I think about this quote every day:
“This is what happens when you have an artist temperament but you are not an artist.”
It’s from Mad Men. And it’s a moment that’s been burned in my brain since I saw it years ago. What’s it mean to be an artist who isn’t successful? You’re still an artist right? Is it just for yourself? Is it perseverance above all else? What’s it mean to fail and what does walking away look like in a practical sense? Do you just rebuild on your own?
So, uh, HAPPY NEW YEAR! It’s the lunar new year, a new moon in Aquarius, the United States in both literally and metaphorically on fire, and I’m losing track of what rights I still have left.
Considering everything on the table, it feels a little silly to be like Okay but what about my writing career? Thanks to incessant attack on not just me but everyone close to me, it’s easy to shut down, to focus only what I can do to survive.
But a big part of survival for me is the ability to make and share art.
Not to get too dark about things but I struggle with suicide ideation. I literally think about suicide every day and the only things stopping me at current are
(1) I really love my husband and he’s been a pretty great support system
(2) I love my cats
(3) I get to write plays and share my work with other like-minded individuals and that feels a lot like community to me.
I’ve never been a fan of “the world is a better place with me in it” because I truly don’t give a f*ck if that’s true. The world doesn’t get to suck me dry and then demand more from me just because it needs me. In any other relationship, we’d call that toxic. And I’ve also never been fan of “Well I have to outlive Tr^mp/McConnel/whoever” because they have such better healthcare than me. And outlive them to what end? They get to die while I’m forced to live in the mess they created? Hard pass.
So through all the horrors what’s gonna keep me alive? Love and art. That’s what I’ve got. That’s what floats me. But I haven’t been staffed since 2022, I have scattered playwriting projects but not enough to sustain me, and my day job is rocky at best for a couple of reasons. I need to find a way to survive as an artist but also can see Tr^mp slashing funding every which way he can so who knows what nonprofits will be left standing.
All of this chaos has reminded me of what I really want to be doing. I want to be teaching theatre and writing. I want to be writing plays and TV shows. I want to be doing direct advocacy work for trans + queer folk + Black people. I want to be specific at a time that demands me to focus as hard as I can.
And while all that sounds great…I still have bills to pay. I still have rent, cat food, people food, utilities…
How do I balance my understanding that I need to more focused than ever on my creative work when frankly my creative work can’t cover my basic needs?
The unfortunate answer is I don’t know. And even harder for me, I’m not supposed to know yet. I just have to trust that that’s where I’m being guided. It’s year of the snake, baby! My year (1989!). I need to learn how to move in the grass, how to trust I’m being guided somewhere, and that if and when things fall apart…things have fallen apart before. Will I recover? I have before.
And for me, right now, hope means I have to believe that whatever step I take next, I will recover from that too.
The universe is demanding me to change and I can’t keep fighting anymore. So back to my original question: What’s it mean to be an artist who isn’t successful?
It means you rewrite the rule book. And that’s exactly what I plan to do this year.
*Yes I know the lyric is “I was busy with the stars, you were looking at me” but let me live…