So, according to a shocked pundit, people are into NFTs for the money. Wasn’t that the point? Any pretentions towards promoting the work of artists went out of the window when every man and his dog jumped on the bandwagon in the thrall of the investment property syndrome and the potential of making a killing, as they say in stocks trading. Somewhere along the line we went from creating art as something to enjoy for its own sake, to art not just as a commercial product, but art to be valued only as something to be traded to the highest bidder. While art and money may seem to be at opposite poles and the antithesis of each other in fact they have one thing in common – they are both based upon illusion and wizardry. When the stock market can lose fifty billion in value in an hour and then recover it the next day you could be forgiven for asking, where did it go? Art is no different. The vast sums paid for works of art are also illusions and the value can also disappear overnight. However, all of this has little to do with artists earning a living and even the illusion of gentrification of dismal city streets with the odd taxpayer-funded mural or public sculpture has more to do with art being used to generate moral imperatives than supporting artists in general.
I have lost count of the number of online courses and books claiming to be the ultimate guide to selling art, nay ‘selling more’ art. The only reason to be creating art apparently is sales and the marketing tools found on Facebook and Google all but guarantee that you can find and target 10,000 punters by doing little more than following the guide. In fact, unless you can rack up such numbers as email-addressed subscribers, you haven’t just failed, but are an artistic failure. Paradoxically, everyone is sure that sales are the only criterion for success, but no one is quite certain what the others might be, or how, in our data-obsessed era, they might be measured. There is no doubt that money and art are not just inextricably linked but irredeemable parts of the same capitalist ethos. Is there a solution? In the runup to the upcoming federal election the one thing that stood out for me in the cacophony of noise about the rising cost of living, was an idea from the Greens of paying up to ,10,000 artists a living annual wage. Now wouldn’t that be something, however the 10,000 are chosen.
The way we talk [and think in programmed fashion] about art and money betrays a deep ambivalence. On one hand, art lies in a realm of value that exists beyond and beneath economic considerations – earning a living notwithstanding – but then again, to sell art for a living puts you in the realm of the commercial artist and that was never something to be proud of.
The stereotype of the ‘starving artist’ promotes an image that is both romantic and pathetic, of a person living on a higher plain and too impractical to make it in the real world. In this scenario the real world needs to step in and save the artist from himself/herself while preserving gems of culture. The assumption of the unworldliness of the artist is simply an insulting stereotype. Of artists being ‘discovered’ and ‘saved’ there are a legion of tales. Validation comes in the form grants, sponsorship, residencies and the old style, but now almost extinct, gallery deal wherein the naïve artist sold their soul and most of their work for a pittance. Of course, the repudiation of that state of affairs and an actual income from art quickly becomes a case of being labelled a sellout. You can’t win. You’re not supposed to be in it for the money but more than ever art is a business and the dual role of creator/entrepreneur overtakes any moral or ethical obligations. But then again, in another sphere, the streetsmart rappers who trumpeted their disadvantaged beginnings through barely understood lyrics soon adapted to wealth and nobody batted an eyelid.
However, for many aspiring artists, the mercenary aspect would seem to be the only reason or justification for creating art. What a sad state of affairs that is and harks back to the days of the artist as artisan. Any artist in the post medieval periods up to the late 19th century produced art on demand under contract. Artists were no different than blacksmiths or bricklayers other than that their customers and sponsors expected to be able to impress their fashion-conscious social strata with the ‘new’ and not be caught keeping up with the Jones’ or the Medicis, so much as setting the trend.
There are few 21st century relationships as diametrically fraught as the one between art and money. In the popular venacular, artists tend to live either at the height of fame and luxury or in the depths of obscurity and penury. There is no middle ground, It is disturbing though, how seldom their efforts are understood as work. It’s taken for granted that creation is difficult, but by the same token that it’s not something to be taken seriously. Schoolchildren are led to believe, and encouraged to pursue, their artistic passions and cultivate their talents. But, as anyone who has heard school guidance counsellors rank possible careers, they are warned away from anything artistic. Given we live at a time of cultural abundance, theories of a creative future underpinning society and burgeoning amateurism where the tools of creativity are available to anyone with a laptop, trivialising artistic accomplishment not only undermines such theories but values amateurism. There is no guarantee that any chosen career path will produce better results or that in fact there will be a job at all. Just look at the number of lawyers sitting on the sidelines waiting for the promised flow of rich clients while they languish in conveyancing or draft wills, or doctors barely making ends meet in general practice– hardly the promised rewards of TV.
But being an artist is, nonetheless, a job even when the single largest category of artistic endeavour is advertising — a sign, perhaps, that the distinction between art and commerce finally means nothing. No one can deny the facts that what artists do represents a significant a quantifiable share of any nation’s GDP, however it is measured from sales of paintings to sales of theatre tickets and associated wining and dining. The sheer number of artists and would be artists in today’s society all vying for a place in the market however, enshrines democratic amateurism as a cultural norm and the possibility a Utopian paradise. It is an accepted norm can all do it — make our own videos and songs, write our own poetry and personal essays, exhibit our paintings. The idea that everyone can be an artist — making stuff that can be shared, traded or sold to an audience , sits awkwardly alongside the self-contradictory dream that everyone can be a star.
There are stars just as there are failures but the middle ranks – home to artists, barely-selling writers, pub bands, working actors, local museums and orchestras – are being squeezed out of existence. That middle rank – that place where professionals do their work in conditions that are neither lavish nor impoverished for a reasonable living wage – is especially vulnerable to collapse because its existence has rarely been recognized in the first place. Nobody would argue against the idea that art has a social value, and yet almost nobody will assert that society therefore has an obligation to protect that value by acknowledging the labour of the people who produce it let alone paying for it. Artists themselves, outside of unionized industries like television and film, are unlikely to defend their position in a collective sense because it is in their nature to be individualistic. While undoubtedly they see themselves as part of a vibrant and necessary cultural imperative that defines civilisation both the personal cost of militancy and the public perception of unwarranted greed hold them back.
All goods carry hidden costs, and those costs are frequently borne by the artist. We will no doubt continue to indulge in all kinds of romantic conceits about artists, about the myths of fragile genius, about supporting an ill-defined elite of dreamers but in the end, just like most people, they are just doing their jobs.