More than Gold

My Spices, my Roses, and everyone in between, we gotta talk. I'm gonna say something quite radical here that is probably going to get me some askew glances. But it's got to be said. (Here we go, girl. Big breaths, big breaths) Being an artist isn't all about the money. Now, allow me to back the Mic-Drop Train up and explain. FanX Salt Lake was an incredible experience. I got to meet a whole gaggle of new artists, swap cards, hit up an art museum, and indulge in the best Cajun cuisine. Plus, the convention crowds were healthy, people engaged with my work, and I received an amazing commision (more on that later). Despite all the positives, I noticed something strange about myself and my fellow artists--we all focused on the money.

To be fair, worrying about weather or not you'll make back your expenses is normal. In fact, if you're a career Con Artist, balancing your books is a healthy practice. Knowing what you spent to get there, what you need to earn back, and how you will invest anything leftover is vital to long term success. Talking to other artists about what you made is, to a point, healthy as well. It allows artists and vendors to judge the health of a convention and decide if it was a good investment. Earning enough to be a full time artist is something many of us aspire to. It's the long term goal--the Long Con, if you will.

What I'm referring to isn't the focus on money as the means to an end. I'm speaking to an obsession with money in an attempt to justify an artist's existence. Income becomes a measuring rod used to judge how "good" an artist is--both by the artist and by onlookers. The logic is simple: the more money you earn, the better you must be. The artist flush with funds must have some sort of magical quality about them, touched by fate, to earn so much more than they would at a regular job. If an artist isn't earning that mythical amount, then their entire existence is called into question.

When I introduced myself to artists at FanX, many of them would immediately ask how much I had earned, looking to compare. Several artists--without any prompting from

me-- would offer up how much they had earned as soon as they introduced themselves. These unprompted artists often spoke of earning thousands of dollars day 1. The most heartbreaking interactions of all were with artists who believed their friends had earned an obscene amount of funds while they hadn't cleared a couple hundred dollars. Convention attendees would also boldly ask what I had earned. These interactions, with artists and convention attendees, are common. I cannot think of a single show I've had in the past 5 years where I haven't seen the above mentioned scenarios play out multiple times. Making money the sole focus of your art leads to nothing good. Feeling like you'll never earn the same as your peers--or even enough to get by-- can get in your head. No matter how much you sell, it will never satisfy. So, many artists lie about what they earned. They lie to justify their career, and their place in Artist Alley. They lie to prove to the naysayers in their lives that their career is important. They lie to cover their own fears, to prove the "starving artist" stereotype wrong. They forget the joy creating brings them. They lose touch on what inspires them, or why they enjoy such an antagonizing vocation.

Art is aggravating enough on its own without adding in the pressure of money. Many artists are self taught and handle their own marketing. Most artists start with nothing--not even a small loan--and purchase their supplies out of pocket. Everytime we ask about the money, we reduce an artist down to just that--what they earn. We ignore the years of sacrifice and hard work. We reduce every time they brought joy to someone's life through their work. We strip them of their agency, and their humanity, reducing them to just a number.

If the purpose of life was to earn as much money as possible, no one would ever go to a University or leave a high paying, nightmare of an occupation. Harvest Moon and Stardew Valley wouldn't tug at our heartstrings. No one would ever create music, art, books, plays, or invent crocs. We don't ask coworkers what they earn. We don't tell clergymen to get a real, paying job. So, why is it okay to reduce a working artist to a number? I'm entirely guilty of focusing too much on the money at times. My career has been financially trying and, frankly, I'm trying to figure out how to get above the poverty line. In 8 years, I have never had a show that pulled in a thousand dollars. Not even close. I know what factors can attribute to that and, better yet, I know that the real value in Artist Alley comes from building relationships. Still, the focus on money can distract me from what I love about my work--using my skills to lighten people's lives. Back to the commision from earlier. My best experience at FanX had nothing to do with the good food, covering my table costs, or anything else. It was a father asking me to draw in a book for his autistic son. A father who, over the past 3 years, had asked dozens of comic creators and artists to draw his son's favorite characters in a book he could look through later. I undercharged the family, I spent more time on the drawing then I needed to, but it was worth every second of my time. The entire experience was an honor worth more than gold. My time, my skill, and my person are worth so much more than what I earn--and so are yours. If you're an artist, I encourage you to develop a healthy relationship with money. To manage your earning expectations, separate yourself from the noise in your head, and focus on what really matter to you. Being an artist, in all its forms, is difficult enough and you do not need to justify your path. You will always be worth so much more.