The "Full-time Artist" is a Capitalist Construct

The Creative Goods, Issue No. 3

Today, I give you Issue No. 3 of The Creative Goods, a feminist and justice-based advice column for creators with conundrums, written by me, Jill Margo, in which I respond to “Little Miss Label Loather” about her frustration with the term “full-time artist”. Once again, there are reflection prompts at the end for readers who’d like to dive deeper into the topic for themselves.

I’m in between offerings right now, so there won’t be a short shout out about them this month, but I will tell you that the intake for the Summer Follow-through Sessions and The Seasonal Creator summer workshop will begin on Monday, June 5th. Please stay tuned.

Thanks for being here. And please do leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts on this topic, and I bet Little Miss Label Loather would too.

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Dear Jill,

I host online painting workshops that are all about creating as a form of rest, relaxation, and flow. The inspiration is usually nature-based, which attracts a lot of wonderful humans who are plant enthusiasts. The thing is the workshops also attract many incredible artists of different mediums and experience levels. When I'm meeting a new participant for the first time who is artistically inclined, this dreaded question always comes up: “So, are you a full-time artist?” It’s not dreaded because I’m worried about describing my own life as an artist. After a decade of working as an artist in community settings, I know that where my income comes from or how much it is has little to do with my success or the quality of work I'm creating. There’s something more significant happening here. In a first meeting, in the ten minutes before a workshop is about to begin, I simply don’t know how to tell these people that being a “full-time” artist is kind of a meaningless metric. That they are unbelievably talented and the fact that they are employed in an unrelated field doesn't mean their art isn’t exceptional and worthwhile. That working full-time as an artist can mean all sorts of things, in different locations and phases of life. How can I disrupt this strange social etiquette and direct us towards more meaningful connection that doesn’t make one person feel less-than for not fitting into this arbitrary category?

Signed,

Little Miss Label Loather

Dear Little Miss Label Loather,

If I asked my therapist a question like that she’d probably gently say, “I can tell you my answer, but I’m wondering what you’re hoping to get. I think it might be better if we explore why you asked the question.” Of course, in the ten minutes before a workshop begins, you’re not going to start therapizing the person who asked this question, so let’s see what other way we can come at this. But first, let’s dig into the term “full-time” so we know what we’re dealing with.

Google’s English dictionary, which is provided by Oxford Languages, defines “full-time” as “occupying or using the whole of the usual working day or week.” In other words, it’s a term borne from the great colonizer of our days known as capitalism. Since the 1960s, the Canada Labour Code, like many other countries, has contained a guideline of standard hours, which describes a period of eight hours a day to a total of 40 hours per week. This is generally what’s considered to be “full-time”, however the dividing line between full-time and part-time work is usually 30 hours per week. (Sidenote: The 40-hour work week is not based on research or best practices; it was simply an improvement on more exploitative hours that came before.)

While the definition of full-time is about, well, obviously, time, when most people ask if someone is a full-time artist what they really want to know is if the artist earns their living from selling their art. This question is therefore bound up with the idea of the marketplace. When art is treated as a commodity it’s subjected to an economic system in which a “worth” (i.e. plausible monetary value) must be established and value judgements must be made by consumers who then get to be the arbiters of taste (same goes for arts funders), leaving artists at their whim. To be clear, I’m not knocking the idea of selling art. I love it when folks sell their art! I’m just saying that it’s complicated. There have been artists who were rich and famous in their times who are now forgotten and there have been artists who made almost nothing from their work, like Van Gogh, who are now celebrated and whose work has become “invaluable” (wasn’t it always then?).

If someone asked me if I was a full-time artist (I’m using the term “artist” here to include my creative practices of writing and making works with pressed flowers), my answer would be “no” for a few reasons. One, as a person who experiences chronic illness, I often don’t have the capacity to work full-time Two, my creative work isn’t currently for sale (and there’s no guarantee it would sell), so I must dedicate the lion’s share of my time to making money. Three, as a person who has passions outside of creative practice (like The Creative Good), I don’t want to do any one thing full-time anyway (so there).

My answer exposes the ableism (i.e. discrimination in favour of able-bodied people) inherent in the question; the myth that to be really dedicated and/or good at something we must forego everything else and do that thing full-time; and the privilege involved in being able to make art for substantial amounts of time (other people’s answers could expose even more issues). On this last point, note, my answer reveals my financial reality: I must earn a living. Many people in our society who claim the title of full-time artist, do so from a place of financial privilege (there’s no shame in this, I just wish we’d normalize talking about it). I, however, am not supported by my romantic partner, nor by family money or savings that would allow me to immerse myself in creative practice unencumbered. One also must acknowledge the massive changes that have happened over the years, including skyrocketing rents, stagnating salaries, and, most recently, hyper-inflation. This has meant that the ability of an artist to noodle happily on their work while picking up the odd job here and there has completely disappeared. Except for the very fortunate (who often don’t even see themselves as such), I don’t think many people can really afford to be artists right now.

The bottom line here is that the concept of a “full-time artist” stinks because it’s a capitalist construct. At The Creative Good, that’s something I’m sensitive to. I don’t want us to reproduce the conditions of capitalism in our creative practices if we can help it. One doesn’t start out with an art career or as an art entrepreneur, though one could end up there if they know how to monetize their work and are lucky (I have to assume that luck is a factor since many incredibly talented artists are overlooked). Art-making starts as a calling and then, if we choose to answer the call, it becomes a lifestyle choice. We create because we have a human urge to create; the rest is icing.

You already know all of this, Little Miss Label Loather, so now what I think you need is a brief script. My guess is that, aside from just making polite chat, the folks asking the dreaded question have been conned into thinking that being a full-time artist is some kind of holy grail. They may therefore be looking for hope—hope that they can achieve such a status themselves. So how about you, as you say, disrupt this question with something like this that doubles as a pep talk:

In answer to your question, I’d like to offer a viewpoint instead—for all our benefits. I’m not comfortable with the term “full-time artist”, which is a capitalist construct and implies that how we “spend” our time defines how we earn money and that the marketplace, by financially rewarding our efforts—or not— confers legitimacy, and by extension how we might define ourselves. I rigorously dispute that. No one should have to justify their creative practice because they’re not earning money from it. Or to feel they’re falling short because their day job, or illness or disability, or family commitments, or whatever else don’t allow them to do as much creative practice as they’d like. It’s important to remember that even being a professional artist doesn’t necessarily correlate with making a living or a set number of hours. In Canada, granting bodies define a professional artist by their body of work and the recognition of their peers, not their income. There are many ways to sustain a creative life and many different paths one can take. For me, an artist is someone who makes art.

What do you think Little Miss Label Loather, do you think an answer like that could do the trick? Personally, I think it provides some rather delicious food for thought.

Thank you for writing to me and giving me some time to contemplate this issue. I’m glad you’re out there being an artist and supporting other artists in such a thoughtful way.

Good things,

Jill

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REFLECTION PROMPTS

Want to dig deeper into this issue’s topic in terms of your own creative practice? Make yourself a cuppa and grab a notebook and pen…

• Do you identify as or aspire to be a “full-time artist”? If not, why not? Or, if so, what does that actually mean to you? Does it mean making art for 30+ hours a week and making 100% of a living wage off it or something else?

• Are you comfortable using the term “full-time artist” or is that a term you’d like to disrupt, along with Little Miss Label Maker and me—thoughts?

• If “Are you a full-time artist?” is a question that doesn’t sit well with you, what question(s) might sit better?

• What are your metrics of success as an artist? Think in terms of both internal success markers (the ones you can control) and external success markers (the ones you can’t control).