencil company,  taught and sold vegetables to keep himself together. Nathanial Hawthorne, of The Scarlet Letter fame, worked for the Boston Custom's house as well as being a surveyor and inspector for the Port of Salem. Zane Gray, was able to give up his much-hated job as a dentist at the age of 40, when he  became a successful writer.

We often do strange things to take care of our families and to help ourselves survive. J.D. Salinger, was an entertainment director on a Swedish cruise ship.  Franz Kafka, was a chief legal secretary for an insurance company, Tom McCarthy was a nude model in  Prague and a bartender in Berlin at an Irish bar. John Steinbeck ran a fish hatchery and led guided tours in the Lake Tahoe area. T.S. Eliot worked for Lloyd's Bank in London, where he was inspired to write his famous poem, The Wasteland. Robert Frost worked in a light bulb factory and worked as a newsboy after leaving Dartmouth College after just a few months. Ken Kesey volunteered for CIA experiments with LSD where he was inspired to write One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest. Kurt Vonnegut worked for a Saab dealership. Siri Hustdvedt, author of What I Loved, worked as a window model at Bloomingdales. Stephen King worked as a school janitor, James Joyce sang for his supper to support himself, and David Shields had a series of jobs, all of which he was fired from including, McDonalds, a fabric store, and a school custodian. Joseph Heller was a blacksmith's apprentice. Harper Lee was an airlines reservation clerk before she wrote To Kill a Mockingbird. 

A number of us writers start out as English teachers, including Dan Brown, J.K.Rowlings, to name just two. 
Many women writers cast their fate to the winds, starting out with just pennies in their pockets to take their chances at doing what their hearts desire. Patti Smith wrote Just Kids after going to New York City to become a writer with just a one-way ticket in her pocket. Dorothy Parker set up shop as a NYC writer in a $75 a month apartment on 54th. Her small one bedroom flat was both her office and home, and the site where other artists and writers gathered. 

Allesandra Stanley, a New York Times writer, wrote upon the death of author and screenwriter,  Nora Ephrom, "... she had a brilliant career, actually several at once, and took risks in all of them." A friend of mine once said that when she went to see Anais Nin speak at a university gathering, the question was asked, "What's it like to be friends with all the famous people you've known, and did you think you would be so famous when you first me?"  To which Nin replied, something to the effect,  "Look around you. Think about your friends who are artists and writers. You live your lives, you do what you must, and you  pursue your passions." That's what it was like.  

And dear writer and artist friends, that is what it is like. We do our work, we create, we figure out ways to pay the bills, keep a roof over our heads, and we find the time and means to do what we need and want to do to create  our art. We make sacrifices, we make choices, and we give up one path to pursue another. Rather than worrying about whether or not we've made the right choice, I believe we must answer the call of our hearts and souls, and just plow on ahead. Listen to that inner voice that calls you to do what may seem impossible, but do it anyway. Find a way. Act on the inspiration. Do the impossible. When we move from that inner spirit, doors open. Maybe not in the way that we imagine or hope, but they open, and we can go on through. Take the risks. Follow the hunches. Act from passion. And what follows is you have at the very least lived life fully connected to the creative process. At the most, you will enrich others with your art. I was prompted to write this piece by two people this morning. One is my artist friend who is trying to decide how to enter her artwork in a couple of contests, and how to choose a way to continue to support herself as an artist. The other is a local photogapher, who does beautiful work and shares it regularly online and in shops around town. Her work is exquisite, but she was criticized by another photographer for manipulating her work.  Not surprising, to find this competitive nastiness in the artworld or anywhere else. However, to allow ourselves to be moved by anyone's opinion of our work to the point where we stop working, we stop being in love with what we do, or we waste a single minute of our precious lives trying to convince anyone else of our worthiness as an artist or our right and indeed, need to pursue our work regardless of what anyone else thinks or believes about it or our worthiness. We are each full of gifts to share, and that is what we must do. Commit to your writing, your art, and a life of passionate risktaking.