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Thursday, March 20, 2014
Wisdom from Taipei's most acclaimed self-help guru
You are not good enough, you are not smart enough, and gosh darn it, people don't like you. But they will after you read my post over at PimpKnowledge:
Friday, March 7, 2014
Would you like a side of rice with your rant?
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the prevailing attitude towards artists, their contributions to society, and how much that contribution is worth. This is an issue that all artists deal with once they step out of the university mill and declare themselves "professional". Not all genres approach this transition in the same way. In the classical music world there is, for example, a sharp institutional delineation between "instrumentalists" and "vocalists": after a certain amount of dues-paying a professional instrumentalist expects to be paid a respectful amount for all services rendered; after a certain amount of dues-paying a professional singer is expected to be absolutely thrilled at the prospect of performing for free, or even, I shit you not, paying the organization for the privilege of performing at all. Hell, this isn't really restricted to the classical world; less than a year ago I was "given the opportunity" to sing at a nearby cafe for free, and then, when a local accordion player agreed to perform with me, the owner of the cafe told me I should be really, really grateful, because that accordion player "usually gets paid". No shit, Sherlock. So do I. Or at the very least I should get free drinks.
Of course, I am complicit in the de-valuing of my work. I agreed to play at that cafe for free. In fact, I don't think I even asked about payment. I was in a foreign city, I didn't know the local music community's norms, and dammit, I really love to sing. Which brings me to my next point: just because we love doing something doesn't mean it's not a job. The recent essay by Miya Tokumitsu addressing just this subject had a big impact on me. (Her piece is actually much, much more expansive, and discusses the class-issues inherent in even being able to say, "I do what I love". Go read it!) People assume that art is a "calling" heard by the chosen few, and such otherworldly creatures shouldn't really care about mundane things like money, right? I mean, we just sit around in Parisian garrets all day drinking wine and contemplating the universe, don't we? Actually, most artists work shitty day jobs (something's gotta pay for all that wine!) and then, at night, in their few precious hours of free time, laboriously practice the craft they've devoted themselves to, all the while knowing that the chances of ever receiving a living wage off of this art are unbelievably slim. And you know what? I, personally, have made my peace with that. I don't need to make my living off of music and theater. I'd like to, but I can still find great satisfaction in my work even with the knowledge that I will have to get up and teach kids about the SAT the next day. So no, I don't expect huge sums for my work. But dammit, I expect you to pay me something.
This is the mental point I had reached in my rant a few days ago: as artists, no, as PEOPLE DOING JOBS, we deserve respect, and that respect is best demonstrated by some remuneration for our work, no matter how small. Give us a small cut of the door. Buy us pizza and beer. Hell, give us starbucks discount cards (totally kidding, do not ever, ever do that). But at least acknowledge that we have provided a unique and worthwhile service. Yup. That's where I was, curled up in the warm, fluffy blanket of self-righteousness, when I read this:
A Plea about Arts Piracy in the Theater
Oh shit.
This excellent post by playwright Mike Lew details his experience trying to get theaters and performing groups to pay the licensing fees required in order to perform his published works. Many theaters are reluctant to pay these fees because, of course, they have no money. Nobody in the arts has money. That's why we drink such cheap wine. And then a huge, crushing wave of self-loathing hit me and I realized just how much music I perform that is most definitely NOT in the public domain, none of which I have ever requested the rights for. And let's not even approach the issue of illegal downloading, because then I'll just crawl under the table and demand that you look away from my hideousness. I, the morally superior artist, am most definitely part of the problem.
I believe that the world-wide artistic community is cannibalizing itself: no one values our work, so no one pays us, so we in turn steal the work of others, which just increases the perception that art is this "super awesome thing that should be free for everybody!" Just like the internet! And syphilis! And look, I have absolutely no idea where we go from here. I clearly can't even figure out how to negotiate payment in alcohol, let alone cash. I can't tell you how we can foster respect for creativity within our own community, let alone in the world at large. I can tell you that I have worked with some exceptionally honest and considerate artists and presenters who, while they can't pay much, will always pay something. I can also tell you that I will gladly work for free anytime a dear friend asks me to, and yes, I will be absolutely thrilled at the prospect of again collaborating with the kind, talented people I am lucky enough to know and love. Yes, I know that's a contradiction, but it's one I can accept. I also see nothing wrong with working for free when nobody is being paid. If everyone is donating his or her time, and I believe in the project, why the hell not? Maybe my line in the sand is working for free when other people involved in the process are getting paid. But I must say that lines in the sand tend to be very fluid in this business.
Or perhaps what we artists all need to do is take the advice recently offered in this NY Times article by Julie Satow and brand ourselves within an inch of our lives. We can turn our creations, identities, and even our apartments into commodities to be bought and sold with little regard for anything beyond the potential hipster cachet. Because we said we want to be paid, right? So, we should pursue that goal by any means necessary, right? Oh wait. No. That is exactly what we should not do, because we're people, not products, and I'm pretty sure that one of the purposes of art is to draw attention to that distinction. At least, that's my opinion on it today. Tomorrow I may read a really influential blog post, change my mind completely, and look for ways to make everything I do palatable and profitable. Like I said, those lines are fluid around here. In the meantime, I have some research to do: how do I get performance rights? And what are my (legal and moral) options if I can't get them? I'm not entirely sure how to make this change, but I know it must happen.
There was going to be food in this post, and some thoughts on the beauty of simple dishes prepared well, and it was all somehow going to be connected to the idea of appreciating things that may appear to be easily attained or accomplished but in fact require great skill. But I got side tracked, carried away if you will. All of this ranting has filled me with even more questions, which I guess is actually a good outcome. That other post will be written, and hopefully that connection can still be made. Of course, right now there's only one truly important question that needs answering: do I have to give back that Rodney Yee yoga video I got from Pirate Bay last week?
Damn these moral quandaries.
*****Note: I rarely link to the work of others on this blog, and while I did research the appropriate ways to do so, I admit I might have gotten it wrong. If that's the case, please let me know, either in the comments section or via email.
Of course, I am complicit in the de-valuing of my work. I agreed to play at that cafe for free. In fact, I don't think I even asked about payment. I was in a foreign city, I didn't know the local music community's norms, and dammit, I really love to sing. Which brings me to my next point: just because we love doing something doesn't mean it's not a job. The recent essay by Miya Tokumitsu addressing just this subject had a big impact on me. (Her piece is actually much, much more expansive, and discusses the class-issues inherent in even being able to say, "I do what I love". Go read it!) People assume that art is a "calling" heard by the chosen few, and such otherworldly creatures shouldn't really care about mundane things like money, right? I mean, we just sit around in Parisian garrets all day drinking wine and contemplating the universe, don't we? Actually, most artists work shitty day jobs (something's gotta pay for all that wine!) and then, at night, in their few precious hours of free time, laboriously practice the craft they've devoted themselves to, all the while knowing that the chances of ever receiving a living wage off of this art are unbelievably slim. And you know what? I, personally, have made my peace with that. I don't need to make my living off of music and theater. I'd like to, but I can still find great satisfaction in my work even with the knowledge that I will have to get up and teach kids about the SAT the next day. So no, I don't expect huge sums for my work. But dammit, I expect you to pay me something.
This is the mental point I had reached in my rant a few days ago: as artists, no, as PEOPLE DOING JOBS, we deserve respect, and that respect is best demonstrated by some remuneration for our work, no matter how small. Give us a small cut of the door. Buy us pizza and beer. Hell, give us starbucks discount cards (totally kidding, do not ever, ever do that). But at least acknowledge that we have provided a unique and worthwhile service. Yup. That's where I was, curled up in the warm, fluffy blanket of self-righteousness, when I read this:
A Plea about Arts Piracy in the Theater
Oh shit.
This excellent post by playwright Mike Lew details his experience trying to get theaters and performing groups to pay the licensing fees required in order to perform his published works. Many theaters are reluctant to pay these fees because, of course, they have no money. Nobody in the arts has money. That's why we drink such cheap wine. And then a huge, crushing wave of self-loathing hit me and I realized just how much music I perform that is most definitely NOT in the public domain, none of which I have ever requested the rights for. And let's not even approach the issue of illegal downloading, because then I'll just crawl under the table and demand that you look away from my hideousness. I, the morally superior artist, am most definitely part of the problem.
I believe that the world-wide artistic community is cannibalizing itself: no one values our work, so no one pays us, so we in turn steal the work of others, which just increases the perception that art is this "super awesome thing that should be free for everybody!" Just like the internet! And syphilis! And look, I have absolutely no idea where we go from here. I clearly can't even figure out how to negotiate payment in alcohol, let alone cash. I can't tell you how we can foster respect for creativity within our own community, let alone in the world at large. I can tell you that I have worked with some exceptionally honest and considerate artists and presenters who, while they can't pay much, will always pay something. I can also tell you that I will gladly work for free anytime a dear friend asks me to, and yes, I will be absolutely thrilled at the prospect of again collaborating with the kind, talented people I am lucky enough to know and love. Yes, I know that's a contradiction, but it's one I can accept. I also see nothing wrong with working for free when nobody is being paid. If everyone is donating his or her time, and I believe in the project, why the hell not? Maybe my line in the sand is working for free when other people involved in the process are getting paid. But I must say that lines in the sand tend to be very fluid in this business.
Or perhaps what we artists all need to do is take the advice recently offered in this NY Times article by Julie Satow and brand ourselves within an inch of our lives. We can turn our creations, identities, and even our apartments into commodities to be bought and sold with little regard for anything beyond the potential hipster cachet. Because we said we want to be paid, right? So, we should pursue that goal by any means necessary, right? Oh wait. No. That is exactly what we should not do, because we're people, not products, and I'm pretty sure that one of the purposes of art is to draw attention to that distinction. At least, that's my opinion on it today. Tomorrow I may read a really influential blog post, change my mind completely, and look for ways to make everything I do palatable and profitable. Like I said, those lines are fluid around here. In the meantime, I have some research to do: how do I get performance rights? And what are my (legal and moral) options if I can't get them? I'm not entirely sure how to make this change, but I know it must happen.
There was going to be food in this post, and some thoughts on the beauty of simple dishes prepared well, and it was all somehow going to be connected to the idea of appreciating things that may appear to be easily attained or accomplished but in fact require great skill. But I got side tracked, carried away if you will. All of this ranting has filled me with even more questions, which I guess is actually a good outcome. That other post will be written, and hopefully that connection can still be made. Of course, right now there's only one truly important question that needs answering: do I have to give back that Rodney Yee yoga video I got from Pirate Bay last week?
Damn these moral quandaries.
*****Note: I rarely link to the work of others on this blog, and while I did research the appropriate ways to do so, I admit I might have gotten it wrong. If that's the case, please let me know, either in the comments section or via email.
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