Shame On You, Shame On Me

In case you didn't do your homework:

Karen Kitchel's article is a response to an article written by Professor Steven Mannheimer called "Guilty by Association." In his article, Mannheimer describes what Kitchel calls a "conspiracy of silence" that characterizes the academic job hunt:

Everyone understands that 199 of every 200 hopefuls will return to Des Moines or Missoula or Toledo empty-handed. But the interviewers' good manners and the candidates fear of appearing unattractively pessimistic render this statistic almost unmentionable (Mannheimer 15).

Kitchel believes that it isn't only "good manners" that propagates this behavior, it's "a matter of institutional self-preservation" (Kitchel 1). She insists that "if more artists paid attention to such details there might be a few (thousand) less enrolling in grad schools" (1). I'm sure that this is true, but as I've said previously, I don't think it's just a matter of paying attention, it's a matter of being presented with the information in a clear, honest manner. It's very possible that the hopeful demeanor of the MFA job candidate has less to do with fear and more to do with ignorance. Sure, they know it's tough to get a job; sure, they know the chances are slim. But has anyone ever told them exactly how slim? I doubt it. Is there an introductory course in MFA or liberal arts programs that demonstrates the ratio of graduates to job openings? No. Maybe it isn't fear or ignorance, but both, as I described previously; the student is afraid to ask, afraid to face the truth about the probability of failure, and so becomes complicit in maintaining their own ignorance.

However, it's clear as you move through Kitchel's argument comparing the MFA program to a pyramid scheme that the "artists" she holds accountable aren't just the students, but the professors and administrators as well. A pyramid scheme is a financial scam wherein "there is often no real product and no actual market for the supposed product, but instead, a system requiring that you continuously sign up other recruits in order to realize a profit" (1). Pyramid schemes prey on the financially vulnerable (read: lower class), and

rely on investors recruiting others to serve as the income-producing layer underneath. No new blood, no pay-out. If you fail to recruit, you remain on the bottom of the heap, because technically, there's no place to go except up and on top of the backs of your recruits. By definition, the only ones who can benefit from a pyramid scheme are the ones who got there first (Kitchel 2).

The "investors" in this case (or the invested), the "ones who got there first" are the artists and professors in the academy. This is where I feel the analogy falls short. Academic artists don't recruit undergraduate or MFA students directly - they rely on the framework of the Institution to lure them in and keep them there. They indirectly profit from the system; they're guilty insofaras they do nothing to dismantle or expose the inequities, but they are not guilty of malice or extortion (as many participants in a real pyramid scheme are).

So how did they get there first? This has been a question of great interest to me; I find myself constantly seeking the origin of the downward slope - the moment when the value of the liberal arts/MFA degree began to decline, the moment when the jobs dried up, the moment when the silent conspiracy began. Kitchel suggests the 1940's as a place to begin:

Regardless of it's diminished value today, the MFA did start out as a job ticket. The creation of the degree was a direct response to the sudden need for teachers created by the G.I. Bill in 1944 in all disciplines, art included. Thanks to the flood of government scholarship money, student enrollments doubled and kept climbing. For a while, the newly formed departments supplied teachers as planned, but that vacancy was adequately met back in the mid-to-late '70's. It's been surplus ever since (Kitchel 3).

Why didn't this come to light then? How could the production of more and more graduates continue when it was evident that there were less and less jobs? Again, a hopeful quietude was to blame. A greying of the faculty was predicted, and the early 1990's promised large-scale retirement across the academic landscape. Quite simply, those with degrees were lying in wait, biding their time until these jobs opened up. Unfortunately, it never happened. At least not on the scale that everyone predicted. Universities used this time to restructure and cut costs; the part-time and adjunct faculty pandemic began, departments shrank, and resources were reallocated to technology and research. Though the numbers are old, they reveal the asymmetry clearly: Kitchel discovered that the 1990 census shows just over 1.6 million self-proclaimed artists, a 127% increase since 1970, while during the same period, those reporting full or part-time jobs in academia shrunk by 50%. Twice as many artists, half as many jobs. The numbers are likely severely underestimated as well (Kitchel 3).

Now, to be fair, art school isn't just about preparing academic artists and art teachers. Many of those with MFA's might be seeking employment outside academia. But are they faring any better? Kitchel cites a small study done by Julie Ardery at the University of Kentucky in Lexington that suggests not. Ardery originally expected to

find gender differences in the satisfaction and employment rates of studio MFA's once they left school, [but] she quickly discovered instead that nearly all of the 55 alumni interviewed were in the same sinking boat, regardless of gender, media, or any other differences. Most were still shellshocked several years after leaving the department, cobbling together disappointing jobs and wondering what went wrong (Kitchel 3).

These unsuccesful graduates often abandon art for more profitable occupations (though by no means prestigious) as they suffocate under the weight of student loan debt. Imagine the outcry if 90% of all engineering students were unemployed in their field 5 years after graduation. Or medical students. Or business majors. There's a direct correlation here between the value of art in our society and the care and attention that we give this problem. Artists are not only seen as less important, but our education is often regarded as a "personal journey" as opposed to vocational training. And if we don't make it, we obviously didn't have what it takes. What it takes might be some support in finding a job so that we can continue making art.

Why? This beffudles me. Why isn't artist regarded as a job? Why isn't employment the goal of an MFA program? I have a few theories, more on those soon.

I do have one final suggestion though. It's evident that remodeling is necessary on a widespread scale in MFA and liberal arts programs across America. The silent conspiracy needs to be dismantled, the facts and figures need to come to light and be made available for everyone to consider before they make decisions. But what we need most is an abandonment of shame. The shame that we feel from being taken by the system, the shame of being part of the system, the shame of not being able to find employment, the shame that surrounds calling yourself an artist. When no one told me the truth about job prospects and assumed that I knew the score, I never got the sense that the silence was the result of fear or malice; I think now it may have been shame. My professors were ashamed at how poorly the system was designed, how it took advantage, how they were powerless to change it, afraid to change it because it's where their paycheck came from, and ashamed that they felt lucky to be there. Maybe for those foolish enough to be taken in by a pyramid scheme, shame is an incentive as powerful as greed.