The Myth of the Starving Artist
I’m of the Rent generation. Many of us who were in high school and college in the late ’90s caught the bohemian bug. We learned that the real way to be an artist was to be broke, hungry, desperate, and a general mess. There was pride in being a Starving Artist because we all knew that the only true artists were those who suffered. People with money and financial security were sellouts and villains. Viva la vie bohème.
When I was teaching college, I came across the Hamilton generation. These were the kids who, while scrappy and hungry, had a different north star. Their goal was not to suffer, but to win. My students received one message that I most certainly did not: financial knowledge is… cool. Thank you, Alexander, for your service.
Because guess what? Being a starving artist is terrible! After grad school in NYC, I didn’t go to work in a squatters’ garret, making art late into the night. I went to work at a restaurant in midtown so I could afford to pay my - you guessed it - rent. I had student debt, no savings, and no cushion. Was I dreaming of my next creative project and basking in the midday sun, full of inspiration and drive? No. I was tired from working until 2am, trying to figure out how I was going to get any creative projects going when I also had to take jobs that were unfulfilling and draining.
Scarcity does not bread creativity. It breeds stress, anxiety, and a narrow focus. Creativity is breath, breadth, openness.
I propose that as the season turns and many of us work with, coach, or teach creatives, we focus a whole heck of a lot on making sure we’re promoting financial literacy.
One of the first things foundations look for when considering whether to approve a grant is fiscal health. Does the organization consistently run a deficit without a strategy to cover it? Do they have a cash reserve safety net? How long can they survive until they next receive income? And, most importantly, do they have a reasonable and thoughtful plan?
What if we were to highly value financial wellness for individuals, not only for institutions? What if it was considered just as important to be working towards fiscal health as it was to be working towards fame and accolades?
First, I propose that financial education become a cornerstone of all programs at the undergrad and graduate levels. Too many of us earn our degrees and suddenly realize we don’t know even the most basic basics. What deductions do I claim on my tax forms? What’s the difference between a 1099 and a W-2? How much do I need to be saving from my income to pay self-employment taxes? Let’s make sure we are training everyone to have a working knowledge of budgeting, taxes, insurance, balancing income and expenses, debt and borrowing options, investing, and retirement planning.
Next, let’s make sure every independent creative understands that they are a business, and help them get set up as such. Once a simple LLC or other appropriate entity is established and a separate bank account for the business is created, we construct a platform for writing off expenses, tracking income properly and easily, and more. Self-employed folks who had legitimized themselves as a business had a much easier time getting Pandemic Unemployment Assistance, for example. Let’s make this legitimacy standard practice. Being an official business is a part of creating a safety net for ourselves and our work.
The psychological benefits of having a solid financial education and plan are immense. Does it mean we’ll suddenly have a steady income stream and the projects of our dreams? No. But it will help us sleep at night. And if we can spend more time in restful rejuvenation and less time in fearing the unknown, we will become better at what we love to do and, I believe, better citizens and stewards of our world.
Vive la vie créative!
ps. Did this hit home for you? Comment below and let me know!
A version of this article appeared in the Stage Directors and Choreographers union’s SDC Journal, Fall 2020.
