‘If you’re an artist, don’t let your integrity get in the way of being paid’

The Joe Must Go On, a column by Joe Hakim

A look at Arts & Culture, and not always through his rose-tinted monocle

Applying for things is odd.

To even stand a chance of motivating yourself to start filling out all the necessary forms, you have to force yourself to completely focus on what you’ll do if you get it. But the second after you click ‘send’ you immediately have to focus on what you’ll do if you don’t get it.

A cursory glance at some of my work in The Hull Story so far could lead to the impression that I’m obsessed with money. And maybe I am, but only in the sense that everyone I know is; it’s needed to pay for things like food, shelter and other items/services, without which one would perish. It’s called ‘earning a living’ for a reason.

Being in the position – once again, like pretty much everyone I know – of starting the year in a desperate scramble to look for work has forced me to think about some of the larger topics around ‘earning a living’ as a creative, and how that works in the wider context of the creative industries.

Because I don’t think we talk about it nearly enough, especially when we’re in the early stages of hoping to ‘make it’ as an artist, writer or performer.

And what does ‘making it’ mean in the first place?

I thought I’d take the opportunity to make some observations, acquired via my own personal experiences of trying to be a ‘jobbing’ freelance creative over the last few years, and hopefully dispel some myths while I’m doing it.

When people talk about the need for greater diversity and representation in the creative industries, one key point that seldom gets addressed is how one of the greatest barriers to participation and engagement in the arts is the mystery surrounding money, and the all-important question of how to earn it consistently enough to the degree of being able to support not only yourself, but a family also.

And increasingly, discussions around these absolute concrete realities get entangled or side-tracked around abstract notions of ‘authenticity’.

One of most destructive trains of thought amongst working-class and minority artists is the assumption that seeking help and support – financial or otherwise – automatically gets them ‘struck off the artistic roll-call,’ to paraphrase Bill Hicks.

I’ve seen far too much talent burn out and drive itself into the ground due to a heartfelt belief that earning money for their work is somehow ‘selling out’.

Very often, this perception of ‘selling out’ is entirely internal, someone worrying about how they are perceived by their peers within their own community. And on the rare occasion cries of ‘sell out’ do make it to their ultimate destination of expression – social media – it’s usually working-class or minority creatives attacking other working class or minority creatives.

This leads to a polarised atmosphere where the entire subject becomes taboo, those who need it most miss out, and everything carries on as ‘normal’.

This has led me to an anxiety around the whole term of ‘working-class artist’ and what that actually means.

I worry that using an umbrella term to try and cover such a vast range of backgrounds, experiences, and circumstances is potentially damaging as it reduces and fetishises the day-to-day realities of millions of people into a badge of ‘authenticity’. I’m guilty of it myself, as I simply can’t come up with a better alternative. It feels like too big of a concept to grasp.

But I digress.

I try to be brutally honest when asked about money. Whenever I’m trotted out in a class in front of people, no matter what their age, circumstances or background, the first question is always a variation on: ‘How do you earn a living as a writer?’

To which I always reply: ‘You don’t.’

I’d love to say at that point I do a Richard Nixon-style arms-extended-two-peace-signs manoeuvre, walk out and triumphantly collect my money, but I go a bit further than that. I swiftly follow that bombshell with: ‘But if you’re lucky, you might earn some money around writing.’

The bottom-line is that most writers/artists/performers/whatever supplement their work with other work.

Something that I don’t think gets stated enough is that it’s perfectly fine – and in a lot of cases preferable – to indulge and pursue your art as a hobby or side-line. I say in some cases preferable, as this effectively separates your passion for your art from your need to earn money. Because once the art, music or literature you produce also becomes the way you bills at the end of the month, your relationship to it will change, massively so; it has to.

‘The only guaranteed way to earn money from art is to teach’

And the only 100 per cent guaranteed way to earn money from art, music or literature is to teach it to others. Whether that’s in a formal setting like a school or university, or in community focused work, such as workshops or courses delivered in partnership with other organisations, such as library services or the NHS.

Interesting fact: many ‘authentic’ artists sneer at the very idea of delivering workshops, and the term ‘workshop’ itself is mocked, despite the fact most of this kind of activity seeks to work with prisons, schools and disadvantaged communities.

It perpetuates an out-of-date stereotype of middle-class students foisting culture upon unwilling communities, and it probably prevents more working-class/minority artists from getting involved in that kind of work.

Once you go beyond the realms of education as means of generating income, it gets a lot more complicated, but can be roughly divided up into two categories: funding/sponsorship and commercial.

They’re both difficult to talk about, as it’s easy to once again find yourself in the murky depths of the ‘authenticity’ rabbit-hole, being screamed at because you’re talking in terms like ‘generating and selling product’. This, despite the fact selling your painting/book/record/event directly to an audience is generally perceived to be the ‘purest’ form of earning your living as an artist.

And when it comes to funding – whether it’s via agency/organisations or crowdfunding and patron schemes – this too can be a thorny subject, as it’s easy to perceive the whole system as some sort of secret club that operates under its own rules, only furthering the careers of the ‘initiated’.

This creates an incredibly frustrating situation where those most deserving of funding and support are reluctant to even entertain the notion. That’s if they receive any advice or support in how to apply for something or fill out a bid in the first place.

‘The pandemic and Brexit are twin horrors for the creative sector’

With the twin horrors of the pandemic and the effects of Brexit completely turning the creative sector upside down, we need to have some painful discussions. If we’re being told that the arts and culture sector’s contribution to the UK economy increased by £390 million in a year, then we have to address why the creatives driving that sector have never been more skint and unsure of their future.

I honestly believe that a lot of mistrust within artists for tackling the subject of earning money is just the surface element of a much deeper problem: the void of insecurity, and the crushing weight of all the barriers they know they have to overcome.

And one of the first, most insurmountable barriers is to challenge the narrative that equates artistic integrity with poverty. We can’t have working-class and minority voices removing themselves from the conversations we desperately need around earning a living in the creative industries before they’ve even begun.