Astronaut or Astro-not

I've been MIA for the last ten days because I've been reading up and working hard on my NYFA Fellowship Applications. I've discovered a number of resources for emerging artists in the last few months, but NYFA provides the most diverse and substantial help; from fellowships to SOS grants, the money is there - but you have to fight for it. Not only is there competition from other artists, but there's also an aspect of competition with yourself. Maybe competition isn't the right word, but there's definitely a struggle of sorts - a struggle with new forms and formats, with paperwork, with strict guidelines, with articulating your artistic principles (in less than 1000 characters please!), and with designating the self (and products thereof) as your primary economic engine.

The conversion of the self into a brand and the conversion of your art into a series of products/commodities is an emotionally, politically, economically, and ethically tumultuous process, to say the least. I don't think I'm qualified to speak to the issue in the economic terms it deserves (value, use value, exchange value), but I do think I can speak to the emotional labyrinth it calls forth. Unfortunately they're inextricably linked, so forgive me if I cross the line incoherently.

I've been doing all I can to learn about how to create opportunities for myself as an emerging artist, including signing up for NYFA's MARK program , a "new statewide six-month program for visual artists who want a unique opportunity for individualized focus on the professional side of their creative practice." Sadly, so far this has meant nothing but a lot of meetings, seminars, homework, sifting, and filtering. I'm reminded of an old episode of This American Life where they conducted interviews with people who had "dream jobs" that didn't turn out so fantastic. The most memorable? Astronaut. They spoke with a few different astronauts - all of which had dreamed of being astronauts from the time they were very young - and the truth was shocking. It took them years and years to become astronauts. Countless hours in simulators, in flight, in testing and training, undergoing rigorous psychological counseling, etc. But once they achieved the honor of becoming an astronaut, what was their daily routine? Boredom. Paperwork. Meetings. Most of them were never even slated to test experimental aircraft, let alone go into space. The joke was, they were astro-nots, not astronauts. And it wasn't through any fault of their own; they weren't unqualified, they just weren't needed at the time. Sound familiar? Rings of the common line in a rejection letter from a publisher: "We regret to inform you that your submission does not meet our needs at this time." What's the tacit implication? But keep trying. So the astronauts are astronauts in name only, probably won't ever make it into space, but they're supposed to keep hoping and trying. Just like people who are artists and authors in name only (who haven't had the good fortune of being published or sponsored) are supposed to keep hoping and trying. So who's the real astronaut? Who's the real author? The real artist? They both are. One just goes to space, and the other doesn't. The notion here is that being an astronaut involves a lot more than the occasional space mission. It involves a lot of bullshit. But, the astronauts are getting paid, whether they're headed into the final frontier or not. Here's where the analogy ends. Because unpublished authors and underground artists aren't usually getting paid. So when we do bullshit, it's doubly insulting because we usually have to do it for free.

I'm not getting paid to do all this paperwork and go to all these meetings and seminars. I'm not getting paid to spend hours in my basement trying to figure out how to build frames for my etchings. And it's hard. It's hard to look at the clock and think that the time I'm spending isn't generating a little capital that I can exchange for food. And it's really hard to look at pieces that took 20 hours to create, but if/when they sell, they'll only bring the equivalent of 10 dollars an hour. That would be fine if it were constant - but right now, my artistic income is intermittent. I guess that's at the heart of everything I'm doing to learn the business side of art - I just want to see if there's any way I can generate consistent (if modest) income from my labor. I'm not afraid of work. I like it. I don't have pie-in-the-sky dreams of becoming an art superstar, I just want to be a working artist. But not one who's working another job.

First order of business: create a venue where people can see and purchase your work. Check.
Check out the UGLY WINNERS one night art show at my house, 61 Elmwood Ave, Buffalo, October 11, 2008, 8p-11p.