So Your Kid Wants to be an Artist

One of the things I hear frequently from enthusiastic parents goes something like this:

My son/daughter loves to draw (He/she draws all the time… always has a pencil in her/his hand… can just look at something in a magazine and draw it… doodles on everything… draws so well, it looks just like they took a picture with a camera… has turned our refrigerator into an art gallery, etc.).

Then comes the inevitable question, the one that makes me wince:

“What Art School should my child attend?”

First of all, let me say that these parents are already doing perhaps the most important thing they can do to assure success for their aspiring creative. They’re allowing their children to be creative, and, beyond that, to actually consider a career in the arts. Parents like these are rare.

Why should they even consider Art as an educational option?

There are a few reasons worth mentioning. Well-trained artists exhibit a level of discipline that rivals that seen in any other trade or learned profession – and they do it largely without external motivation. Few of us are in this business for the money.

Creative people solve problems. We do it every day. We look at the world differently, recognize roadblocks early, and generate solutions to issues that the average person will never encounter in a lifetime. Problem-solving skills are not limited to the drawing board or the dance floor. They are just as easily adapted to the boardroom and factory floor.

Supporting a child in their desire to be a trained artist validates that student’s choices in life, and will make everybody a lot happier than automatically insisting on “Getting a ‘Real Degree’, for a ‘Real Job’, just in case things don't work out.”

Those who are able to make a living from their creative energies, even for a short while, will experience a level of fulfillment that is difficult to achieve in the employ of someone else. And when we emerge from our studios, working artists also enjoy the company of a stimulating mix of talented people, of a stripe and color that seldom thrives in a corporate environment, who by their very nature represent a wider sample of cultural thought and human experience.

Art schools are not often in the business 

of creating productive artists.

 Why should these parents be wary of an arts education?

Ironically, a degree from an art school seldom provides the tools an artist will need to make a living in their chosen field.

Art schools are not often in the business of creating productive artists. If they were, they would produce more graduates that actually make a living creating art. My unofficial sources tell me that as many as 95% of students with a degree in art wind up doing something else with their lives. (That’s a lot. It seems likely that if this were happening in medical schools or law schools, some kind of official investigation would already be underway.)

I’ll let the statisticians argue over the actual numbers, but it is not out of bounds to say that most, in fact nearly all, of the people with a degree in art wind up doing something else professionally. Many will find that their professional options are quite limited, since an art degree rarely prepares a person for anything other than making art. Making art, it turns out, is not a widely marketable skill.

It’s also worth mentioning that artists seldom get the respect they deserve, a phenomenon discussed in a little more detail in a previous post.

With such a long-wended introduction, it should come as no surprise to learn that my usual answer to the question ‘What art school should I send my child to?’ is, ‘Why send them to art school at all?’ At least as a first resort.

I want my child to have the tools needed 

to be a self-sufficient, professional 

artist when she/he is forty.

I know – it sounds so reasonable, so logical: My kid wants to be an artist. I want him/her to have an education. Ergo: I need to send my kid to art school.

Not so fast, Mom & Dad. What you really meant to say is perhaps something like this: My kid wants to be an artist. I want him/her to have the tools needed to be a self-sufficient, professional artist when she/he is forty.

Ergo: My kid needs a real education, before heading off to art school.

Look, parents, if your children have the art bug, there is nothing you can do to prevent them from making art. It’s what we do. We will create our music, write our stories and poems, draw and paint our pictures whether you help or not. If you are able to help, we will certainly do more work and better work, since art improves with practice.

Unfortunately, a pure art curriculum will not provide us with the knowledge and skills we need to take our talents into the workforce or the marketplace.

C students can manage a ledger. 

Art students have never seen one.

Looking back on more than thirty years as a practicing artist, I can easily state that I was not the best art student in my class, nor am I at all the best draw-er in the business today. Why is it then that I am one of a select few of my classmates who are still creating art, and getting paid for it? Simple. Every one of my successful contemporaries has acquired, somewhere along the line, a functional understanding of business.

Business before pleasure, that’s the key. For me, that knowledge began with an elective course in Business Law (the only business course that I could shoehorn in to a busy premedical class schedule), where I learned to understand legal contracts. That one powerful tool has, more than any other, allowed me to prosper as an artist.

What other courses help artists to become, and grow as professionals? Accounting, of course. English. Algebra. Biology (anatomy in particular). History. Psychology. Any discipline that will train a young artist to think critically, communicate clearly, and place their ideas in a meaningful context. These are the skills that one is supposed to acquire with a college education from any legitimate institution of higher learning. Even if one majors in art.

I can already see college-bound artists (and their parents) grow pale and wide-eyed. ‘I’m good at art, not academics!’ they say. Fine. Take the courses to learn the material, not to become a business major. C students can manage a ledger. Art students have never seen one.

So, back to the question: “What school should my child go to?”

My answer: The best college you can find, that both student and parents can afford. (That last part exposes a little bit of bias on my part. I think that a student values education more when they have some skin in the game. It also encourages a student to learn how to make money early on – good practice for anyone who plans to build a career on the stuff of their own dreams.)

Then, if it still fits into your child’s business plan, by all means send them on to art school. By that time, they’ll be older and wiser, with a better idea of what they want, and what they need to succeed in their chosen career.

Nobody Listens to Artists

It only took a week of being a full-time artist to learn one of the abiding truths inherent in this business: Nobody listens to artists.

Truly, the quickest way to get a door slammed in my face was to say something like,

“Hello, I’m an artist, and I’d like you to look at a few of my…” SLAM!

Nothing could shut down a business conversation faster than uttering the A-word in the first person. Ad executives, gallery owners, architects, store managers, business administrators, charity directors, teachers – all dismissed me routinely, usually before I had the chance to show them any of my artwork.

“Leave a card and we’ll call you if we need you.” Operative word: Leave.

Friends and relatives often responded similarly, with a modicum of disappointment and a quick sendoff, occasionally leavened with a polite, sympathetic smile thrown in to make me feel better, and visible relief at my (hopefully) hasty departure.

This was a big change from how I was used to being treated, a completely unexpected consequence of my decision to step out of the hospital and into the art studio.

                                                  Quack

Sure, I understood that ‘art’ was, generally speaking, a hobby, for most people a diversion rather than a calling. For me though, my career change was just that, and nothing less than that – a move from one profession to the next. I had the talent and the drive to succeed as an illustrator and a designer, and I had the work to prove it. Besides, with degrees in biology and medicine, I had the background to handle drawing assignments on subjects ranging from wildlife to healthcare to robotic technology. Why was it so hard getting anyone to pay attention?

As a doctor, I was accustomed to being taken seriously - often a little too seriously for my liking. That’s one reason I wanted to explore the arts, to get away from the regimented solemnity and enforced humorlessness of the hospital.

The trouble was that

 artists aren't professionals.

After years of academic and clinical training, I knew how to conduct myself professionally, to communicate clearly and concisely in a face-to-face interview. I did my homework, too, staying up late planning schedules and strategies, following leads, putting together a balanced mix of appointments and cold calls. I arrived for meetings in plenty of time to review my presentation, and my appearance: Combed hair, shined shoes, business suit, tie with matching pocket square, fashionable overcoat.*

Heck, I even carried an expensive leather (leather!) artist’s portfolio chock full of my work, neatly arranged in an understandable, logical progression from graphic design to illustration to my own brand of composite drawings. I showed up with a positive attitude, a firm handshake, and a winning smile.

“Oh. You’re the artist. Leave a card.” Such reactions were as baffling as they were consistent.

Lacking experience to the contrary, I assumed people in one line of work respected the ability of others to perform well in their chosen professions, at least until they had demonstrated otherwise. The trouble, I came to understand, was that artists aren't professionals.

Artists are a lot of things. We’re thoughtful, innovative, hard working, and usually we’re an awful lot of fun. We’re free spirits, too: Quirky. Eccentric. Weird. In the world of business, that makes us strange, and suspect. And since our work schedules seldom fit the usual nine-to-five routine, we’re often considered unreliable and irresponsible, or worse, lazy, living off the sweat of others who aren’t afraid to put in a full 40-hour work week.

But we’re not professional. Professionals are people with real jobs. Professionals work for someone else, every day, for a thing called a regular paycheck. We free-lance artists work for ourselves, at whatever assignments we can get, for whatever pay we can negotiate. And once we’ve successfully completed a project, we’re… what’s the word? Oh, yeah… unemployed.

The working world seems to frown on this business model. Projects come through or they don’t, feast or famine, with frequent interruptions in cash flow. For beginning artists especially, these uncertainties make it difficult to secure adequate housing and studio space, or to make regular payments on car notes or insurance premiums (assuming loans or insurance coverage are even available). Even artists with long track records, substantial client lists and above average business sense are vulnerable to dry spells that can unravel years of financial success.

So, art is not a real profession, it seems, unless you happen to be a real professional artist. We all know a number of these. They’re household names. The ones whose work we recognize. As a rule, they died a long time ago.

Then there are the few successful artists who live and work outside of the stereotype. We know their names, too. We recognize their work. We might even recognize them if we saw them on TV, or hanging out at a restaurant downtown. We understand that they get paid a lot of money for their art, and we wish that we had bought one of their pieces years ago when it was affordable, before they became well known - before the world recognized them as professionals.

That’s the second enduring 

truth of the art business: 

As soon as someone other than you 

likes your work, and is willing to tell 

someone else about it, you’ve arrived.

But how do you know when you, as an artist, have crossed that line? How do you tell when you’ve made it?

That’s just it. You don’t. Someone else tells for you.

That’s the second enduring truth of the art business: As soon as someone other than you likes your work, and is willing to tell someone else about it, you’ve arrived.

You can't be that person. Your squeak won't grease your own wheels.

“Hi, I’m an artist, and my work is awesome!” will get you nowhere.

Fortunately, though, that ‘right person’ can be just about anyone else:

“Hey, have you seen this dude’s work? It’s awesome!”

That kind of recommendation will get you recognition, and sales, and contracts to make more of your art. If you are fortunate enough (and persistent enough) to string together a number of recommendations like this, you just might stay in business long enough to build a career in art.

Our business plan at DS Art is built entirely around these two truths. We want our clients and customers to be happy with our work, and our work ethic. We understand that every piece of artwork that leaves our studio is an ambassador for our future success, and that every customer we earn becomes a potential cheerleader for (or against) our creative ability, our professionalism, and our future .

Just don't take our word for it.

*In hindsight, this could have been part of the problem. I can recall but one episode in those early days when I received a bona fide art commission, entirely on my own. The client was in a bind, facing a tight deadline. He needed to speak with someone right away, and would meet with me only if I could get to his office within the hour. That office was more than 50 miles away, which left me no time to shower, shave, or even change clothes. I jumped in the car and drove to the meeting ‘as-is’. The client took one look at my scruffy weekend beard, dirty sneakers, worn jeans, and rumpled jacket, and instantly awarded me the job. Apparently he needed an artist, rather than a professional.