I have been going through a lot of transition lately. I know life is always shifting and that change is good and it allows you to grow, but I am tired of these growing pains. Right now I feel like I am reliving my awkward growth spur from middle school, when my arms and legs were longer than my torso and my tiny head was not only rocking an awful hairstyle, but was also the site of a zity face and a metal smile. Ugh! That was so painful morally and physically, but I built some strong character and a pretty good sense of humor.
What does my middle school humiliation have to do with Art? Well, that I’ve been searching to inject my life with more of it lately; that in search for meaning, comfort and some stable ground I have been seeking to experience more of those things that make me happy.
Art makes me happy. Experiencing, making, reading about and talking about art has always been food for my soul, and I need sustenance. So, in this quest to alleviate the growing pains and feed the soul, I have made it a point to go to as many "pleasurable" art events as I possibly can (I say pleasurable, because if you've ever worked in the arts, you know arts events start to feel like work and work is no fun).
So here I am, an arts enthusiast on a quest to go to at least one art event a week, which is a pretty easy self imposed task in San Francisco. In fact, I have more than one event lined up each week - yay me!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Guilt and my relationship to the arts...
I quit. Yes, after several years of working in the arts, I left my arts non-profit job and moved on to a radically different for-profit job. This decision was particularly difficult, as to me it meant not only changing careers, but also giving up the one thing I thought I knew about myself; and as every good catholic girl can attest, this decision was followed by a large amount of guilt.
Let me explain. I’ve been wanting to be an artist for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been wanting to make money for as long as I can remember. Case in point, not only was I drawing all the time at age 5, but I was also selling every single one of my drawings to anyone who would buy them for about 10c a piece. I had a pitch and a large pool of investors, pitch: “I will be famous one day and that drawing will be worth a lot of money," investors: my mom’s clients, co-workers, friends, anyone who would listen. (Dear Investors, I am so sorry this promise has not been met as of yet, but you know sometimes it takes an artists dying for his/her work to be valued. So have patience. - Bea)
There was no doubt in my mind that my career was going to follow a creative path and that this path would prove profitable. I studied Art History in college and dreamt of working in a Museum, of writing prominent and highly regarded books, of appearing as an interviewed expert on the History Channel, of auctioning pieces in Sotheby’s, hanging work in the walls of galleries and hosting openings galore.
After college, work in social service sparked my interest in arts and community building,which led me to a job in Arts Administration, a field that seemed perfect for me, that allowed me to use my obsessive organization skills to support the cause I believed in. Arts administration was going to allow me to channel the passion I have nurtured since childhood; the one thing I felt was ME. According to little old me, step one to dream fullfilment. Done.
So, it was as you can imagine hard to find myself increasingly frustrated and unhappy; working in what I considered an inefficient system where long hours and incredible talent often translates to barely making rent. A part of my soul died - I know this is dramatic, but it did. I need to bring this part back to life, because this part feels defeated, takes responsibility for not being able to “stick with it,” envies every single arts worker that has been able to thrive and whose passion keeps them around - adding more guilt, and feels awful to admit that I am happy at my obviously not community or arts oriented job.
This part needs healing. I didn’t realize how bitter I was becoming towards the arts until recently. The last months that led to me leaving my job, I had stopped caring, I resented arts events, I stopped blogging (not that I was an extremely active blogger, but still), and was even allowing for this negativity to afect the parts of my job that I really enjoyed; including my participation as a fellow with the Emerging Arts Professionals/SFBA. An organization I joined because I wanted to advocate for artists and arts workers, an organization I admire and I am happy to be a part of.
The truth is, I felt defeated and confused. I held and still hold too much of my personality and love for arts to this one job and I am allowing my feeling of defeat over this taint my love for the field. The truth is, that I am young enough to leave the arts and not kill my dreams. I can leave, learn great skills and come back, serve on the board of an organization, make tons of $$$ and become a patron of the arts, support my friends, deepen my involvement in places I believe in etc.
This week I made a decision. No more bitter me. So what if it didn’t work out! That doesn’t mean I suck, or I make poor decisions, or I am a quitter or that the arts suck. It just mean it didn’t work out and my passion for something, my dreams of something don’t begin nor end with a job.
Let me explain. I’ve been wanting to be an artist for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been wanting to make money for as long as I can remember. Case in point, not only was I drawing all the time at age 5, but I was also selling every single one of my drawings to anyone who would buy them for about 10c a piece. I had a pitch and a large pool of investors, pitch: “I will be famous one day and that drawing will be worth a lot of money," investors: my mom’s clients, co-workers, friends, anyone who would listen. (Dear Investors, I am so sorry this promise has not been met as of yet, but you know sometimes it takes an artists dying for his/her work to be valued. So have patience. - Bea)
There was no doubt in my mind that my career was going to follow a creative path and that this path would prove profitable. I studied Art History in college and dreamt of working in a Museum, of writing prominent and highly regarded books, of appearing as an interviewed expert on the History Channel, of auctioning pieces in Sotheby’s, hanging work in the walls of galleries and hosting openings galore.
After college, work in social service sparked my interest in arts and community building,which led me to a job in Arts Administration, a field that seemed perfect for me, that allowed me to use my obsessive organization skills to support the cause I believed in. Arts administration was going to allow me to channel the passion I have nurtured since childhood; the one thing I felt was ME. According to little old me, step one to dream fullfilment. Done.
So, it was as you can imagine hard to find myself increasingly frustrated and unhappy; working in what I considered an inefficient system where long hours and incredible talent often translates to barely making rent. A part of my soul died - I know this is dramatic, but it did. I need to bring this part back to life, because this part feels defeated, takes responsibility for not being able to “stick with it,” envies every single arts worker that has been able to thrive and whose passion keeps them around - adding more guilt, and feels awful to admit that I am happy at my obviously not community or arts oriented job.
This part needs healing. I didn’t realize how bitter I was becoming towards the arts until recently. The last months that led to me leaving my job, I had stopped caring, I resented arts events, I stopped blogging (not that I was an extremely active blogger, but still), and was even allowing for this negativity to afect the parts of my job that I really enjoyed; including my participation as a fellow with the Emerging Arts Professionals/SFBA. An organization I joined because I wanted to advocate for artists and arts workers, an organization I admire and I am happy to be a part of.
The truth is, I felt defeated and confused. I held and still hold too much of my personality and love for arts to this one job and I am allowing my feeling of defeat over this taint my love for the field. The truth is, that I am young enough to leave the arts and not kill my dreams. I can leave, learn great skills and come back, serve on the board of an organization, make tons of $$$ and become a patron of the arts, support my friends, deepen my involvement in places I believe in etc.
This week I made a decision. No more bitter me. So what if it didn’t work out! That doesn’t mean I suck, or I make poor decisions, or I am a quitter or that the arts suck. It just mean it didn’t work out and my passion for something, my dreams of something don’t begin nor end with a job.
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