I know, blogs are so 2006, but I’ve wanted one for that long—ever since I read Julie Powell’s “Julie/Julia Project” before there was even a book or a movie—and now I finally have a reason to start one.
I’m giving myself two years to find out what kind of living I can make as an artist/designer/maker of things, and the clock starts ticking today. Becoming a professional, 9-to-5 artist was always something I meant to do, but I’ve been too busy chasing metaphorical butterflies to buckle down and do it. For the last twenty years, it’s been like that scene in the second episode of M*A*S*H where Radar is supposed to be sparring with Trapper in the boxing ring, but instead he’s dancing around, bobbing and weaving and doing lots of fancy footwork and practice jabs and completely avoiding throwing an actual punch. That would be me. In perpetual warm-up mode.
Now though, for various reasons, it’s crunch time: be an artist or be . . . what? A tap shoe repair person? An actual butterfly chaser? I’m not trained to be anything else. I’m trained to be an artist, and if I imagine myself at the end of my life not having given it a real effort, I will feel like I’d failed at life. Like I didn’t have the gumption to go for it, and I just settled.
Is making a living as an artist even a possibility though? It’s not like becoming a veterinarian or an electrician where a paycheck is virtually guaranteed. There are a lot of folks out there who are full-time artists, but how well are they really doing? Is it hand-to-mouth or do they have something left at the end of the month? Do they earn enough to make the time commitment worthwhile? Are they getting more fame than fortune? No one’s talking (and it seems gauche to ask), so I’m going to wade in and find out for myself.
This blog will chronicle the adventure.
The countdown to September 1, 2020, begins.
And . . . GO!